Thursday, December 17, 2009

NDPR John Holbo, Reason and Persuasion: Three Dialogues by Plato: Euthyphro, Meno, Republic Book I

Notre Dame Philosophical Reviews

2009-12-13 : View this Review Online : View Other NDPR Reviews

John Holbo, Reason and Persuasion: Three Dialogues by Plato: Euthyphro, Meno, Republic Book I, Prentice-Hall, 2009, 389pp., $27.95 (pbk), ISBN 9789810682767.

Reviewed by Paul Carelli, University of North Florida


 

NOTE: THIS IS NDPR'S LAST REVIEW FOR 2009.

WE WILL RESUME PUBLICATION ON JANUARY 6, 2010.

BEST WISHES FOR THE HOLIDAY SEASON TO ALL OUR READERS!

 

There is no dearth of textbooks offering an introduction to Plato's thought, but Holbo's stands apart in the scope of its introductory material and its user-friendly style. The book is divided into two parts. The first part, taking up a full quarter of the volume, introduces Socrates, Plato and the whole issue of how to read a Socratic dialogue. The second part is comprised of the three dialogues -- Euthyphro, Meno and Republic I -- each with its own forty or so page commentary. Thus more than half of the book is aimed at making the dialogues accessible to students who are without any prior experience reading Plato in particular or philosophy in general. The colloquial yet accurate translation by Belle Waring serves to reduce the distance between the student and the world of the dialogues still further and the illustrations found throughout punctuate the text with what Holbo calls bullet points without words. One concern I had reading the text with a mind to possibly adopting it for a course is that the introductory material is almost too thorough. The commentaries for the individual dialogues come before the dialogues themselves and so are presented more as introductions to be read before the dialogues rather than commentaries to be read along with them. It benefits students, I believe, to wrestle a bit with Plato on their own before turning to secondary material for aid and explication, and having these commentaries close at hand and presented prior to the dialogues themselves may prove too much of a temptation for bewildered students even if the dialogues are assigned first. If, however, the book is used not for a course in ancient philosophy but a more general interdisciplinary course, like the one for which the book was originally developed, this material may be more an asset than a detriment.

The general introduction tackles the problem of Socrates' role in Plato's dialogues. Is Plato a Russian doll hiding within him an authentic Socratic core or is the character of Socrates just a mask for Plato to wear while he presents he own ideas? The question whether Socrates is a historical representation, a mouthpiece or a little of both is left unresolved and the standard view of the division of the dialogues into early, middle and late is presented but not pushed. There are generous excerpts from the Apology, and Socrates' denial of wisdom, relationship to the Sophists and depiction in the Clouds are all explored. In sum, Socrates is a puzzle, using his elenchus for the negative result of showing ignorance in others while at the same time undertaking the positive task of searching for definitions that will do his interlocutors some good to know, all the while espousing his own ignorance in such matters. Such paradoxes are characteristic of the puppet show that Plato presents, but it all serves to place the burden of figuring out what the answer is squarely on the reader; the dialogues are not meant to be accepted as authorities but surpassed. In his middle period Plato does seem to offer his own answer, and a thorough explication of both the Myth of the Cave and the Divided Line show that answer to be a belief in intangible and unchanging Forms. Even if we choose not to follow Plato and his sometimes mystical notion of the Forms, however, we can still gain a great deal of insight by considering the reasons behind his answers. There is a parallel between the situation in which the cave dwellers find themselves and the social-political climate of Athens in Plato's time. There is a parallel for us as well, as long as we give more credence to those who peddle mere persuasion, like Dale Carnegie (author of How to Win Friends and Influence People and here cast as a modern day sophist), than to those who seek the truth through reasoning. Regardless of how we judge Plato's metaphysics and epistemology, we can still find worth in his project as a corrective to the notion that leading the good life is a matter of just acquiring good people skills. Plato's intention in writing his dialogues may have been to soften his readers up for his particular school of thought, but in reading these dialogues we may soften ourselves up to philosophy in general.

The Euthyphro is sometimes a difficult first dialogue for students not only because they are not used to the Socratic elenchus but also because they are blind to how audacious it was to the ancient Greeks for a son to bring a charge of murder against his father. Why would Socrates object to bringing a murderer to justice and why would he try to help his friend by asking him to define piety? There is a parallel between this dialogue and a teaching of Confucius concerning a son's actions in response to his father stealing a sheep. In both cases there is a clear tension between a strict adherence to the law and the demands of filial piety. But Euthyphro, whose name means 'straight thinker' or 'right minded', boldly claims to know what piety is, and if he is prepared to take his father to court on a technicality he should be willing to have a technical discussion about the definition of piety. The Socratic assumption that knowing what piety means is important for acting piously could not be lost on Euthyphro since he himself claims to be bringing his father to court precisely because he knows that to do so is pious. In some sense, then, Socrates is arguing with Euthyphro on his own terms. Holbo fills in more background to the dialogue by discussing Aristophanes' Birds and Aeschylus' Orestia, and gives a thorough analysis of Euthyphro's failed definitions of piety.

The Meno presents its own difficulties for new students. In particular, the exercise in geometry in the middle of the dialogue is rarely given much credence by first time readers -- Socrates seems to be asking the slave boy leading questions and it is not immediately obvious what the connection could be between geometry and virtue. The dialogue, however, is not really about virtue but about knowledge and justification. Meno is after the power that Gorgias and other sophists offer him and it is this power that he identifies with virtue. This power, of course, is the power of speaking persuasively. Dale Carnegie is again invoked, this time echoing Meno's paradox that learning is impossible while at the same time offering no end of advice on how to answer any question one might ask. Meno is in the same contradictory position as this latter day Gorgias, simultaneously claiming that he has knowledge and can expound on the nature of virtue before a multitude, while taking refuge in the impossibility of inquiry whenever a seasoned questioner like Socrates gives him a little difficulty. It may seem to the unseasoned reader that the difficulties Meno is put through are merely Socratic tricks and word games. After all, what exactly is wrong with giving a list of good examples when trying to define what something is? This certainly does seem to work in some cases. But the geometry lesson puts the onus of proof back onto Meno. If true inquiry is impossible there is at least something very much like it, recollection, and this is enough to show that mere persuasion without knowledge is not power.

The commentary for Republic Book I is taken up by a description of the city that Socrates constructs later in the dialogue, an extensive discussion of how justice can be viewed as a craft, and an analysis of the three interlocutors. The three represent the three parts of the soul: Cephalus is reason, Polemachus the spirit and Thrasymacus the appetites. The last is the hardest to pin down, but as the representation of the hydra-headed part of the soul this is not surprising. He may seem, at different times, like a relativist, a realist, a naturalist or a conventionalist. In fact he is an egoist who trades off an equivocation on the word justice, using it at one time descriptively and at another time prescriptively. He is the embodiment of everything that Plato is against in these three dialogues and, in a sense, is what Meno and Polemarchus are aiming at, even if they themselves do not realize it. By continually tripping him up Socrates shows that persuasion is powerless in the presence of reason.

Holbo's commentaries on these three dialogues serve to situate them both as individual works and also as parts of Plato's overall project of showing the problems of persuasion divorced from reason. Rather than taking a strictly scholarly approach the author has made clear the relevance of these texts for questions even non-philosophers should find worth asking. For instructors seeking an introductory text for first time readers of Plato, Holbo's book is worthy of consideration.

NDPR Timothy Chappell, Ethics and Experience: Life Beyond Moral Theory

Notre Dame Philosophical Reviews

2009-12-12 : View this Review Online : View Other NDPR Reviews

Timothy Chappell, Ethics and Experience: Life Beyond Moral Theory, Acumen, 2009, 229pp., $22.95 (pbk), ISBN 9780773536425.

Reviewed by Mark T. Nelson, Westmont College


 

It can be hard to find a good secondary text for an undergraduate "Intro to Ethics" course. It is not hard to find decent collections of primary readings, certainly, and there is no shortage of useful companions, dictionaries and encyclopedias about ethics. There are some good advanced treatments of metaethics, too, and of individual normative theories. What is hard to find is a textbook that introduces and explains both metaethics and normative ethical theory to beginners in a way that is clear and accessible without sacrificing breadth or philosophical depth. And some of the standard secondary texts that are reasonably accessible and thorough are, well, just a little tedious: rehearsing the same old arguments, the same old examples, the same old theories. If that has been your experience, then here is a book for you: Timothy Chappell's Ethics and Experience: Life Beyond Moral Theory. It is as fresh and lucid an introduction to philosophical ethics as you are likely to find in a couple hundred pages: comprehensive and philosophically informed, but strikingly offbeat, even original. Perhaps the most striking feature of the book is the way it explains the rational appeal of many ethical theories, while pointing up their limitations, it points beyond them to an approach to ethics that de-thrones theory and does justice to both reason and experience.

One pedagogic virtue of the book is that it emphasizes the continuity of ethical thinking with the rest of philosophy. In Chapter One, Chappell defines philosophy as: "the use of reason to answer worldview-shaping questions" and ethics, in turn, as "the use of reason to answer the Socratic question 'How should life be lived?'" (3). This definition, says Chappell, immediately throws up a number of crucial issues, which he calls:

The demarcation question. What makes something specifically an ethical concern? How do ethical concerns differ from other sorts of concern?

The why-be-moral question. Ethics makes demands on us that can be difficult or even dangerous to obey. When it does, what reason is there to obey these demands?

The question of reason. Is it right even to try to apply reason to the question "How should life be lived?"? If it is, what sort of reason?

