Ethica - Volume 1
Ethica presents our first edition featuring some truly original and thoughtful essays on a diverse range of interesting philosophical issues.
Ethica presents our first edition featuring some truly original and thoughtful essays on a diverse range of interesting philosophical issues.
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ETHICA
Issue 1, 2021
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Volume 1
2021
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CONTENTS
Assuring Through the Written Word: a new defence of the assurance view of
testimony.
5
Ought fertile same-sex couples seeking to reproduce undergo genetic testing in
order to determine who should contribute genetic material to their future child(ren)?
17
Argument for the Impossibility of Free Immoral Action in Kant 29
When Harry Sexually Harassed Sally - An extension of the behavioural view for
consent
36
Can Science Explain Consciousness? 47
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Assuring Through the Written Word: a new defence of the assurance view
of testimony.
Abstract:
Benjamin Clark
The Assurance View of testimony holds that testimonially warranted beliefs can be acquired by an audience only if an
interpersonal, assurance-based relationship has been established between a testifier and that audience. However, both
advocates and adversaries of the Assurance View have considered whether the assurance relation holds primarily from
within the paradigm of spoken testimony, in which a speaker audibly tells a hearer something and the hearer believes the
speaker. This essay explores the additional problems that arise for the Assurance View when the assurance relation is
considered from within the paradigm of written testimony, such as that offered in letters, text messages, and informative
non-fiction books. The main aim of the essay is to provide a novel defence of the Assurance View by suggesting certain
amendments that could be made which would allow it to account for the problematic cases that arise from considerations
pertaining to assurance through the written word. In offering such a defence, the essay demonstrates how the Assurance
View can still be considered one of the main accounts in the epistemology of testimony.
1. Introduction
According to the Assurance View of testimony,
testimonially warranted beliefs are acquired on
the basis of the establishment of an
interpersonal, assurance-based relationship
between a testifier and her audience. The
Assurance View is typically presented and
defended from within the paradigm of spoken
testimony between a speaker and a hearer, paying
little attention, if any, to other important ways of
acquiring testimonial beliefs, such as through
written testimony. Accordingly, this essay will
assess the adequacy of the Assurance View in
terms of how well it can account for cases of
written testimony that we ordinarily think
provide us with testimonially warranted beliefs,
such as letters, text messages, and informative
non-fiction books. Understanding testimony
from within this alternative paradigm will prove
to present the Assurance View with more
challenges—in the for m of potential
counterexamples—than has previously been
acknowledged in the literature. However, this
essay aims to show that, given certain
appropriate amendments, the Assurance View
can provide adequate answers to such challenges.
Therefore, the primary aim of this essay is to
provide a novel defence of the Assurance View.
The essay will proceed as follows. In §2, I will
outline and elucidate the main features of
Richard Moran’s influential account of the
Assurance View of testimony. Then, in §§3-5, I
will defend the Assurance View against a series
of potential counterexamples to its central claim:
that the establishment of an assurance relation is
a necessary condition for an audience to acquire
a testimonially warranted belief. More
specifically, in §3, I will defend the Assurance
View against “the problem of over-readers”,
which consists of cases which suggest that anyone
who witnesses the establishment of an assurance
relation is in a position to acquire a testimonially
warranted belief, including those people who
were not offered an assurance by the testifier.
Then, in §4, I will consider and reject “the
problem of the secret diary”, which suggests
that there are cases in which no assurance
relation is established, yet the reader is still
considered to have acquired a testimonially
warranted belief from the author’s testimony.
Finally, in §5, I will outline and respond to “the
problem of no author”, which suggests that
there are cases in which an audience can acquire
a testimonially warranted belief from a potential
assurance relation which has not been, and
cannot be, actualised, for the testifier has died by
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the time the relation could have been established.
I finish with a brief conclusion in §6.
2 . Moran’s Assurance View:
One of the “central goals” of the Assurance
View—or, as it is sometimes called, “the
Interpersonal View” 1—is to offer an account of
what makes the epistemic warrant provided by
testimony distinctive from the epistemic warrant
provided by other epistemic sources, such as
perception, memory and inference. 2 Advocates
of the Assurance View aim to achieve this goal
by arguing that a speaker’s testimony ‘that p’
provides her audience with a special kind of
reason for believing ‘that p’, called an
“interpersonal” or “testimonial” reason. 3 Such
reasons, the Assurance theorist holds, are
generated by the interpersonal relationships
established between a speaker and her audience
whenever the speaker successfully performs the
illocutionary act of assuring her audience that p. 4
By offering such an account, the Assurance View
opposes the Inferentialist—or, Evidential—views
of the epistemology of testimony, which hold
that the fact that a speaker has offered testimony
to an audience can at most provide nondistinctive,
evidential reasons from which the
audience can infer the truth of what the speaker
says. 5 Accordingly, this section will outline
Richard Moran’s influential critique of the
Evidential View before elucidating the details of
his specific account of the Assurance View.
In his paper “Getting Told and Being Believed”,
Moran states that he wants to examine “the basic
relationship between people when one person
tells a second something, and the second person
believes him”, for he claims that this is “the basic
way knowledge gets around”. 6 Through the
course of his examination, Moran wants to find
an adequate answer to the question of why a
speaker’s testimony provides an epistemic reason
for a hearer to believe what the speaker tells her.