The question of objectivity. Any assertion that "This is how life should be lived" prompts an obvious question: says who? What is the authority for any answer to the Socratic question, and how can we tell? (3)

The book begins with metaethics, then, and Chappell spends the next several chapters mapping the metaethical terrain. In Chapter Two, he briefly answers the demarcation question by stating what ethics is not (law, politics, emotion, religion, or the "personal"), and what it is: "Ethics is about what I should do as a human being" in my whole life (7). This characterization of ethics allows for pervasive and over-riding ethical demands, so in Chapter Three, Chappell takes up the why-be-moral question, in terms of the apparent conflict between the demands of living right and living well. Chappell briefly sketches the main normative theories that he will treat later (virtue ethics, utilitarianism, Kantianism, contractarianism), and shows that, on each of these theories, the demands of living right are in tension with our prospects for personal happiness and satisfaction. He memorably classifies the main ways philosophers have tried to resolve this tension as: "forget about living morally", "forget about living well", "a compromise is possible", "pull living well up into living morally", and "pull living morally down into living well". (This is one of a number of places in the book where Chappell's knack for explaining things made me think "I wish I'd thought of that.") In Chapter Four, Chappell considers the question of reason, and whether it makes sense to reason about ethics at all. He canvasses a number of skepticisms about the role of reason in ethics (from Burke, Hume, Williams and Ayer), but concludes that we are not barred from arguing rationally about either means or ends. Here as elsewhere, Chappell does not confine himself to an impersonal inventory of the possibilities: he takes part in the argument himself. For what it's worth, I found his interventions in the argument fair-minded and to the point, but readers wanting a wholly un-opinionated survey are advised to look elsewhere.

Chappell then takes three chapters to address a cluster of issues around objectivity. In Chapter Five, he introduces ethical subjectivism ("No ethical judgement is objectively true") and a modest ethical objectivism ("At least some ethical judgements are objectively true"), and then considers arguments in favor of objectivism based on the apparent possibility of rational criticism, the phenomenology of our ethical thoughts as beliefs in facts and "default literalism" about moral language. In Chapter Six, Chappell canvasses five arguments in favor of subjectivism, based on: relativity, the is-ought gap, naturalism, Humean moral psychology, and Bernard Williams's internal reasons. (Williams is something of a presence in the book, sometimes in the foreground, often in the background.) Chappell interprets them all as abductive arguments, to the effect that subjectivism, not objectivism, is the best explanation of these phenomena. He then systematically criticizes all of them as failing to describe the phenomena correctly or failing to show that the truth of subjectivism best explains them. There is nothing new about these five arguments, but Chappell's interpretation of them as abductive arguments strikes me as novel and pedagogically effective. That said, his conclusion is modest: "The upshot of this chapter is that these [subjectivist] arguments do not succeed; unless a large number of apparently possible positions can be excluded from the argument, ethical objectivism remains a possible option" (72). In Chapter Seven, Chappell takes up a question that both the objectivist and subjectivist must address: "What is ethics about?", meaning "What does ethical discourse say, since it seems to say something?" He considers and criticizes Blackburn's expressivism, Mackie's error theory, and standard divine command theory as accounts of the subject matter of ethics, and draws on his own previously published work to argue interestingly for a moral perceptualism, according to which ethics is about perceptions of real moral properties, but which is neither ontologically nor epistemologically extravagant. Chappell then turns to normative ethical theory.

In Chapter Eight through Eleven, Chappell explains virtue ethics, utilitarianism, Kantian deontology and contractarianism, respectively, as sample normative theories. I will not try to sketch each of these chapters, but I will note that Chappell's explanations strike me as a nice balance between the familiar and the unfamiliar. They are philosophically responsible in that they get across the essentials of each theory, but do so in fresh and engaging ways. For example:

How should life be lived? At the heart of virtue ethics lies a simple but (when you unpack it) surprisingly powerful answer to this book's basic question, which we can express in a two-word slogan: act naturally. This slogan is ambiguous. "Act naturally" can mean "act in accordance with nature". . . . It can also mean "act spontaneously". Virtue ethicists have both meanings in mind, and there is a good deal to say about both. (99)

Chappell uses the first reading to explain the "zoological" basis of much virtue theory:

If you want to know how life should be lived, then an obvious place to start is by thinking about what kind of creature you are, and what kind of life suits a creature like you: what kind of life satisfies the sort of needs (on the one hand) and goals (on the other) that creatures like you typically have.

For instance, if you are a blue whale the answer to "How should life be lived?" that works for you will include plenty of plankton, cool, deep unpolluted oceans, the company of other blue whales, and complete absence of Japanese fishing vessels. (100)

Chappell uses the second reading to explain the centrality of dispositions to virtue theory, and what he calls the "modularity of practical choice":

The scope of a good person's deliberation will often be radically narrower than a certain sort of moral theorist might be predisposed to imagine. Perhaps, in [the hospital visitation scenario] the good person will decide that it is a good idea to take a gift to his bedridden friend, and so have to decide whether he should take (a) chocolates, (b) grapes, (c) roses, or just (d) an amusingly vulgar card. But [in this scenario] there is also the possibility that the good person should take his friend (e) poisoned chocolates, or (f) exploding grapes, or (g) a dead badger, or (h) Trainspotter's Weekly, and so on indefinitely. . . .

What the modularity of practical choice means is that a good person, as the virtue ethicist understands him, does not even need to raise the possibilities from (e) onwards for deliberation. If anyone else raises possibilities such as (e-h), he will treat them with the bemusement they deserve. (106)

Having surveyed the various normative theories on offer and the arguments for and against them, we might suppose that we are poised on the brink of a choice, and it remains only for us to decide which theory is most favored by reason. Chappell, however, refuses to make such a choice, and in Chapter Twelve he explains why. Chapter Twelve is the last and longest in the book, and is also (in my view) the most original. According to Chappell, each of the main moral theories has something going for it, but each also suffers from a distorting narrowness or tendency to "over-moralize". These distortions are the inevitable product of a systematizing reason that ignores context, tries to be scientific and tries to capture everything, and generally aspires "to provide an explanation of rightness and wrongness that is both general and exclusive. In each case the claim is that moral theory explains every instance of rightness or wrongness, and explains them on its own" (185). This is a controversial idea, to be sure, but it certainly resonated with this reviewer. Just last semester, in an undergraduate course on "Moral Problems", I found myself wondering why the ethical theories to which I had introduced my students shed so little light on the ethics of killing. Of course, act utilitarianism, rule utilitarianism, Kantian deontology, Rossian pluralism and Aristotelian virtue ethics had something to say about why killing was wrong, when it was wrong. But what they had to say was not much help in deciding, in any particular instance, whether killing would be wrong, or in plausibly explaining why it was, when it was. As explanations of why killing was wrong in particular instances, the theories either didn't account for our considered-but-non-theoretical convictions that such killings would be wrong or they didn't add anything to them. Chappell describes my experience with eerie accuracy, and adds:

there is one very basic and obvious point about murder that all of these moral theories seem to miss. This is that murder is not just a matter of treating someone badly, unjustly, unfairly or in a way that deprives them of goods (although it is that of course). In murder you do not so much take something away from someone as take away the someone; you deprive him, not of this or that good, but of himself, by destroying him. This seems to be the most central wrong involved in murder, and most moral theories remarkably enough, do not even get around to mentioning it. (210)

Instead of opting for irrationalism or quietism, he concludes:

I want to take seriously the suggestion that the kind of use of reason that we need to do ethics well -- what we need to make best sense in answering Socrates' question -- is not the sort of use of reason characteristically involved in moral theory at all. It is something rather different to which I shall give the name of an ethical outlook.

This he characterizes as:

a set of views and commitments about the central questions concerning value: what is worth living for and what is worth dying for; what is really admirable and what is really contemptible; what we must do at all costs and what we must not do no matter what; and so on. This set of views and commitments need not be very explicit; but it must run deep -- must be sincerely and indeed passionately held. And it need not be very systematic; but it must be as considered, rationally defensible and coherent as possible. (195)

Only this sort of thing, argues Chappell, can do justice to something as basic and central as love, so only this sort of thing can play the part in ethical motivation, explanation, deliberation and prediction that contemporary philosophers had previously expected theory to play. Chappell's discussion here is suggestive and impressionistic; clearly, these are ideas under development, and it would be nice to hear more about the ways in which our ethical outlooks can reflect and be disciplined by reason, if they are indeed to count as an application of reason to Socrates' question.

I hope it is clear, from what I have already said, that Chappell's ideas in this book are interesting; they are also very well presented. As an author, he is very much present in the text and in the argument, and he is good company throughout. He writes clear, accessible prose, in a style that is brisk, witty and confident, occasionally even imperious. He illustrates each section with perfectly chosen epigraphs, ranging from Aristotle and Locke to Shakespeare and Keats to Groucho Marx and Douglas Adams. He ranges across the history of ethical thinking, from Socrates to Scanlon, understands it thoroughly and explains it well, with lots of amusing, off-beat examples. Though the tone is informal and engaging, the material is by no means simple, and the book perhaps would not be suitable for the timid undergraduate's first course in philosophy. For an upper-year "Ethics" course that covers both metaethics and normative ethics, however, Timothy Chappell's Ethics and Experience deserves serious consideration.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

NDPR Kenneth R. Westphal (ed.), The Blackwell Guide to Hegel's Phenomenology of Spirit

Notre Dame Philosophical Reviews

2009-12-10 : View this Review Online : View Other NDPR Reviews

Kenneth R. Westphal (ed.), The Blackwell Guide to Hegel's Phenomenology of Spirit, Wiley-Blackwell, 2009, 325pp., $34.95 (pbk), ISBN 9781405131100.

Reviewed by Dean Moyar, Johns Hopkins University


 

It is no small irony that Hegel's Phenomenology of Spirit, a book that is supposed to serve as a ladder for ordinary consciousness to reach the standpoint of Science, should itself have required scores of commentators to make its rungs intelligible and its ascent even conceivable for generations of readers. The major challenge of commenting on Hegel's work is to stay close enough to the text that the reader feels that he can really read Hegel's text alongside the commentary without having to bypass large stretches, while at the same time actually to interpret (rather than paraphrase) the text so that its philosophical import is evident to today's reader. Forcing everything into one's own interpretive framework can leave the reader disconnected from Hegel's actual words, while just paraphrasing Hegel's text, though reassuring for a beginning reader, does not let one connect Hegel's philosophical project to the wealth of philosophical debates to which it is relevant. The outstanding single-author commentaries on the Phenomenology in English in the past twenty years (chief among them being Terry Pinkard's Hegel's Phenomenology, H.S. Harris' Hegel's Ladder, and Jon Stewart's The Unity of Hegel's Phenomenology of Spirit), managed this challenge in different ways, producing works with distinctive priorities that have together opened up the Phenomenology to a generation of students.

The Blackwell Guide to Hegel's Phenomenology of Spirit, edited by Kenneth Westphal, is billed as a "collective commentary". Such a collective approach can illuminate the work through multiple perspectives and by drawing on the particular strengths of the commentators, each of whom can write on that stretch of text that he/she know best. However, the collective approach also runs the risk of producing a number of isolated contributions that leaves the reader in the dark about the interconnections of systematic unity of the whole. The relative strengths and weaknesses of such a commentary largely stem from how "collective" it really is -- whether there has been a truly collaborative effort, including some agreement on a rough interpretive framework, mutual commenting on each other's contributions, etc.

Westphal's volume is "collective" in a rather minimal sense. There does not appear to have been any joint work in conceiving of the specific or general interpretive approach in the essays. (I should mention here that the volume of essays on the Phenomenology edited by myself and Michael Quante, though also a "guide" to the text and thus something of a competitor to the present book, was conceived neither as collective nor as commentary.) Westphal writes in his Introduction that the book "develops a significant consensus about the integrity of Hegel's text and issues. This point is examined expressly in chapters 1, 12, and 13, while chapters 10 and 11 say much about it too" (xvii). The "integrity" at issue concerns whether all the diverse parts of the Phenomenology hang together, or whether it is really two projects hurriedly and clumsily melded into one. While it is true that the authors in this work seem to agree that Hegel was in control of his text and are sympathetic to the overall project, it is not clear to this reader what "significant consensus" is developed. There have not been many recent defenders of the view that Hegel's text lacks integrity, so the mere fact that these authors assume such an integrity is not terribly significant. The discussions of the basic method and goals in the chapters do not complement each other, but rather lead the reader to various different (and necessarily incomplete) views of Hegel's goals and method.

This is not to say that each of the essays dos not stand on its own. This is a very impressive collection of essays by some of the most acute readers working on Hegel today. Yet as a commentary, the whole is less than the sum of its parts. Each contribution is well worth reading, both for the new and seasoned reader of the Phenomenology, yet one is left without a clear grip on Hegel's main philosophical innovations and without a reliable way to translate Hegel's prose into a more philosophically fungible idiom.

My strategy in reviewing this complex book is to give most attention to the five essays (1, 2, 4, 12, 13) that directly concern the methodology and overall aims of Hegel's project. I will offer some brief summary comments on the remaining eight chapters, most of which are concerned with the "practical" parts of the Phenomenology, where the controversies are less severe. It is uncontroversial, for example, that Hegel argues for the insufficiency of individualist models of practical rationality and the need for a model of social normativity that he calls Spirit. There remain important controversies over the particulars of that account, but at least the general nature of his claims is comprehensible. By contrast, the material at the beginning and end of the Phenomenology raises most pressingly such contested issues as whether Hegel is best read as a transcendental idealist or as a spirit monist, in what sense the Phenomenology should be considered a "deduction" of the concept of science, in what sense consciousness is cancelled, preserved, and/or elevated through the completed process, etc.

It is unfortunate that in his opening chapter Westphal takes on too much material for a single short essay. He aims to unpack the Phenomenology's Introduction and the three chapters that together form "Consciousness". The concise summary of the Introduction, focusing on Sextus Empiricus' "Dilemma of the Criterion", and Hegel's response, is an efficient sketch of the Phenomenology's method. Westphal reads the method as "constructive self-criticism" that arrives at "a sufficient criterion of the truth of an epistemology" (4, 5). He recognizes the complex interplay of conceptions of the object and self-conceptions that make the Phenomenology such a challenging work. Westphal brings out the self-critical component of "Sense-Certainty" by likening the claim of "Sense-Certainty" to the concept-free "knowledge by acquaintance" defended by Bertrand Russell. The constructive side of Westphal's account of Sense-Certainty is quite a bit harder to grasp in this compressed format. He writes, "More constructively, in 'Sense-Certainty' Hegel reconstructs and defends Kant's semantics of cognitive reference while liberating this semantics from Kant's transcendental idealism" (6). Deciphering what it means to be liberated from Kant's transcendental idealism is no small feat. Westphal could just be saying that Hegel rejects the Kantian conception of things in themselves, or of objects for us as opposed to objects considered apart from the pure intuitions of space and time. Fair enough. But one could also argue that the key doctrine of Kant's idealism is the transcendental unity of apperception, and it is precisely this doctrine that Hegel seeks to establish in the chapters on "Consciousness". Westphal actually notes that the three chapters aim "to prove that we can be conscious of objects in the world around us only if we are self-conscious" (20). But this seems to be a core thesis of transcendental idealism, not a liberation from it.

Westphal's account of "Perception" offers a reliable guide to Hegel's critique of the view that perception consists in a passive subject apprehending an object with multiple properties. Westphal argues that Hegel is giving a critique of "Concept Empiricism" that results in a claim about the integrative powers of human cognition, including the claim that "the concept of the identity of perceptible things . . . is a priori" (14). Presenting the subsequent section, "Force and Understanding", Westphal moves from commentary on to summary of what he claims are Hegel's positive conclusions about the nature of force, substance, and Newtonian universal gravitation. Readers will find it hard to connect these theses to Hegel's very difficult text, in which he rarely speaks in a voice of assertion. But Westphal does put his finger on a key point in Hegel analysis, which is that modern philosophy equivocates on the concept of substance. Are the "intrinsic" properties those that are non-relational, or are they those that are essential? Westphal rightly notes that Hegel's discussion turns on revealing the neglected option that relational properties can be essential to a substance.

Though filled with such important insights, Westphal's essay is problematic in that it tries to do too much within too little space, and in that it asserts a reading of the Phenomenology that is more likely to confuse rather than enlighten the reader of the remaining commentary. A major issue here is that Westphal is bent on asserting his realist reading of Hegel's epistemology, even though the chapters under discussion are not those in which realist arguments, if there really are any in the Phenomenology, are to be found. He writes,

Hegel argues that we human beings cannot be self-conscious and cannot be aware of any 'mental' contents unless we are conscious of and identify at least some features of objects or events within our surroundings, which are what they are regardless of what we say, think, or believe about them (20).

He repeats this thesis in his summary of the entire Phenomenology and the concluding table that summarizes the whole book. He states that both parts of the "Self-Consciousness" chapter aim to argue for realism about objects, and that Hegel gives a version of Kant's "Refutation of Idealism" that does not rely on transcendental idealism. In the present essay this realism claim comes across as a mantra, never justified, and given that subsequent authors do not focus on such a realist thesis, it does not aid the overall purpose of the collection. This essay appears to be a compressed version of the book manuscript mentioned in Westphal's biographical note ("Hegel's Critique of Cognitive Judgment: From Naïve Realism to Understanding"). Readers puzzled and provoked by Westphal's interpretation can consult the forthcoming book or the works in the "Further Reading" section, where 17 of the 18 works listed are Westphal's own publications.

If anything it is Hegel's idealism that is emphasized in the second essay, Frederick Neuhouser's "Desire, Recognition, and the Relation between Bondsman and Lord". This extraordinarily clear commentary on the crucial first half of the "Self-Consciousness" chapter begins with a statement that self-consciousness does not attempt to know an object but rather "to 'satisfy itself'" (37). The theme of satisfaction could serve as a basis for reading the entire book (as in Pippin's classic Hegel's Idealism: The Satisfactions of Self-Consciousness). Neuhouser goes in a somewhat different direction, however, by introducing the idea of a "self-conception" as "a description under which a subject values itself" (38). Neuhouser is drawing here on Christine Korsgaard's conception of practical identity, which he employed to good effect in his Foundations of Hegel's Social Theory. The self-conception at issue in Chapter IV is that of a free activity, such that "one will want to act in ways that realize, or express, the value of independent sovereignty" (38). I cannot go through Neuhouser's excellent reconstruction of the text. I will instead pick up his value reading at the close of the Lord/Bondsman dialectic. There he describes the Bondsman's fear of death as allowing him to learn

the capacity for 'absolute negativity', . . . In the fear of death everything about a person that previously seemed fixed and stable is shaken loose and dissolved; every particular property that seemed to define that person now ceases to matter in relation to one supreme, overriding value: remaining alive (51).

The bondsman has acquired the formal capacity for absolute negativity, but he remains unfree in that "his criterion of the good is mere life" (51). The conflict with the lord and the servitude to the lord are educative, for they prepare the way for the free subject who can tear himself loose from all given determinations. Of course only through the subsequent dialectic of self-consciousness does the bondsman come to see his own activity as universal, and he thus orients his activity around "a single, overriding spiritual value, the realization of freedom" (53). Though Neuhouser's value reading is promising as a framework for reading the text as a whole, no other essay frames its issues in terms of value, so a reader might be left puzzled about how to link the basic dynamics of self-consciousness to the subject's development in later chapters.

In his essay on the second half of "Self-Consciousness", Franco Chiereghin calls our attention to the fact that only at this point in the Phenomenology does "thinking" come on the scene. The identity of subject and object in thinking is at issue in the shapes of "Stoicism", "Skepticism", and "The Unhappy Consciousness", through which Chiereghin deftly guides the reader. His discussion of "Skepticism" is especially useful, as he uses it to thematize determinate negation. He fruitfully brings in the early Jena Skepticism essay to show how the Pyronnhian "trope of relativity" is also essential to the Phenomenology's method (62). This essay thus helps to flesh out the picture of the method from Westphal's discussion of the Introduction.