Moran argues that the Evidential View of
testimony cannot provide an adequate answer to
this question, for it faces what Faulkner has since
called “the problem of intentionality”. 7 Regarding
this problem, Moran writes: “if we are
considering speech as evidence, we will
eventually have to face the question of how
recognition of its intentional character could
ever enhance rather than detract from its epistemic
value for an audience”. 8
Since speech acts are performed by rational
beings, they are acts which are performed for an
intended purpose; and since people are known to
persuade, mislead, exaggerate, or otherwise act in
their interests, the Evidential View will be
challenged to explain how testimony could be
more than “tainted” or “doctored” evidence in
light of its intentional character. 9 For example,
finding a handkerchief at the scene of the crime
may provide the detective with a good reason to
suppose that X did it. But if the detective later
found out that the handkerchief was deliberately
placed there by Y, then it would seem that Y had
some agenda for doing so, which would detract
from the epistemic value that the evidence would
1 Richard Leonard, “Testimony, evidence and interpersonal reasons”, Philosophical Studies 173, no. 9 (2016), 2333.
2 Philip Nickel, “Assurance view of testimony”, in The Routledge Handbook of Social Epistemology, ed. Miranda Fricker et al,
(New York: Routledge 2019), 96-7.
3 Richard Moran, “Replies to my critics”, Philosophical Explorations 23, no. 3 (2020), 304.
4 Philosophers who have explicitly defended the Assurance View include: Edward Hinchman (2005; 2014); Benjamin
McMyler (2011); Richard Moran (2006; 2018); Angus Ross (1986); and Linda Zagzebski (2012).
5 For more on the distinction between inferentialist and non-inferentialist accounts, see Chapter 3 of Miranda Fricker’s
book, Epistemic Injustice (Oxford: Oxford University Press 2007).
6 Richard Moran, “Getting Told and Being Believed”, in the epistemology of testimony, ed. Jennifer Lackey and Ernest Sosa
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 273.
7 Paul Faulkner, Knowledge on Trust, (Oxford: Oxford University Press 2011), 138. His emphasis.
8 Moran, “Getting Told and Being Believed”, 278. His emphasis.
9 Moran, “Getting Told and Being Believed”, 277-78.
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have had for the detective if Y hadn’t planted the
evidence. Accordingly, Moran argues that, in
general, treating testimony as evidence seems to
be a less reliable way of learning what a speaker
believes than, say, brain-scans or private
observation of their behaviour.
Yet, in contrast to the Evidential View, Moran
thinks that a speaker’s act of telling an audience
something can add epistemic value for the
audience. To explain how, Moran appeals to
Grice’s distinction between “deliberately and
openly letting someone know” and “telling”. 10
Grice illustrates this distinction through two
cases. In the first, a photograph is presented to
the audience “of Mr. Y displaying undue
familiarity to Mrs. X”, whereas, in the second, a
drawing is shown to the audience of “a picture
of Mr. Y behaving in this manner”. 11
Concerning the former case, the person who
presented her audience with the photograph
would be letting the audience know that Mr. Y
was displaying undue familiarity to Mrs. X. But
Grice argues that the audience could form this
belief about Mr. Y’s behaviour regardless as to
whether the person showing the photograph
intended for the audience to form this belief.
The photograph would have the same epistemic
significance whether it was found accidentally or
whether it was shown with the intention of
letting us know. Therefore, the audience would
treat the photograph as evidence for the truth of
what it shows regardless of any intentions held
by the person who produces the photograph.
By contrast, concerning the latter case, Grice
argues that whether or not the audience has
reasons to form a belief will depend upon the
intentions of the drawer. That is, the audience
would not be able to discern whether Mr. Y was
displaying undue familiarity to Mrs. X simply by
being shown the drawing (and therefore the
drawing would have no epistemic significance for
them) unless the audience recognised that the
intention of the drawer was to induce that belief
from his drawing. Equally, the thought is that a
speaker’s intentions behind his act of telling adds
epistemic value because the intentions of the
speaker generate a reason for the audience to
believe what he says. So, Grice’s cases show that
in telling an audience something, as opposed to
merely letting them know, it is essential that the
audience recognises the intentions of the person
telling them in order to have a reason to believe
what they are told. This leads to Grice’s
definition of “telling”:
A uttered x with the intention of
inducing a belief by means of the
recognition of this intention. 12
However, Moran notes that this definition is
inadequate as it stands to explain why an
audience has a reason to believe the speaker, for
just because an agent A intends for another
agent B to do something, this fact alone does not
always give B a reason to comply. For example,
just because you recognise that I want you to
give me all of your money, this fact alone does
not provide you with a reason to actually do so.
Equally, just because a recipient of testimony
recognises that the testifier is intending to induce
a belief in her by means of the recognition of
the testifier’s intention, this does not give the
recipient a reason to believe what the speaker
wants her to believe.
To solve this problem, Moran adds to Grice’s
account that the speaker must assume
responsibility for the truth of the belief that he
is intending to induce:
The speaker intends not just that the
recognition of his intention play a
role in producing belief that P, but
that the particular role this
recognition should play is that of
showing the speaker to be assuming
10 Moran, “Getting Told and Being Believed”, 285.
11 Paul Grice, “Meaning”, The Philosophical Review 66, no. 3 (1957), 382.
12 Grice, “Meaning”, 384.
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responsibility for the status of his
utterance as a reason to believe P. 13
Moran argues that it is this assumption of
responsibility which makes the speaker’s
assertion one that has the force of providing an
audience with an epistemic reason to believe
what the speaker asserts. This is because the
testifier is offering his assertion in a way that
makes him “accountable for the truth of what he
says, and in doing so offers a kind of guarantee
for its truth”. 14 That is, Moran argues that, if the
audience recognises that the speaker is intending
to assume responsibility for the truth of what he
asserts, then the audience is provided with a
non-evidential, distinctly testimonial reason for
believing the speaker. 15 The reason is taken to be
non-evidential in the sense that it is provided by
the establishment of an interpersonal, normative
relationship between two people, whereas
evidential reasons are typically considered to be
impersonal and individualistic. 16
Yet Moran suggests that the account of the
transfer of testimonial warrant considered thus
far is still inadequate as it stands, for a testifier
cannot either assume to be, or be assumed to be,
responsible for something if they fail to meet a
set of background conditions. That is, Moran
argues that “it must be assumed by both parties
that the speaker… possesses the relevant
knowledge, trustworthiness, and reliability” in
order for him to be considered responsible. 17 If
the audience assumes that the testifier is
unreliable based on, for example, his past
tendency to lie, then the audience would clearly
not be warranted in believing him, even if he
was offering accountability for the truth of what
he asserted. Therefore, the interpersonal
relationship in which a speaker provides a
testimonial reason for an audience’s belief can be
established only if such background conditions
on the speaker are mutually believed to be
satisfied by both the speaker and his audience.