Cinzia Ferrini's first essay is on the introduction to "Reason", which is indeed an underexamined turning point in the Phenomenology and thus fully warrants a chapter of its own. The importance of these paragraphs is clear in that Hegel repeats in altered form his claim from the Introduction that the basic problem that the Phenomenology is supposed to address is that Science comes on the scene immediately and thus needs to justify itself. The standpoint of Reason's idealism cannot simply be assumed. It needs a deduction, which is just what Hegel claims to have given thus far in the Phenomenology. His criticism of Kant and Fichte raises the question of whether Hegel's own ultimate philosophical position is a basically Kantian idealism, one much better grounded but nonetheless recognizably a transcendental idealism. Within this context Hegel also seems to endorse the Kantian doctrine of apperception, and he laments the "scandal of philosophy" that is Kant's lack of derivation of the categories. To highlight the engagement with Kant and Fichte, Ferrini brings forth relevant texts from the pre-Phenomenology writings, and raises a number of important points about the relation to the natural scientific inquiry that Hegel engages in the subsequent "Observing Reason" section. Readers looking for a key to the Phenomenology as a whole might be frustrated by statements such as this:

To sum up the dialectical movement of this section: although reason is in truth only the universality of things, reason tries to possess herself in natural things and not in their essentiality qua talis; because natural consciousness's knowing takes sensuous things as opposed to the 'I', it neglects that reason is present in her own proper shape only in the conceptual inwardness of objective thinghood. (79)

I think I know what Ferrini means in writing of "conceptual inwardness", but this passage raises a number of questions, such as how to characterize the holism within which this talk of inwardness makes sense. Ferrini unfortunately neglects the most important (and most perplexing) paragraphs in this text, namely those in which Hegel reconstructs Fichte's dialectical derivation of the categories in an account that ends in singularity (Einzelnheit). Since this is the term that Hegel sometimes uses to describe his own version of transcendental self-consciousness, namely the Concept, it could have been a good point to discuss just how Hegel's method has progressed beyond the Fichtean dialectic.

Ferrini's discussion of Reason and the empirical sciences does provide a good introduction to her second essay, on "Observing Reason". This essay is a real outlier in the collection because of its bulky scholarly apparatus: there are eight pages of references and ten pages of footnotes. It will be a valuable resource for specialists trying to discern the sources of Hegel's treatment of natural science, and will offer newcomers at least the reassurance that Hegel was engaged with the scientific work of his time. Ferrini has given us a new road map for understanding Hegel's difficult claims about biological sciences in particular.

The essays by Terry Pinkard and David Couzens Hoy cover the last two main sections of "Reason". The shapes of consciousness in these sections are much more readily grasped than previous shapes, in large part because they are explicitly practical shapes of action or agency (the challenge is more to link these to the basic epistemological description of the project). Pinkard frames his discussion of shapes of modern individualism through the idea of a "missing antinomy" in Kant: "On the one hand, we are always completely socially constituted and our normative status is derivative from that; and on the other hand, we are free, self-originating sources of claims that no claim of social utility may override" (138-39). Examining the "law of the heart", "virtue", and "the honest consciousness" as so many individualistic attempts to resolve this antinomy, Pinkard provides a subtle and entertaining account of why the antinomy is unresolvable without making the transition to Spirit.

Picking up the text at the point where "Law-giving Reason" comes on the scene, Hoy stages a contest between Hegel and Kant, oddly enough by citing Rawls' lectures on Hegel and contrasting Rawls' Hegel with Christine Korsgaard's version of Kant. Hoy argues that Hegel's criticisms of Kantian morality are not fully answered by Korsgaard's defense. Hoy emphasizes that Hegel's examples are designed to show that law-based accounts cannot handle the "interpretive variability" of ethical situations (162). He ends by defending Hegel's social account of Ethical Life against the charge that it forfeits any critical distance on a society's existing norms.

In the "Spirit" chapter Hegel quickly turns from immediate social unity to the conflicts within the ethical life of the ancient Greek polis. Jocelyn Hoy's essay focuses on the conflict between human and divine law that Hegel expounds through his controversial interpretation of Sophocles' Antigone. The core of her essay is a discussion of ten charges against Hegel by feminist theorists, charges concerning both his views on women generally and his use of Antigone in particular. She analyzes these charges with the aim of showing "that Hegel's claims about sexual difference and gender roles need to be contextualized in terms of his dialectical strategy" (186). The essay succeeds remarkably well at this task, and brings the dialectical strategy into vivid relief by contrasting it with flatfooted attacks on isolated claims leveled from outside the dialectic.

Jürgen Stolzenberg provides a careful reconstruction of Hegel's critique of the Enlightenment, with especially strong attention to the need to streamline Hegel's argument and relate it in a straightforward way to the aims of the book as a whole. Stolzenberg offers his own take on what Spirit in general is, calling Hegel's account "a critical-structural theory of models of world-interpretation" (192). Though differing from the other views of Spirit represented in the other essays, in this practical realm these differences do not prevent the reader from getting a grip on the interconnections of the sections. Stolzenberg gives simple statements of what he calls "the Principle of Consciousness" and the "Principle of Spirit", and shows that Hegel's presentation of the Enlightenment's struggle with superstition, and its misunderstanding of that struggle, result from the interplay of these two principles (194). In particular, the Enlightenment relates to faith/superstition as consciousness, which has the fundamental principle of opposing something to itself. It can therefore treat faith only in a critical, destructive manner, rather than reaching "the insight into the articulated fundamental constitution of the structure of spirit" (201, 203). Instead of such an insight the Enlightenment officially ends with the French Revolution and the Terror, leaving the reconciliation to take place within the realm of morality.

Both the essay on "Morality" by Frederick Beiser and the essay by George di Giovanni on the "Religion" chapter focus on the greatest moment of reconciliation in the Phenomenology, the confession and forgiveness that forms the transition from Morality to Religion. Characteristically begrudging in his assessment of Hegel, Beiser writes of this moment of absolute recognition that it stands out from "the crabbed prose" that the "tired reader", "battered and bruised", finally reaches after the "remarkably obscure even by Hegelian standards" introduction to "Morality" (209, 210). The "grumpy reader", the "impatient reader" finally reaches a lucid point of progress over Hegel's romantic and idealist contemporaries (210). Beiser's summary of "Morality" illuminates the reconciliation less than Giovanni's essay, which is officially about the "Religion" chapter, but which instead reviews the place of religion in the rest of the Phenomenology. Giovanni uses the theme of recognition in confession and forgiveness to return to the struggle for recognition in the "Self-Consciousness" chapter, juxtaposing the two as struggles in which nature and freedom each play crucial roles. This sets up Giovanni's most novel formulation: "religious praxis had indeed been in general, from the beginning, spirit's response to the anonymous power of enchanted nature" (232). He gives a dense review of this praxis, in Greek ethical life, Rome, the world of "Culture", and the Enlightenment, before returning to the scene of confession and forgiveness. Giovanni ends with a brief but provocative discussion of "what would count as religion in a post-Christian culture" (243). That there must be something to so count follows from the fact that "religion, both as cult and faith, is for Hegel existentially necessary" (243).

Coming straight from Giovanni's essay, readers might be surprised by Allegra de Laurentiis's claim in her essay on "Absolute Knowing" that "revealed religion is necessarily deceitful" (253). Despite some rather misleading claims like this, de Laurentiis does provide an engaging commentary on Hegel's very dense and difficult text. She aims to show that Hegel thinks his accomplishment is to establish a "structural identity" between thinking and the objects of thought. "Absolute Knowing" is the knowing of the logical structure of the self, and that this logical structure is the structure of objectivity as well. De Laurentiis calls this "Hegel's modern, critical version of Scholastic realism, the mediaeval, anti-nominalist reinterpretation of fundamental theses of Platonic and Aristotelian metaphysics" (246). I am not sure how helpful it is to call this a "version of Scholastic realism", since so much depends on how the "modern" and "critical" are taken. An awful lot of interpretive controversy can be masked by appeals to the "structure" of subjectivity and objectivity. As de Laurentiis explains, the fundamental logical structure for Hegel is the Schluss, the inference or syllogism. She takes these syllogisms to be the realization of Spirit's potential, "like the entelechia of Aristotle's intellect", and no doubt it is like Aristotle's theory given Hegel's citation of Aristotle at key points in his corpus (262). The "structural identity" claim could also be the basis for reading Hegel as an inferentialist, as a semantic theorist for whom any objective content or meaning depends on the subjective processes of belief formation and revision. Or the structural identity could just be the Kantian claim that the conditions for the possibility of knowledge of objects are just what constitute those objects. The "structural identity" claim is correct as far as it goes, but we should read it as opening up rather than deciding the most important interpretive questions.

I end my review of the individual essays with Marina Bykova's contribution. We are told in the Introduction to the collection that "Central themes of Hegel's Preface are considered in" Bykova's essay, which comes last because the Preface was the last part of the book written (xvii). A bit later we are told that the essay is about subjectivity, and subjectivity is "emphasized in his Preface" (xxiv). Perhaps enough ink has been spilled on the strange text that was supposed to serve as the Preface to Hegel's entire system. But it was in the Preface that Hegel reflects on what he just accomplished, and it seems problematic not to have any discussion of this text in a work aiming to be a collective commentary. Bykova provides in effect an overview of the development of subjectivity in the Phenomenology. This is a fruitful approach, though given that the goal is to reach the identity of subject and object, it seems that an overview could just as fruitfully focus on objectivity. My real issue with this essay, however, is the way in which Bykova describes the literature on the Phenomenology. She claims that her essay will avoid an "approach typical of German scholarship" which focuses on "cosmic spirit" and "downplays (or even ignores) Hegel's account of the individual human being" (265, 266). On the other side, she claims to avoid the mistakes of the Anglophone reading, which gives "'spirit' an insignificant, secondary role" because they are individualistic and focused on epistemological issues (266). This picture of the field is not at all accurate. If there is a real contrast that lies behind Bykova's opposition, it is between the German literature's preference for a neo-Platonic "metaphysical" Hegel and the Anglophone tendency to read him as more of a post-Kantian idealist. But the Anglophone readings of, say, Pippin and Pinkard (both of whom she cites), are thoroughly social and suffer from none of the one-sidedness she associates with them. On the German side as well, commentators offer quite nuanced accounts of the individual and epistemological dimensions of the Phenomenology (the "cosmic spirit" reading is most associated with Charles Taylor). The work by the authors in this collection itself is ample evidence that Hegel scholars no longer fall neatly into the basic opposition of individual and social.

With each new book on the Phenomenology we find new insights and along with them new reason to think that the task of interpretation and appropriation is nowhere near complete. The essays in this volume provide many accessible points of entry into Hegel's thought. Scholars and teachers of Hegel's most rewarding and perplexing work should be grateful.

NDPR Paul K. Moser, The Elusive God: Reorienting Religious Epistemology

Notre Dame Philosophical Reviews

2009-12-11 : View this Review Online : View Other NDPR Reviews

Paul K. Moser, The Elusive God: Reorienting Religious Epistemology, Cambridge UP, 2008, 292pp., $39.95 (pbk), ISBN 9780521120081.

Reviewed by Bruce Russell, Wayne State University


 

Many of our beliefs are justified on the basis of experiences, where experiences are non-propositional mental states, unlike beliefs, wishes, hopes, etc., that have propositions as their objects. I smell coffee or apple pie and on that basis justifiably believe that there is coffee, or a freshly baked apple pie, in the kitchen. I hear a police siren and on that basis justifiably believe that a police car is passing by on the street outside. I go to a children's museum, stick my hand in a box that contains various items, feel a hair brush and a piece of sandpaper, and on the basis of the tactile sensations I receive justifiably believe that these items are in the box. My children blindfold me and play "Name That Taste" with me. They give me a spoonful of honey and squeeze a lemon into a glass and have me drink the juice. On the basis of taste, I justifiably believe that I have tasted honey and lemon juice. I am walking along the beach and see footprints of bare feet in the wet sand at the edge of the water. On the basis of my visual sensations, I justifiably believe that someone recently walked there. Olfactory, auditory, tactile, taste, and visual sensations are not propositional (they do not have propositions as their objects), but they can provide evidence for beliefs, which are propositional.

At least some of the time, we are justified in believing what we do (e.g., that there is coffee in the kitchen, a police car out on the street, sandpaper in the box, honey on the spoon, and that someone recently walked along the beach) because the proposition that we believe is the best available undefeated explanation of what we experience. While someone could have sprayed coffee smelling air freshener in the kitchen, or bought rubber feet at a novelty store, attached them to long poles, rented a helicopter and made fake footprints in the sand, the best explanation of the relevant sensations is that there is coffee in the kitchen and that someone recently walked on the beach, respectively. Because of that, we are justified in believing there is coffee in the kitchen and that someone recently walked along the beach.

Paul Moser thinks that certain sorts of experience provide conclusive evidence for the existence of God, but they are not "the mystical, spectacular, or fantastic religious experiences reported by many proponents of religious belief" (p. 8; see also 132 and 138). And he places little stock in the arguments from natural theology, describing them as "at best incidental, even a dispensable sideshow" (p. 25; see also 45, 47, 52, 136-37, 155, 244). Moser thinks that experiential evidence of God's existence comes through personal interaction with God's Spirit and is available to everyone who is willing to receive it. It constitutes conclusive evidence for belief in God, that is, it not only justifies the belief that God exists but also warrants trust in God. By "conclusive evidence" he means "well-founded undefeated support suitable for (fulfilling the justification condition for) knowledge: it may or may not be logically, or deductively, demonstrative" (p. 2). By "God" Moser means "a being inherently worthy of worship who is morally perfect, morally authoritative, and perfectly loving to all persons, including enemies" (see pp. 1, 19, 86).

For Moser, the evidence that supports belief in God is non-propositional and comes through Spirit revealing itself in human conscience (p. 193). Again and again, he refers to such evidence as "purposively available authoritative evidence" of God's existence and His willingness to help people become unselfishly loving (see all the entries in the Index on "purposively available evidence"). According to Moser, the experience of Spirit in conscience provides the "needed epistemological foundation" for experiential knowledge of God similar to the way that non-propositional olfactory, auditory, tactile, visual, and taste sensations provide the epistemological foundations for knowledge of things and events in the world. (Moser uses the example of someone whose red sensations provide evidence for her belief that there is a red patch in her visual field, p. 63). He writes,

First-hand volitional evidence and knowledge of God's reality involve a directness in evidence and knowledge of divine reality that entails their being irreducible to mere propositional knowledge or evidence that God exists. The directness involves evidence of an "I-You" volitional interaction between humans and God that is absent from traditional arguments for God's existence. . . . My talk of (first-hand) evidence and knowledge of "God's reality" (or of "God") should be understood accordingly, as irreducible to mere propositional evidence or knowledge. (p. 61)

He goes on to compare the available evidence of God in conscience to the evidence from conscience that supports our beliefs about what we have a duty to do, or refrain from doing (p. 62). Conscience convicts us of being too selfish, of failing to be unselfishly loving, and if we do not suppress the voice of conscience, "we then experience guilt, shame, and judgment" (p. 43). Moser does not think that the first-hand, foundational experiences of God in conscience are self-authenticating (p. 27). As such, they are not like our experiences of pain or, if Sartre is right, the awareness of another consciousness that results from realizing one is being looked at, perhaps in a compromising position. But Moser thinks that the reason we should believe that the experiences of Spirit in conscience are genuine experiences of God is that the assumption that they are is the best undefeated available explanation of those experiences and other evidence we possess (see pp. 27, 64-5, 69, 85, 139, 150).

Part of this other evidence is to be found in the volitional transformation, the change in our wills and attitudes, that follows upon the apparent experience of Spirit in conscience (see p. 150 and the end of Chapter 2). Moser writes, "As human history and our own lives show, if they show anything, we lack the power on our own to love unselfishly as God loves" (p. 152; see also pp. 17, 137). However, people find that after their experience of Spirit in conscience they are empowered to love more unselfishly. Moser thinks that the best explanation of the change is that God, through his grace, has helped transform these people (p. 156; on p. 22 he writes of "a change in life-direction" as being "salient evidence of divine intervention" and on pp. 155-57 he argues that beneficial changes in a person's life that follow the relevant experiences in conscience are best explained by God's empowering the person to make those changes, that the changes for the better are "salient evidence" of God's intervening).

Moser never says precisely what the experiences of Spirit in conscience are like. Do the people who have them hear an inner voice that tells them how destructively selfish and prideful they are? Or are they like the experiences of Alvin Plantinga who reports that sometimes he just immediately forms the belief that God disapproves of what he has done? Or do they just feel the presence of God in some way, as people sometimes report feeling the presence of their deceased loved ones?

In any case, it does not seem that the best explanation of the experiences of Spirit in conscience is that it is God's self-revelation to those people. Conscience itself probably has an evolutionary explanation. Our human ancestors who had a conscience probably did better in situations involving social cooperation than those that did not. Perhaps those who felt the presence, or heard the voice, of some all-powerful Father did even better, for they were very reluctant to break promises or to free ride on the backs of others. Those with moral sentiments backed up by a powerful enforcer may have done better than those with no moral sentiments, or with moral sentiments that were not backed up by a powerful enforcer. As a result of doing better, they left more offspring that survived.

Further, it's not clear that the best explanation of the transformation in people after they've seemed to have had an experience of Spirit in conscience is that the transformation was caused by God. Suppose someone appears to me in my dreams who looks like my deceased grandmother and seems to be unselfishly loving and forgiving. Suppose she appears again and again, night after night, year after year. Suppose, further, that as a result of these dream experiences my life changes for the better, and I come to believe that my grandmother still exists in some way. Imagine that as a result of the experiences of my grandmother in my dreams I become a better person, more loving and forgiving, even of my enemies. Wouldn't the best explanation of those experiences be that they were somehow produced by me alone, say, by the neurons in my brain firing in certain ways, and wouldn't the best explanation of the change in my life be that my belief that my good and loving grandmother still exists and wants me to become more unselfishly loving somehow caused those changes? There is no need to posit the existence of my grandmother to explain either my experiences of her or the changes in my life.

Something similar seems to be true when it is a question of what the best explanation of experiences of God in conscience is and of the transformation that occurs in the lives of certain people who have had those experiences. Granted that we learn over time that in some sense we cannot become more unselfishly loving through our own efforts. Still, we might reply that all that shows is that we cannot become more unselfishly loving through our own efforts if we do not believe that there is some Higher Power who will help us change. But that does not mean that the best explanation of such a change implies that there is such a Higher Power; it only means that such an explanation will involve the belief that there is such a Power. Parsimony would seem to require positing the belief as the cause, not the Higher Power which is the object of that belief. There can be a placebo effect in religion as well as in research.

Of course, this line of objection to Moser's argument grants that people learn over time that they cannot become more loving through their own efforts. But surely, over time, some atheists have become as unselfishly loving as any Christians, even if not through their own efforts alone but with the assistance of their loved ones, friends, and therapists. Of course, it may be that people generally are unable to become more unselfishly loving through their own power (see p. 137). Maybe they need the help of others, either other human beings or belief in the existence of a Higher Power. But none of these things implies that the best explanation of changes for the better in people's lives who have had God experiences is that God exists.