We are now in a position to offer Moran’s
complete account of the necessary and sufficient
conditions required for the establishment of an
interpersonal relationship in which the audience
comes to acquire testimonially warranted beliefs
from a testifier: (i) the testifier must tell the
audience that p (in the above sense whereby the
testifier assumes responsibility for the truth of
his assertion), and (ii) both parties must assume
that the testifier meets certain background
conditions of reliability. 18 Concerning (i), Moran
takes “telling” to involve “assurance” insofar as
the testifier is acting as a kind of guarantor for
the truth of (the content of) what they assert.
Therefore, it is the assurance aspect of “telling”
that seems to do all of the epistemic work in the
interpersonal relationship. As such, the transfer
of testimonial warrant depends upon the relation
of assurance holding between testifier and
audience. So, what is the nature of that relation?
An assurance relation is similar to a promise in
the sense that an utterance that is intended by a
speaker to offer a promise to the addressee of
that utterance is merely a potential promise,
which can become an actual promise only if the
addressee recognises that the speaker intended to
offer her a promise through his utterance. That
is, offering an assertion as an assurance only
becomes an assurance once it is recognised as
such by the intended recipient of that assertion.
Therefore, in order to establish the interpersonal
relationship which is necessary for the transfer
of testimonial reasons, the assurance relation
must be a three-part relation of the form “A
13 Moran, “Getting Told and Being Believed”, 289-90.
14 Moran, “Getting Told and Being Believed”, 283.
15 See Jennifer Lackey, Learning From Words (Oxford: Oxford University Press 2008), 223.
16 Moran, “Replying to my critics”, 304.
17 Moran, “Getting Told and Being Believed”, 289.
18 See Frederick Schmitt, “The Assurance View of Testimony”, in Social Epistemology, ed. Adrian Haddock, Alan Millar, and
Duncan Pritchard (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 219.
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assures B that p”, for the relation can be
established if, and only if, both (a) the speaker
offers an assurance, and (b) the intended
audience recognises that an assurance is being
offered.
In the next three sections of this essay, I will
consider a series of potential counterexamples
which could be presented against the Assurance
View when it is considered from within the
paradigm of written testimony. Accordingly, I
will assume that everything that has been
expressed in terms of “speaker” and “hearer”, or
“audience”, in Moran’s account can be specified
in terms of “writer” and “reader”. This
assumption seems reasonable because the
assurance relation only requires that a testifier
has offered an assertion with certain intentions,
and it seems uncontroversial that people can
assert through writing as well as speech.
3. The Problem of Overhearers/Over-
Readers
A standard problem presented against the
Assurance View is that it fails to account for
cases in which beliefs are formed on the basis of
testimony by people who are not the intended
audience of the testifier, but who simply
“overhear” the testifier telling their intended
audience something. In such cases, the assurance
relation does not hold between the testifier and
the overhearer, yet some philosophers hold that
it is intuitive that the overhearer has acquired a
testimonially warranted belief. 19 If such
intuitions are well-founded, then this would
undermine the Assurance View, for the
assurance relation would not be required in order
for an audience to acquire testimonially
warranted beliefs. This problem can also be
specified in terms of those who read someone’s
written testimony and, despite not being the
intended audience, form a belief based on the
writer’s telling someone else – call such people
“over-readers”. The details of this problem can
be illustrated through the following case:
Case One – OVER-READER: Emma
writes and sends a text message to Pete to
tell him that she is going to London this
weekend. When Pete opens the message,
John, who is sitting next to Pete, reads the
text message from Emma on Pete’s phone.
On the basis of Emma’s testimony, both
Pete and John form the belief that Emma
is going to London this weekend. 20
Concerning this case, the Assurance theorist
would argue that Pete has acquired the
testimonially warranted belief that Emma is going
to London this weekend, but that John has not
acquired a belief with this status. This is because
the assurance relation holds between Pete and
Emma, but not between John and Emma, for
Pete is the intended audience of Emma’s
testimony whereas John is simply an over-reader.
The only way that John could possess a reason
for the relevant belief, the Assurance theorist
would hold, is by treating Emma’s assertion as
evidence for the truth of what she asserts, and
by inferring from considerations about her
reliability. Moreover, since John recognises that
Emma is assuring Pete, it seems that this
assurance acts as good evidence for the truth of
her assertion, for Emma is acting as a kind of
guarantor for the truth of what she asserts to
Pete. Yet, the Assurance theorist would maintain,
John could not have a distinctly testimonial reason
for believing Emma, but merely an evidential
reason.
The fact that overhearers/over-readers are not
assured by a telling which is not addressed to
them is confirmed by the illocutionary norms
that accompany a successful assurance relation.