Moser claims that the existence of God is the best undefeated available explanation of certain experiences in conscience and of the transformation that sometimes follows. I have argued that it is not the best available explanation of those things. But even if it is, isn't it defeated by the existence of evil, particularly by the fact that we die and the fact that God remains hidden to many human beings who, according to Moser, need His help to overcome their destructive selfishness and death itself? Not according to Moser. If we understand that God's purpose is for people to enter freely into fellowship with him as unselfishly loving persons, then we can understand why there is death and why God sometimes remains hidden to some. Moser writes, "Death announces, if we listen carefully, that we need outside help, beyond our own human powers, for lasting satisfaction, meaning, and life" and "we may regard death as a curse brought or allowed by God in order to manifest the human need of God's power in the face of human selfishness and inadequacy toward life" (pp. 257, 247). He also refers to death as a divine wake-up call that serves to alert people to the fact that if they do not change their destructive selfish ways they will end up with nothing (cf., p. 257).

So much for death. But why would God remain elusive and hidden? Wouldn't he want his beloved children to know him so that they could join in fellowship with him? According to Moser, God must be careful in how he reveals himself. He wants people to worship him freely, but if the evidence he presents is overwhelming, like evidence of a throbbing toothache or splitting headache, then belief in God would be coerced (see p. 242). Non-coercive evidence from God "may intrude a bit into our experience, say in conscience, but it can readily be overlooked, ignored, suppressed, or dismissed by us, because it's intended by God not to coerce a will toward or against God but to be willingly received by humans" (p. 243). Further, God must be careful that prideful humans do not rebel against, and come to hate, Him because they do not want to relinquish their autonomy to determine on their own what they should do and what sort of persons they should be (pp. 20-1, 25). All God can do is provide evidence of his existence that will "woo" people to him and allow human suffering as a way to "nudge us to attend to otherwise neglected evidence in conscience of divine expectations for us" (pp. 243, 246). Like a skilled dietician who tailors diets to the nutritional needs of each individual, God will tailor his revelation to the spiritual needs of each individual, presumably presenting different amounts of evidence to different individuals.

Further, Moser lays the blame for people not being aware of God on the people themselves. Because we are selfish, prideful, and fearful of losing worldly goods, including our reputations and acceptance by peers, we don't want to attend to the available evidence of God's existence; we do not want willingly to receive it. Moser compares us to someone who has his ham radio tuned to the wrong frequency and so does not hear the message from God that is being broadcast on a different channel (pp. 113-18). Perhaps a better comparison would be with a man who has glued his own eyelids shut and cannot by himself open them. He will have no evidence of the existence and nature of the chandelier that hangs over his head, even though he could if he would allow a benevolent surgeon to open his eyes. For Moser, we are like this man. Through pride, selfishness, and fear of loss of worldly goods, we have glued shut our eyes to see God. We cannot through our own unaided wills open them, and we often do not ask God's help in opening them. So we lack evidence of God's existence. However, if we are truly willing to be in union with Him, he will perform the needed surgery. Of course, once he has done that we can still fail to look up. We can, so to speak, turn away so that we do not receive the visual sensations that would provide evidence of the chandelier (see Moser, pp. 5-6). Given our free will, we can ignore, dismiss, or withhold judgment even if we are aware of the evidence for God's existence, and we can disobey what it asks of us (see p. 24 for these alternatives). But God could not be faulted if we adopted any of those alternatives.

Nevertheless it seems that a good parent would eventually provide compelling evidence that she exists if knowledge of her existence is required to keep her children alive. So, in the end, why doesn't God make his existence "blazingly clear" by some sort of "heavenly fireworks" for those who have not responded to his subtle call (pp. 13, 260)? Of course, even then some will rebel against him and others will ignore or dismiss the evidence. But some won't, and like a good parent, God would want to save as many of his children as possible from the human predicament of destructive selfishness and death. For some, it is enough for God to broadcast his message on some ham radio frequency and let them find it. For others who have failed to find his message, he should tell them what frequency to tune to, since not hearing his message will mean death to those people. Moser can't reply that such overwhelming evidence of God's existence would coerce people into believing in him, for he allows that it is always possible for people with free will to turn away from the evidence or rebel against what it requires.

Moser's book reads like part of a crusade to get people to give up their selfish ways and turn to God who, according to Moser, is the only answer to the human predicament of being morally deficient and finite. For him, only a relationship to God can turn one's heart and replace despair over death with hope for eternal life. He is so committed to what he sees as God's call to love one another that he thinks that philosophers should not waste their time on anything that will not ultimately contribute to people being open to God's call and giving up their selfish and prideful ways (pp. 227, 229, 231, 234-35, 239-40).

It was brave of Moser to write The Elusive God, for he recognizes that it is a radical book, offering what many philosophers will take to be unconvincing evidential reasons for belief in God and unconvincing practical reasons for having a relationship to God, as well as proposing a radical view of what the aims and goals of philosophy should be (p. 239). By writing this overly long book (it could easily be cut in half) with the content it has, Moser puts his own philosophical reputation at risk, which I believe he realizes but does not care about because it has little value in comparison to what he believes God has called him, and everyone, to do. I hope that those who read his book, especially agnostics and atheists, will not be deterred from reading his other work in epistemology, for I am in almost complete agreement with his non-doxastic evidentialism that has non-propositional experiences as its foundations and inference to the best explanation providing support for beliefs based on those experiences. It's Moser's application of that general view to the issue of belief in God that I find problematic. He sees evidence and good God-invoking explanations of religious experiences where I see none. No doubt he will attribute this to my spiritual blindness, and that, ultimately, to my selfishness and pridefulness. Of course, I think that his views about theistic evidence and explanation rest on wishful thinking. What should epistemic peers do when they so profoundly disagree? That is a topic for another essay.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

NDPR Simon O'Sullivan, Stephen Zepke (eds.), Deleuze, Guattari and the Production of the New

Notre Dame Philosophical Reviews

2009-12-09 : View this Review Online : View Other NDPR Reviews

Simon O'Sullivan, Stephen Zepke (eds.), Deleuze, Guattari and the Production of the New, Continuum, 2008, 245pp., $130.00 (hbk), ISBN 9780826499530.

Reviewed by Peta Malins, University of Melbourne


 

The recent proliferation of books and anthologies focusing on the work of Deleuze and Guattari has been a cause for both celebration and concern. There is something unsettling about a growing commercial interest in the field: a sense that a kind of Deleuzo-Guattarian industry might be emerging, with publishers and authors churning out increasingly short-hand, commodified interpretations of their thought. Yet there is also something inescapably exciting about it all too: a sense of anticipation and delight at both the rhizomatic spread in and of itself, as well as a the possibilities that each new encounter might open up for rethinking -- and re-doing -- the contemporary world.

It was with this latter optimism that I approached Simon O'Sullivan and Stephen Zepke's Deleuze, Guattari and the Production of the New. Fortunately, O'Sullivan and Zepke's collection not only explores the importance of the 'new' to our future ethico-political health, but attests to it in its very being. Rather than re-hashing familiar Deleuze and Guattari territory, or simply capitalizing on the quirkiness of their unfamiliar concepts, this collection offers innovative in-depth encounters between these philosophers and an array of political and artistic assemblages and problematics. In doing so it necessarily shifts the ways in which we can think about Deleuze and Guattari's concepts and the various fields to which they have been connected. The collection thus acts, at least to some extent, like a lever with which we might, as Massumi suggests, begin to pry open a gap in the 'World As We Know It'.[1]

The main aim of the anthology is to explore -- and put to work -- the concept of the new as it emerges from the work of Deleuze and Guattari, particularly their jointly authored Capitalism and Schizophrenia texts and Guattari's relatively under-utilized individual works. This is a daunting task, given the central role that the production of the new plays within their philosophy: as the generative force of differentiation that drives life itself in its battle against stagnation, habit and paralysis. The editors do well, therefore, to narrow the field by outlining a range of subsidiary aims, or problematics, to which the collection is addressed. These include: the role of art and aesthetics in the production of new modes of thought and being; the capacity for repetition to become aligned with difference, rather than with recognition and representation; the problem of the new in relation to contemporary capitalism, given the extent to which creativity and innovation are being increasingly co-opted by mass marketing rhetoric and practice; and the role of the new in contemporary forms of resistance.

The anthology comprises 18 specifically commissioned essays, which each take up and extend at least one of these themes. These are preceded by a thoughtful and accessible editorial introduction, and followed, at the end of the collection, with a newly translated extract from Guattari's Cartographies Schizoanalytiques, which is itself accompanied by a short translator's introduction. Of the commissioned essays, some focus on a particular philosophical or political problematic relating to the new in Deleuze and Guattari's work, drawing out dynamic concepts of difference and repetition, time, the future, ethics, the virtual, experimentation, resistance, desire and creativity. Others focus on connecting the concept of the new to particular artistic and aesthetic sites. From science fiction to jazz, contemporary art to industrial music, cinema to cultural icons, these more grounded essays bring to life Deleuze and Guattari's concepts, putting them to work in familiar, and not so familiar, domains.

Given the wide range of themes, approaches, styles and subject matter that the anthology covers, it is perhaps a pity that the essays do not seem to have been arranged according to any particular order or thematic structure. Daniel Smith's "Deleuze and the Production of the New", for example, would have been a great essay with which to have begun the collection, for it does a great job of outlining the concept of the new within Deleuze and Guattari's (albeit primarily Deleuze's) thought. Arguing that the new, for Deleuze, operates as 'fundamental ontological concept', Smith shows how it works to shift the focus of philosophical thought from the universal and eternal, to the singular, immanent and emergent (151). By providing vivid examples and analogies -- from water boiling to someone breaking down in tears, from the singularity of the four corner points of a square to the inability to ever fully predict weather systems -- Smith brings to life some of the more complex aspects of Deleuze's metaphysics of difference, making it accessible to readers unfamiliar with his work.