As Moran writes about the overhearer: “He has
not himself been told anything, much less
promised anything, and no right of complaint
has been conferred on him”. 21 That is, Moran
would argue that Pete has a right to complain if
19 Philosophers who endorse the problem of overhearers include Lackey (2008), Leonard (2016), and Owens (2006).
20 For a similar case, see Benjamin McMyler “The Epistemic Significance of Address”, Synthese 190, no. 6 (2013), 1064.
21 Moran, “Getting Told and Being Believed”, 295. His emphasis.
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Emma’s assertion turns out to be false, whereas
John would not have such a right even if he feels
disappointed about not acquiring a true belief
from what she says. Moran argues that the right
to complain comes from a testifier having told
her addressee something, and since an overreader
has not been addressed, they have not
been told anything. This is shown through the
different ways that John and Pete would respond
to challenges to their respective beliefs that
Emma is going to London this weekend. Pete
would reply to such challenges to his belief by
saying that “Emma told me”, whereas John
would have to offer a much more convoluted
response such as “I was sitting next to Pete, read
his message from Emma, noticed that she was
telling Pete, etc…”. 22
However, objectors to the Assurance View argue
that it fails to adequately account for cases like
Case One because they think that, whether the
author’s testimony was addressed to her or not,
there is no salient difference to the epistemic
status of the reader’s testimony-based belief. 23
For example, Elizabeth Fricker has argued that a
testifier’s telling is a “public good” available to
everyone (including overhearers/over-readers),
and that “[t]here is no special entitlement to
believe (nor requirement, epistemic or moral)
made available to the intended audience of the
telling, which is not available to anyone else”. 24
Fricker is cited by David Owens who also argues
that, in cases such as Case One, it is intuitive that
any reader can “believe the speaker or take their word
for it even though this word was not addressed to
them”. 25 Accordingly, Owens would argue that it
is intuitive that John can believe Emma for the
truth of her assertion even if John believes what
she says merely by treating her assertion (or
assurance) as evidence, which would suggests
that John can acquire testimonial warrant for his
belief that Emma is going to London this
weekend.
Owens’s objection amounts to the claim that the
class of testimonial warrant is greater than the
class of testimonial warrant provided by the
establishment of an assurance relation. That is,
Owens argues from the apparent intuition that
an over-reader can believe the writer, rather than
merely what they write, to the conclusion that
there must be testimonial warrant that is not
based on an assurance relation. However, I do
not find it intuitive that the over-reader believes
the testifier in cases such as Case One, rather
than merely what the testifier writes. In Case
One, I do not think it is intuitive to say that John
believed Emma for the truth of her assertion,
taking her word for it, for John was never presented
with Emma’s word. Instead, especially given the
responses that Pete and John would reasonably
offer to a challenge to provide reasons for their
respective beliefs, it seems more intuitive to say
that John believed that Emma was asserting
something true by inferring from the fact that
she attempted to assure Pete. Conversely, it
seems more plausible that Pete believes Emma,
taking her word for it, and that he does not need
to treat her assertion as evidence from which to
infer whether her assertion is true in order to
have a reason to believe what she tells him.
Since it is possible to be reasonable in finding it
intuitive that over-readers and overhearers can
only acquire evidential rather than testimonial
reasons for believing the testifier, the balance of
intuitions need not support Owens’s objection.
That is, it seems that different people could
reasonably develop different intuitions about
22 For a similar point, see McMyler, “The Epistemic Significance of Address”, 1065.
23 McMyler, “The Epistemic Significance of Address”, 1060.
24 Elizabeth Fricker “Second-Hand Knowledge”, Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 73, no. 3 (2006), 598.
25 David Owens, Normativity and Control (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 235. His emphasis.
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who acquires testimonially warranted beliefs in
cases like Case One. 26 Therefore, I agree with
Vermaire that overhearer objections “aren’t
decisive”, 27 for they depend upon what people
find intuitive about cases, which may reasonably
vary between people.
So far, the problem of over-readers has only
been considered in parallel to the existing
literature, which only considers the case of
overhearing under the paradigm of spoken
testimony. However, by thinking about the
overhearer problem in terms of written
testimony, another more fundamental challenge
arises for the Assurance View. To see this,
consider the fact that authors of informative
non-fiction books often do not know exactly
who is going to read their books, whereas in
spoken testimony it is often the case that the
speaker is addressing a determinate audience in
front of them. Authors could be writing to an
indefinitely large audience, and the audience
could include specific people who they did not
expect to read their book. Therefore, it could be
argued that, due to the vast ambiguity
surrounding the intended audience of an author,
everyone who reads their book would count as
an over-reader. But according to the Assurance
View, over-readers cannot acquire testimonially
warranted beliefs. So, it could be argued that no
testimonially warranted beliefs can be acquired
from informative non-fiction books.
This would be a problem for the Assurance View
because it seems that when someone turns to
informative books such as textbooks or
encyclopaedias, they would have an epistemic
right to complain if what the author was telling
them turned out to be false, for the book should
have been written with the intention of inducing
accurate beliefs in its readers by its nature as
informative. Assurance theorists argue that such
an epistemic right is generated from the
assumption of responsibility on the part of the
author, and it seems plausible that most authors
of non-fiction books would intend to assume
such responsibility. Therefore, if the assurance
relation cannot be established for any
informative books, then it seems that it can be
rejected that the Assurance View is an accurate
theory of the transfer of testimonial warrant.
However, I think that advocates of the
Assurance View would respond to this challenge
by arguing that the intended audience may not be
as determinate as in cases of spoken testimony,
but nevertheless the author can adequately pick
out their intended audience under a description,
or set of descriptions, that designates the
appropriate class of people. For example, a
textbook may be published for a certain level of
student, so the author’s intended audience would
be the students at this level (and perhaps their
teachers). Everyone who does not fall under this
description may be classed as over-readers. Or,
the author may have a larger intended audience
that is non-specific, in which case their
description may plausibly be: “everyone who
reads and understands my intentions to both tell
them and assume responsibility for the truth of
what I say”. Therefore, with a more precise
understanding of what is meant by an “intended
audience”, the Assurance View may be able to
account for the challenge that all readers of
informative non-fiction books would be overreaders.
The next section will address another popular
problem that is structurally similar to the
problem of over-readers: the problem of the
secret diary. That problem, I will argue, fails to
undermine the Assurance View owing to a
similar imbalance of reasonable intuitions
regarding the problem cases it presents against
the Assurance View.
4.The Problem of the Secret Diary
As with the objection considered in the previous
section, the problem of the secret diary is
commonplace in the philosophical literature as a
26 For example, Jennifer Lackey (in Learning From Words) shares David Owens’s intuitions about this case, and Benjamin
McMyler (in “The Epistemic Significance of Address”) shares Moran’s.
27 Matthew Vermaire, “Retraction and testimonial justification: a new problem for the assurance view”, Philosophical Studies
177, no. 12 (2020), 3963.
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potential counterexample to the necessity of an
assurance relation for the acquisition of
testimonially warranted beliefs. It seems to be
the main, if not the only, time when
philosophers concerned with testimonially
warranted beliefs acknowledge the problems
with accounts of testimony from within the
domain of written testimony. The problem
consists of cases in which the assurance relation
does not hold because the author does not
intend to tell anyone anything through her
writing, and so there cannot be an interpersonal
relationship established between the reader and
writer. As with the previous potential
counterexample, an example case will be
illustrative:
Case Two – SECRET DIARY: Natalie
writes down a series of propositions that
express her beliefs in her personal and
private diary, including “I am in love with
Aran”. She does not intend for anyone to
ever read her diary, and hopes to destroy it
before it ever gets out of her hands. One
day, Harry finds and reads the diary,
recognising that Natalie is expressing her
beliefs, including the belief that she is in
love with Aran. Consequently, Harry
forms the belief that Natalie is in love
with Aran.
Concerning this case, Harry is not part of
Natalie’s intended audience, and so Natalie does
not tell Harry anything. Accordingly, since the
Assurance View holds that the establishment of
an assurance relation is a necessary condition for
an audience to acquire testimonially warranted
beliefs, and since no such relation has been
established between Harry and Natalie, the
Assurance theorist must conclude that Harry
cannot form any testimonially warranted beliefs
from Natalie’s assertion. As with the problem of
over-readers, the problem of the secret diary is
articulated in terms of our intuitions about
whether the reader believes the person, qua
testifier, or whether the reader can only treat the
writer’s testimony as evidence for the truth of
what she asserts.
Similar to his argument concerning Case One,
Owens argues that “one may trust a secret diary,
believe the writer, take their word for it, and so
forth, even though (as one knows) the writer was
quite determined to have the diary destroyed
before anyone could see it”. 28 Moreover, in
response to the claim that the author has not
told anyone anything, Owens argues elsewhere
that “the diarist may not have told me anything,
but his diary has and to believe his diary is to
believe him, to take his word for it”. 29 Therefore,
Owens argues that it is intuitive that a reader can
always believe a writer, regardless of whether
they are part of the writer’s intended audience or
not, and regardless of whether there is any
intended audience at all.
However, as previously argued with respect to
Case One, I am inclined to disagree that this is
intuitive. I think that it is at least as intuitive, if
not more intuitive, that Harry believes that
Natalie is expressing a true proposition rather
than believing Natalie, qua testifier, in Case Two.
Natalie does not seem to be offering her word at
all, and so it would seem incorrect to say that
Harry can “take her word for it”. Moreover, if
Harry was challenged to specify what reason he
has for believing that Natalie is in love with
Aran, it seems incorrect for him to say “Natalie
told me”, as opposed to the more convoluted “I
read the words in her diary, noticed she was
recording her beliefs, etc…”. Yet it seems more
plausible that Harry infers that Natalie’s assertion
is good evidence for the truth of what she
asserts from the fact that, without an intended
audience, Natalie has no reason to deceive
anyone, and that, in the context of writing in a
private diary, she would likely be expressing her
beliefs with the force of deeply held convictions.
Other commentators on the problem of the
secret diary agree that it is not intuitive to say
28 Owens, Normativity and Control, 235.
29 David Owens, “Testimony and Assertion”, Philosophical Studies 130, no. 1 (2006), 118. His emphasis.
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that an assertion can provide a testimonial
reason for someone’s belief when there is no
intended audience for that assertion. 30 McMyler,
for example, has argued that “if we stipulate that
we are imagining a case in which a diarist’s
statements are not addressed to anyone, then I
think it is far from clear that reading the diarist’s
[statements] puts one in a position of having
been told anything by the diarist”, even if it can
“give one very good grounds for belief ”. 31
Therefore, similar to the considerations I offered
with respect to Case One, the balance of what it
is reasonable to find intuitive concerning Case
Two is not necessarily in favour of an objector
like Owens, making the problem of the secret
diary equally indecisive. The fact that there is a
disagreement concerning whether a reader’s
being addressed by a writer makes a salient
epistemic difference to a reader’s testimonybased
belief indicates that there are no decisive
intuitions either way. Therefore, the problem of
the secret diary also fails to undermine the
Assurance View.
In the next section of this essay, I will outline
and address what I consider to be the most
potent potential counterexample to the
Assurance View’s claim that the establishment of
an assurance relation is a necessary condition for
a reader to acquire testimonially warranted
beliefs: the problem of no author. Instead of
focusing on cases in which the assurance relation
fails to hold because of something to do with
the reader—such as that she is not addressed by
the testifier—the problem of no author
considers cases in which a reader is addressed,
yet the assurance relation fails to hold because of
a problem concerning the author of the written
testimony.
5. The Problem of No Author:
Unlike most of the counterexamples to the
Assurance View presented in the previous
sections, the problem presented in this section
has not been previously discussed in the
literature because, at least in its presentation, it is
a problem that arises exclusively for the
acquisition of testimonially warranted beliefs
from written testimony. The problem turns on
the idea that there can be cases in which, from
the reader’s subjective point of view, the reader
has acquired a testimonially warranted belief
because, from their perspective, the assurance
relation holds; yet in reality (objectively) no such
relation has been established. I argue that such
cases are possible when both of the following
conditions hold: (i) the author of a written piece
of testimony has died by the time the reader
comes to recognise the author’s intended
assurance, and (ii) the reader is unaware of the
death of the author.