Maurizio Lazzarato's "The Aesthetic Paradigm" provides a nice balance to Smith's focus on Deleuze, turning as it does to Guattari's work and the role of aesthetics in the production of a technology and ethics of the self. Noting that Guattari's aesthetic paradigm is not about an aestheticization of the political, nor is it about avant guard art practice, Lazzarato shows how it is instead about apprehending the forces that express affective, sensory and bodily changes in the world in order that we might make everyday life -- one's way of being in the world -- a kind of artistic and creative practice. Guattari's idea, he writes, was 'not to take art as an institution as our point of departure, but rather to utilize its techniques, its processes of creation and its practices in order to let them evolve into other domains' (175).

This potential for transversality is elegantly illustrated by Eugene Holland in his essay "Jazz Improvisation: Music of the People-to-Come". Through the delicate Deleuzo-Guattarian concept of the refrain, Holland shows how, through repetition of a basic chord structure, improvisational jazz creates the conditions for unrehearsed moments of creative rupture, whether deliberate or accidental, where new, unexpected notes can shift bare mechanical repetition into repetition with a difference. Drawing distinctions between the open refrains of jazz and the closed refrains of both classical music (where sheet music, a conductor and orchestral arrangements ensure minimal deviation) and commodified pop (where commercial interests ensure the production of music that pleases and distracts) Holland effectively makes the case that jazz improvisation not only affirms the production of difference, but has the potential to imbue in its audience -- its 'people to come' -- the importance of creativity, and the need to continually overcome habit through the production of the new. As Holland suggests, the kinds of spontaneous refrains mobilized through jazz might also, in other non-musical domains, have the capacity to shift static ways of being. He writes: 'the political challenge is to organize social relations so that as we launch forth on the thread of a tune, we hazard an improvisation that joins us with the World and a people to come, rather than endlessly and mechanically repeating fixed refrains' (204).

The idea that forms of artistic repetition can enable creative differentiation is also taken up by Michael Goddard in "Sonic and Cultural Noise as Production of the New: The Industrial Music Media Ecology of Throbbing Gristle". Goddard effectively mobilizes the example of Throbbing Gristle -- an (un)popular 1970s industrial music and transgressive performance group -- to show how the use of sampling and appropriation (industrial noises, album cover art, clothing, body art, modes of communication, musical and performance genres) can be mobilized as a force of creative differentiation. Throbbing Gristle's strategy of using repetition to mess with culturally accepted and anticipated sensory forms, combined with their refusal to identify with any one particular genre or aesthetic style, provide Goddard with a means of linking creative repetition to the (Deleuzian) concept of internal, generative difference: where difference is not defined in relation to something else but as an ever-evolving self-differentiation, which enables the production of the new. It is in this sense that Goddard sees Throbbing Gristle as a kind of 'war machine' against aesthetic complacency: working to challenge existing modes of listening, watching and being; producing not only new sounds and images, but new audiences too (168).

As commodity capitalism continues to extend its domination over the social desiring field, accelerating its global deterritorialisations (and corresponding reterritorialisations), finding creative ways to challenge existing modes of being and perceiving becomes increasingly urgent. In "Alterity and Desire", Bifo writes in self-described 'apocalyptic tones' about the current capitalist state of affairs, arguing that 'there is no alternative to capitalism because, by becoming semio-capitalism, it has swallowed in the grinding machine of exchange value not only life forms, but also thought, imagination and hope' (32, 30). He does nonetheless suggest one way forward, via a new ethico-aesthetics of the soul: a recomposition of bodies such that one can again 'open empathetically to the other' and become attuned to sadness, entropy, aging and death, but without being frozen by them (31).

Alberto Toscano's "In Praise of Negativism" is also less than optimistic about the possibilities for creative resistance within capitalism, noting that creativity is here always stunted by the 'bottom line' (56). Like Bifo, however, he does hold out some hope, suggesting that if creativity is primary in relation to capitalism, then a reappropriation of creativity is possible, perhaps even imminent (56). It is language to which Toscano then turns as the key site where creativity has been colonized (via communication and marketing), and where possibilities for creative resistance (through a deterritorialized 'stuttering' and 'stammering': an 'anti-production') might reside.

As the editors note in their introduction, a book of philosophical essays might not seem like much of a weapon against contemporary globalised capitalism, yet it certainly has the capacity to form part of a war machine when it is combined with -- or plugged into -- other assemblages. While this anthology does not resolve the problems of globalised capital, it does act as a timely reminder of the importance of continually engaging in practices that disturb present modes of being. More importantly, it serves to remind us that such practices, if they are to be revolutionary, must involve not only rupture (oppositional critique and deconstruction; protests and sabotage) but also creativity (the active composition of alternative modes of being, as an open production of the new). Long neglected in movements of counter-capitalism, such creativity is being increasingly mobilized in playful forms of alter-capitalist resistance and activism. The anthology affirms the importance of these shifts and the importance of celebrating the unusual, the unexpected, the unrecognizable -- whether in resistance, in art or in life more generally -- for our own health and joy and for the possibility of new futures.

Readers will find much to enjoy within this collection, whether they are familiar with Deleuze and Guattari's work or approaching it fresh. Newer readers might, however, struggle with some of the essays, particularly if they are also approaching them from outside the study of philosophy proper, given that many of the works assume at least some level of prior knowledge. This is not helped by the anthology's lack of thematic structure, and by its relatively dense final essay -- Guattari's "Consciousness and Subjectivity" -- which seems an odd choice, given that it deals with the production of molecular understandings of subjectivity, libido and the unconscious, rather than the production of the new as such.

The collection is, however, a strong one: well-written, entertaining and diverse. Further, its lack of formal structure and closure does have certain advantages, not the least that it remains true to some of Deleuze and Guattari's key ethical imperatives, namely: the importance of opening up movement and forging rhizomatic and transversal connections between problems and concepts. Too much structure, and readers may not venture far outside their comfort zone; too much organization and readers will be less likely to stumble upon something unexpected. Too much order, moreover, and there is a danger that the new will turn out to be exactly what we anticipate it to be. For it is through the creation of such uncertain and open encounters that we can really affirm the production of the new as the force of a present-yet-to-come and, through this, forge a space for new, unforseen futures.


[1] Massumi, Brian (1992) A User's Guide to Capitalism and Schizophrenia: Deviations from Deleuze and Guattari, MIT Press: Cambridge, Massachusetts, p. 103.

NDPR Talbot Brewer, The Retrieval of Ethics

Notre Dame Philosophical Reviews

2009-12-08 : View this Review Online : View Other NDPR Reviews

Talbot Brewer, The Retrieval of Ethics, Oxford UP, 2009, 344pp., $80.00 (hbk), ISBN 9780199557882.

Reviewed by Tamar Schapiro, Stanford University


 

Talbot Brewer's The Retrieval of Ethics is a deep, provocative, and wide-ranging contribution to the virtue ethical critique of modern moral philosophy. Brewer reads the history of moral philosophy from Plato and Aristotle to the present as a devolution, and his aim is to "retrieve" the insights of the Ancients in such a way as to bring out their inherently radical potential. In so doing, he hopes to resist what he sees as the current tendency to "normalize" virtue ethics, a tendency to see it as theory number three on a menu that includes Kantianism and Utilitarianism. Instead he hopes to build on the works of Anscombe, MacIntyre, and Murdoch, reviving their sense of despair and distress at what they saw as the fundamental disorientation both of modern moral philosophy and of the wider culture.

The argument is laid out in eight chapters, through which we come to see progressively both the target of Brewer's critique and the contours of his positive view. Brewer first criticizes what he calls the "world-making conception of agency", a production-oriented conception of both action and desire. In contrast to this world-making conception, he draws on neo-Platonic Christian theology to develop a truly original account of what he calls "dialectical activity" and its associated notion of desire. I will have more to say about this part of the argument below. Once the notion of dialectical activity is on the table, Brewer takes on further elements of his target view, arguing in turn that each must be reconceptualized if it is to account for dialectical activity. Some of the theses Brewer opposes along the way are familiar targets of earlier virtue theoretic critiques: the conception of action as production, the notion of pleasure as a sensation that follows upon an activity as an effect follows a cause, the thought of the personal good as something distinct from and opposed to the impersonal good, and the view that ethics trades in thin rather than thick concepts. But some of Brewer's targets are new, for example the very basic thesis that the role of practical thinking, and of moral theory generally, is to take us from a description of our circumstances to a conclusion about what we ought to do. Brewer calls even this assumption into question, arguing that the role of practical thinking is, rather, to "grasp what one is already doing in such a way as to lift it, moment by moment, closer to the ideal form in whose light it is understood" (87). The implications of this alternative view of practical thinking for moral philosophy would no doubt be radical. But Brewer is not afraid to go out on a limb when led there by the logic of his argument, carving out new conceptual space in the process. This is what makes the book refreshing.

Because of its central role in the argument, I want to focus on the notion of "dialectical activity", which Brewer introduces in the second chapter of the book. Dialectical activity is something like activity that is valued for its own sake, but whereas all dialectical activity is valued for its own sake, Brewer leaves it open whether all activity that is valued for its own sake is dialectical (39). What is distinctive of dialectical activity is not simply that it is valued for its own sake, but that our engagement in it has a certain structure. An agent engaged in dialectical activity is engaged in "an activity whose value cannot be grasped with perfect lucidity from the outset, but must be progressively clarified via engagement in the activity itself" (39). Dialectical activities have what Brewer calls a "self-unveiling character, in the sense that each successive engagement yields a further stretch of understanding of the goods internal to the activity, hence of what would count as a proper engagement in it" (37). We are drawn into such activities on the basis of a somewhat opaque "intimation" of the goods intrinsic to them (136). As we engage further, that intimation of goodness becomes more lucid and articulable, yielding a deeper understanding of what we are already doing. This understanding in turn allows us to do what we are already doing better, in a way that more fully realizes the activity's intrinsic goods.