In such cases, it could be considered plausible
that the reader has acquired a testimonially
warranted belief from a potential rather than an
actual assurance, which would show that the
establishment of an assurance relation is not
necessary for the acquisition of testimonially
warranted beliefs. To illustrate the details of this
problem for the Assurance View, consider the
following case:
Case Three – NO AUTHOR: Emma
sends a text to Pete to tell him that she is
going to London this weekend. However,
there is a network delay in the text delivery
and, in this delay period before Pete receives
the text message, Emma dies. The fact that
Emma has died is both unknown and
unknowable to Pete before he receives and
reads the text message. Once he has done
so, Pete recognises that Emma is telling
him that she is going to London this
weekend and, on that basis, forms the
belief that Emma is going to London this
weekend.
The following argument could be made from
Case Three to claim that the establishment of an
assurance relation is not necessary for the
acquisition of testimonially warranted beliefs.
Since Emma has asserted that she is going to
30 For example, see Fricker, “Second-Hand Knowledge”, 597; and McMyler, “The Epistemic Significance of Address”,
1077.
31 McMyler, “The Epistemic Significance of Address”, 1077.
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London this weekend to Pete with the force of a
telling, the Assurance View would claim she has
intended both to induce this belief in Pete by
means of the recognition of this intention, and
to assume responsibility for the truth of what
she asserts. Pete has then recognised Emma’s
intentions which, according to the Assurance
View, would provide him with a reason for belief
that is distinctly testimonial. Therefore, Pete has
a testimonial reason for believing Emma that she
is going to London this weekend, which shows
that Pete is testimonially warranted in holding
this belief. Yet the assurance relation is never
established between Emma and Pete because, by
the time Pete comes to recognise that Emma
intends to assume responsibility for the truth of
what she asserts, she is already dead. Therefore,
since Emma’s merely potential assurance seems
to provide Pete with a testimonially warranted
belief, it follows that an actual assurance is not a
necessary condition for the acquisition of
testimonially warranted beliefs.
Assurance theorists could respond to this
argument by appealing to the idea that there are
two aspects to the reason for belief given by a
speaker’s telling. First, there is an internal aspect,
which follows from Pete recognising that Emma
is asserting with the intentions of both inducing
a belief in him, and assuming responsibility for
the truth of what she asserts. Second, there is an
external aspect, which follows from the assurance
relation (in fact) holding between Emma and
Pete, which would have made Emma (in fact)
responsible for the truth of what she asserts. So,
although Pete may have acquired a distinctly
testimonial reason for his belief by recognising
Emma’s intentions to assure him, that reason has
only the internal aspect: it is merely based on
Pete’s believing or assuming that the assurance
relation holds between him and Emma, and thus
believing that Emma is actually accountable for
the truth of what she asserted. Yet these beliefs
are mistaken: the assurance relation does not
actually hold and Emma is not actually
responsible for the truth of her assertion
because she is dead. Therefore, in Case Three,
the external aspect of the reason—which would
have been generated by the fact that the
assurance relation had actually been established
—is missing.
The Assurance theorist could then argue that the
internal aspect of the testimonial reason is
insufficient to provide Pete with an adequately
warranted testimonial belief, for it is only when
the reason has both of its aspects that it is a
good enough reason for someone to actually be
testimonially warranted. That is, although Pete
may have a testimonial reason for belief based
on Emma’s offer of assurance, it is not a good
enough reason without it actually being the case
that the assurance relation holds. Pete might have
judged that it is a good enough reason based on
the reliability and trustworthiness of Emma, but
it is not actually a good enough reason because
she does not actually assume responsibility for
the truth of what she asserts. Therefore, if the
Assurance View was amended so that it requires
both aspects of a testimonial reason in order for
someone to acquire a testimonially warranted
belief, then the establishment of the assurance
relation would be necessary for a belief to obtain
the epistemic status of a belief that is adequately
testimonially warranted. Hence, in Case Three,
the amended Assurance View would suggest that
Pete is not adequately testimonially warranted in
believing that Emma is going to London this
weekend, even though he would have been if
Emma was alive when he received her text
message.
Therefore, the problem of no author has shown
that, as a point of clarity, the Assurance View
must provide an account of what constitutes a
sufficient testimonial reason for a testimonybased
belief – an account which plausibly
includes an exposition of the internal and
external aspects of testimonial reasons.
6. Conclusion
The Assurance View has typically been presented
and defended under the paradigm of spoken
testimony. This essay sought to assess the
adequacy of the Assurance View under the
alternative paradigm of written testimony. It has
done so through an exploration and assessment
of counterexamples to the Assurance View’s
claim that the establishment of an assurance
relation is necessary for the acquisition of
testimonially warranted beliefs. This exploration
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and assessment has shown that, in order to
account for the fact that written testimony often
seems to address an ambiguous audience, Moran
needs to specify what constitutes an intended
audience. Also, Moran needs to provide an
explicit account of what constitutes a sufficient
reason for belief based on testimony, perhaps
encompassing both an internal and external
aspect. Accordingly, this essay has shown that,
with appropriate amendments, Moran’s
Assurance View can plausibly account for the
problem cases presented against it from
considerations of written testimony. Therefore,
this essay has demonstrated that there are good
grounds for holding that the Assurance View
should remain one of the main accounts in the
epistemology of testimony.
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Bibliography
Faulkner, Paul. Knowledge on Trust. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011.
Fricker, Elizabeth. “Second-Hand Knowledge”. Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 73, no. 3 (2006):
592-618.
Fricker, Miranda, Epistemic Injustice: Power and the Ethics of Knowing. Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2007.
Grice, Paul. “Meaning”. The Philosophical Review 66, no. 3 (1957): 377-388.
Hinchman, Edward. “Telling as Inviting to Trust”. Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 70, no. 3
(2005): 562-87.
Hinchman, Edward. “Assurance and Warrant”. Philosophers’ Imprint 14, no. 17 (2014): 1-58.
Lackey, Jennifer. Learning From Words. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008.
Leonard, Nick. “Testimony, evidence and interpersonal reasons”. Philosophical Studies 173, no. 9 (2016):
2333-52.
McMyler, Benjamin. Testimony, Trust, and Authority. New York: Oxford University Press, 2011.
McMyler, Benjamin. “The Epistemic Significance of Address”. Synthese 190, no. 6 (2013): 1059-78.
Moran, Richard. “Getting Told and Being Believed”. In the epistemology of testimony, edited by Jennifer
Lackey and Ernest Sosa, 272-306. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006.
Moran, Richard. The Exchange of Words. New York: Oxford University Press, 2018.
Moran, Richard. “Replies to my critics”. Philosophical Explorations 23, no. 3 (2020): 302-13.
Nickel, Philip. “Assurance views of testimony”. In The Routledge Handbook of Social Epistemology, edited
by Miranda Fricker, Peter Graham, David Henderson, and Nicolaj Pedersen. 96-102. New York:
Routledge, 2019.
Owens, David. “Testimony and Assertion”. Philosophical Studies 130, no. 1 (2006): 105-29.
Owens, David. Normativity and Control. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017.
Ross, Angus. “Why Do We Believe What We Are Told?”. Ratio 28, no. 1 (1986): 69-88.
Schmitt, Frederick. “The Assurance View of Testimony”. In Social Epistemology, edited by Adrian
Haddock, Alan Millar, and Duncan Pritchard. 216-42. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010.
Vermaire, Matthew. “Retraction and testimonial justification: a new problem for the assurance view”.
Philosophical Studies 177, no. 12 (2020): 3959–72.
Zagzebski, Linda. Epistemic Authority: A Theory of Trust, Authority, and Autonomy in Belief. Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2012.
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Ought fertile same-sex couples seeking to reproduce undergo genetic
testing in order to determine who should contribute genetic material to
their future child(ren)?
Abstract
Tosca Herson
This paper sets out to explore pre-conception genetic selection through questioning whether same-sex couples ought to
genetically test themselves before choosing to procreate. This is a moral discussion, exploring disease traits inheritable
through genetics. Many of the theoretical arguments that will be explored are normally associated with pre-implantation
genetic diagnosis however they will apply here. These arguments include procreative liberty, Savulescu and Kahane’s
procreative beneficence, Parfit’s non-identity problem, and genetic essentialism, moving onto Albrecht and Davlieger’s
disability paradox. I argue that we need a system to place value judgements onto different disorders in order to decide
whether a disorder is ‘bad enough’ to be selected against. I do not believe that genetics should be the sole consideration for
same-sex couples seeking to be parents however with an understanding of value judgements we can see where genetics
should be a priority. Procreative beneficence provides a useful basis for this, however I argue that it places too many
restrictions onto future parents and so it should be employed with a minimum threshold. This paper could form a useful
basis for discussion of non-disease traits and future discussion for heterosexual couples.
Introduction
Increasingly, there are debates surrounding the
moral obligations that parents have towards the
genetic makeup of their children. These are old
debates, however with new technologies allowing
us to screen, alter, and choose the genetics of
our future children, these discussions are gaining
importance. In this essay, I will discuss the moral
obligations, specifically of same-sex couples, to
genetically screen themselves to determine
which, if either, should be the genetic parent of
their future child(ren). My focus is on the UK.
Currently, there is no commonly available way
for both members of a same-sex couple to be
biological parents of future children. Same-sex
couples wanting to have children through
biological means must make a decision about
who should contribute the genetic material. This
is why I am focussing on same-sex couples.
In the UK there are several ways in which samesex
couples can have children. I am concerned
with couples using surrogacy alongside egg
donation or intrauterine insemination or in vitro
fertilisation alongside sperm donation. 32 My
focus is on couples where both are fertile,
meaning I will also only be discussing people
who are the gender they were assigned at birth.
My focus is on disability and disease traits that
may arise from genetic inheritance. Further
discussion would be required to explore nondisease
traits. The focus on same-sex couples
means a focus on pre-conception selection,
however I will here apply arguments relating to
preimplantation genetic diagnosis (henceforth,
PGD). I will explore gamete donor selection,
reproductive liberty, and procreative beneficence.
Family history will be considered as a useful tool
32 Parents.co.uk, Co 2020. Can Gay People Have Kids? Accessed February 2, 2021. https://www.coparent.co.uk/ blog/cangay-people-have-kids/.
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in deciding whether to get genetically tested.
Finally, I will consider how we can make value
judgements about certain diseases, exploring the
disability paradox and quality of life factors.
There are both benefits and drawbacks to
genetic testing. The benefits concern providing
future people with a good quality of life. The
drawbacks concern misunderstanding and
discrimination against disability, and the right to
ignorance. In this essay, genetic testing will be
discussed as a moral question, not a legal one.
Genetic disease will be considered as any
conditions, mental or physical, which is linked to
genetic inheritance. This essay will focus on
carrier testing: testing for genes that could get
passed onto future children. It is important to
remember that carrier testing is not 100%
acurate and testing negative for carrying a gene
does not mean that their future child will not be
born with certain conditions, as some conditions
can be developed whatever the genetics, such as
breast cancer.
Family history is very useful in determining
whether it is worth getting tested for a carrier
gene. For example, the NHS only offers it if
“you or your partner have a health condition that
could be passed on to your children” 33 and
family history has “been shown to be a risk
factor for a majority of chronic diseases of
public health significance.” 34 An example might
be if one member of a same-sex couple is of
Ashkenazi Jewish descent, because Ashkenazi
Jews carry genes for “some 20 recessive
hereditary disorders.” 35 Using family history to
understand what might be passed on can be very
useful to decide whether genetic testing before
conception is a good idea.