Brewer's historical reference point in developing his notion of dialectical activity is a particular tradition of neo-Platonic Christian thought, one to which St. Augustine and the mystical theologian Gregory of Nyssa were contributors. The dialectical structure is evident in their characterizations of the longing for God, a longing for a kind of vision or understanding, the object of which would always outstrip our capacity to see and comprehend it. Brewer tries to show, independently of any theological assumptions, that activities manifesting this dialectical structure are pervasive in human life, and indeed that among them are the activities that we typically find most fulfilling and meaningful. His primary examples of dialectical activities are friendships and other love relationships, conversation, philosophical and other sorts of free inquiry, and the creation and appreciation of art. He writes:

To love another is to be drawn to another by a generous straining to bring into focus the goodness, hence desirability, of an as-yet-obscure object of desire. The lover stands ready to interpret the beloved's words and actions as signposts towards further discoveries about what it is good to be or to do, and this interpretive posture sustains and is sustained by attention-riveting appreciation of the other. At its best, this is a mutual and continuously reiterated process. It involves a readiness on the part of each to be guided by the example of the other in articulating an evolving understanding of the human good. (64)

The same dialectical structure, he claims, is evident in certain activities undertaken for their own sakes, like philosophizing. We are drawn to philosophy by an inchoate appreciation of the constitutive standards and ideals of the activity. Given favorable conditions, "our first and still halting attempts to philosophize can begin to open our eyes to the goods realizable in philosophy, bringing into progressively clearer focus the initially obscure object of whatever desire might have induced us to give it a try" (39).

Brewer's most basic claim is that once we appreciate the structure and pervasiveness of dialectical activities, we will find reason to reject the philosophical conception of agency presupposed by modern moral theories across the spectrum. That "world-making conception of agency" consists in the thesis that "all actions borrow their intelligibility as actions, and the meaning or point in the eyes of their agents, from the states of affairs that they are calculated to bring about" (12). According to Brewer, it is not only consequentialists who hold to this view. Although non-consequentialists typically deny that actions necessarily gain their meaning or value from what they bring about, Brewer maintains that they nevertheless buy into the world-making conception of agency. "Actions that are chosen for their own sake," he writes, "are not viewed as exceptions but as limiting cases: they are motivated by the desire or intention to bring it about that they occur" (12).

An initial problem with this characterization is that non-consequentialists have explicitly tried to reject the view that to perform an action valued for its own sake is simply to bring it about that a valuable event happens. Canonical discussions of the "paradox of deontology" warn against thinking of non-consequentialism this way, lest it collapse into a "utilitarianism of rights". Nagel in particular stresses both the necessity and the difficulty of characterizing the value of doings in a way that makes it irreducible to the value of happenings. Brewer does not engage these discussions explicitly, and to this extent his non-consequentialist readers will not readily recognize themselves in his depiction of them. That said, the fact that non-consequentialists feel the need to distance themselves from the world-making conception does not mean they have succeeded in defining an alternative.

A related element of Brewer's target is a conception of desire that he claims supports and is supported by the world-making conception of agency. This he calls the "propositionalist" conception of desire, consisting in three "dogmas of desire". The dogmas are: 1) that desires are propositional attitudes, i.e., desires "that such-and-such occur", 2) that one has the relevant attitude towards a proposition when one is disposed to act on the world in ways calculated to make the proposition true, and 3) that beliefs and desire can be paired to yield a rationalizing explanation of any action (16-17). While I agree with Brewer that this picture of desire is prevalent, and that it does reinforce the world-making conception of agency, it is a stretch to claim, as Brewer apparently does, that all contemporary moral philosophers share in this view. Kantians, most notably, reject the belief-desire picture on the grounds that it conflates desire and volition and fails to make room for choice. Kantians hold, moreover, that maxims are essential to motivation, and while Brewer does make a few critical remarks about this assumption, it is clearly part of a different picture than the propositionalist one, towards which he focuses his main argument.

But even if the world-making conception of agency and the propositionalist conception of desire aren't as thoroughly pervasive as Brewer suggests, it would be interesting if attention to the dialectical structure of intrinsically valuable activities allowed us to appreciate an entirely different way of conceiving of human action and the desires that motivate it. How do dialectical activities pose a challenge to the familiar world-making picture?

Brewer starts from an argument against propositionalism that is not entirely new. The claim is simply that if desires are to explain action, they have to make reference not simply to the agent's dispositions, but to the agent's evaluative conception of the world. To have a desire is not simply to be induced to bring something about, but to be guided by a conception of an object as good. This argument is familiar from Warren Quinn's article, "Putting Rationality in its Place", and it has been reiterated by Dennis Stampe and T.M. Scanlon, whom Brewer cites approvingly. Brewer calls this alternative the "evaluative outlook" conception of desire. But the evaluative outlook conception of desire, as articulated by Brewer's predecessors, had nothing to do with dialectical activity. Brewer implicitly radicalizes the evaluative outlook conception of desire in the following way. In dialectical activity, the agent is evaluatively focused on an object that he represents not only as good, but as good in an ideal sense -- as setting a kind of standard that allows for infinite approximation, infinite perfectibility. Brewer never states that he is radicalizing the evaluative outlook picture in this way, but he nevertheless relies on this revision in giving his account of the desires that draw us into dialectical activity. The idea that we see the good of the object of our desire as an ideal is not part of Quinn, Stampe, or Scanlon's conception of desire.

Brewer is explicit about radicalizing the evaluative outlook conception of desire in a further way. On both the propositionalist and the evaluative outlook conceptions of desire, desire is regarded as an attitude that has a world-to-mind direction of fit. Brewer suggests that we have to revise this idea once we take dialectical activity as a kind of paradigm (44). If desiring an object is like loving a person, then the object of our desire is something we strive to understand and appreciate, not something we aim to bring about. Similarly, Brewer wants to argue, when we love philosophy itself for its own sake, the object of our desire is the activity itself, something we strive to understand and appreciate, but not something we aim to bring about. He writes:

In the standard case . . . the desire to philosophize is not a desire that (it be the case that) one philosophizes. It is, rather, the state we are in when we feel the appeal, the tug, of philosophy's constitutive ideals. It is hard to shake the sense that this must make it a "world-making" desire after all -- i.e. that it is a functional state that inclines one to work on the world so as to make it true that we approximate these ideals in our activities. But this would be yet again to mistake the desire's proper expression for its object. Desires to engage in dialectical activities are quite literally desires for those activities, conceived in light of their constitutive ideals and internal goods. We are drawn to such things as reading or conversing or philosophizing when we have a vivid sense of the appeal of the goods internal to these activities. This way of seeing these activities does typically induce us to bring about the state of affairs in which we are reading or conversing or philosophizing, but it is not reducible to a disposition to bring about these or any other states of affairs. The object of such a desire is that towards which it draws our evaluative focus, not the state of the world that we are inclined to bring about when our evaluative attention is focused in this way. (46)

Here I take Brewer to be saying that in dialectical activity, we often express our appreciation of the goodness of the activity itself by making a difference in the world, but making that difference isn't something we aim at simply in virtue of having the desire. This makes it look as though desire has a mind-to-world direction of fit, and that it has this direction of fit exclusively. It does not also have a world-to-mind direction of fit. Brewer does not say this explicitly, so I am not sure whether it is his considered position. But the passage above does suggest that when I act out of my love for philosophy -- say, by engaging in a philosophical conversation -- I may be realizing the ideal that I love, but I am not thereby fulfilling my desire. My desire is not a demand or a proposal or an invitation to do anything, and so what I do cannot count as fulfilling or satisfying or acting on it. At most, my action counts as the expression of my desire, as laughing counts as an expression of joy.

Brewer does not give his rival conception of desire a name other than the "evaluative outlook" conception, but as I have mentioned, his view is much more radical than standard versions of that conception. If I were to name it, I would call it a conception of "desire as love", where love is understood on the model of ideal interpersonal love. If this conception is indeed intended to play the roles that desire is normally thought to play in a theory of agency, then it really does constitute a new and interesting contribution to contemporary debates.

The question I have is whether, in purifying his view of even the slightest trace of the world-making conception of agency, Brewer has rejected agency as such. One way to put my worry might be this: Brewer rejects the propositionalist's claim that desires are "desires that" such-and-such be the case in favor of the view that they are "desires for" a beloved object, whether it be an agent or an activity. But the notion of desire we need for a theory of agency is "desire to". If, by "desires for", Brewer means desires that can only be expressed by, but cannot be fulfilled by, actions that produce changes in states of affairs, then what sense can we give to the fundamental idea of having and fulfilling a "desire to x"? Suppose that, in virtue of my love of philosophy, I have a desire to write a paper on a certain topic. Presumably I can fulfill that desire by writing the paper. In that sense, actually writing the paper is the object of my desire. My desire is a desire to write the paper, and I fulfill it by writing the paper. I don't think this need imply that the object of my desire is a state of affairs, rather than my ideal of philosophical activity. In adopting and working towards my goal of writing the paper, I am valuing it as one limited way of realizing my ideal. Love for an ideal typically generates desires to do the things that one sees as realizing those ideals. Having those desires involves setting ends, the realization of which determines the standard by which we judge whether those desires have been fulfilled. Brewer's account of desire makes it hard to see how desiring can involve the setting of ends, which in turn makes it hard to see how desires can be fulfilled or thwarted. So while the account does seem to capture characteristic features of loving an ideal, I find it less plausible as an account of the desires that spring from that love.

Here I have addressed only one strand of the argument of an enormously rich book that draws fruitfully upon philosophical, literary, and theological works and covers an incredibly broad swath of philosophical terrain. Notably, I have ignored Brewer's detailed interpretations of Aristotle's notions of pleasure, friendship, and contemplation, and his provocative discussion of the aim of theoretical reason (which he claims is "understanding" rather than "true belief"). The book is quite long, and the writing ranges from truly poetic to slightly overwrought, but readers who are unable to work through the whole argument can for the most part benefit from reading chapters in isolation. Each has drama, depth, and insight. In sum, The Retrieval of Ethics is a challenging and rewarding contribution not only to the narrow field called "virtue ethics", but to practical philosophy very broadly construed.