Gamete donation
In this section, I consider the inheritable
conditions that gamete donors are screened for.
Same-sex couples choosing who will contribute
genetically to a future child act, on a purely
genetic level, like gamete donors; one of them is
chosen to contribute over the other, just as one
gamete donor is chosen by prospective parents
over another. Due to this, we can consider the
extent to which rules of gamete donor screening
should be applied to these couples.
Before being selected by a clinic, gamete donors
undergo genetic screening. At the London
Sperm Bank potential donors undergo screening
for “Cystic Fibrosis, General Chromosome
Screen, as well as ethnicity-specific tests (such as
Sickle Cell where necessary).” 36 If they carry
something ‘unfavourable’, they are not allowed
to donate. They should also not donate if they
“have been adopted and do not have access to
the medical history of their biological parents,”
or “have a “family history of genetic
conditions,” emphasising the importance of
family history. 37 Personal history of bad eyesight
33 NHS. 2019. Genetic and Genome Testing. Accessed March 12, 2021. https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/genetic-and-genomictesting/
.
34 Yoon, Paula W., Maren T. Scheuner, Kris L. Peterson-Oehlke, Marta Gwinn, Andrew Faucett, and Muin J. Khoury. 2002.
"Can family history be used as a tool for public health and preventive medicine?" Genetics in Medicine 4: 304-310.
35 Siegel-Itzkovich, Judy. 2006. "Gene tests show that two fifths of Ashkenazi Jews are descended from four women." BMJ
332 (140).
36 The London Sperm Bank. 2021. The London Sperm Bank. Accessed February 26, 2021. https://
www.londonspermbank.com/.
37 Ibid.
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and allergies do not prohibit donation. 38 The
London Egg Bank imposes similar restrictions.
Clinics and governments have rules around
screening potential gamete donors. These rules
are enforced to reduce the “high risk of serious
harm to the future child.” 39 Dondorp, et al., in a
study relating to new genetic screening
technologies, believe avoiding harm should be
the bottom line because it “will lead to a child
with a seriously diminished quality of life.” 40
Using a donor should “be as safe as reasonably
possible.” 41 If “serious disorders can be tested
for against reasonable expenses and without
other drawbacks, then this should be done.” 42
Due to risk of passing on serious conditions, it is
appropriate for clinics to screen for genetic
disease in order to limit these conditions in
future children. Following this reasoning,
suggesting a same-sex couple get tested to see if
either carries CF for example to decide whether
to pass on their genetic material or not, is fair.
However, gamete donation, as with any form of
genetic selection, faces objections.
A number of questions are discussed by Brandt,
et al. Firstly, whether it should be “obligatory for
recipient parents and/or clinics to select against
‘disadvantageous’ genetic characteristics in their
future offspring via donor selection.” 43 Should
people who carry certain ‘unfavourable’ traits be
prohibited from become donors? The 2008
Human Fertilisation and Embryology Act states
that you should choose a gamete with no known
“gene, chromosome or mitochondrion
abnormality involving a significant risk that a
person with the abnormality will have or develop
a) a serious physical or mental disability, b) a
serious illness, or c) any other serious medical
condition,” over one with known risks. 44
The case of same-sex couples is not so clear.
When using a gamete donor, there are many
people looking to be potential donors, so
screening and prohibiting some people from
donating still leaves many options. With samesex
couples, there are only two options. Making
it obligatory would mean there are some
instances where neither can pass on genetic
material, which would ultimately impinge on
procreative liberty, the idea that prospective
parents should have the freedom to use genetic
selection and testing as they wish, without any
moral obligation, something discussed further
on.
A second question in the discussion of gamete
donation is “whether selection for/against
certain characteristics may be impermissible on
grounds that it explicitly or implicitly expresses
misinformed or ‘ugly’ and discriminatory
attitudes towards existing persons with
‘deselected’ characteristics.” 45 Is it discriminatory
toward people who already have certain
conditions to select against those conditions? By
selecting against a trait, we imply a judgement
that that trait is bad.
We can understand this for the case of a samesex
couple. It might be felt more personally; the
selection is not just against a trait but against one
38 The London Sperm Bank. 2021. The London Sperm Bank. Accessed February 26, 2021. https://
www.londonspermbank.com/.
39 Dondorp, W., G. De Wert, G. Pennings, F. Shenfield, P. Devroey, B. Tarlatzis, P. Barri, et al. 2014. "ESHRE Task Force on
Ethics and Law 21: genetic screening of gamete donors: ethical issues." Human Reproduction 29 (7): 1353-1359.
40 Ibid.
41 Ibid.
42 Ibid.
43 Brandt, Reuven, Stephen Wilkinson, and Nicola Williams. 2019. Stanford Encyclopedia: The Donation and Sale of Human Eggs
and Sperm. Accessed February 5, 2021. https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/win2019/entries/gametes-donation-sale/.
44 Human Fertilisation and Embryology Act. 2008. "Human Fertilisation and Embryology Act."
Brandt, Reuven, Stephen Wilkinson, and Nicola Williams. 2019. Stanford Encyclopedia: The Donation and Sale of Human Eggs
45
and Sperm. Accessed February 5, 2021. https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/win2019/entries/gametes-donation-sale/.
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member of the couple who might have a family
member who has that condition. Discrimination
is an important consideration which will be
expanded on when discussing the disability
paradox; the phenomenon originally theorised by
Albrecht and Davlieger in which they
acknowledge that able-bodied people assume the
quality of life of disabled people will be
considerably worse than their own.
A final question in reference to gamete selection
is “whether the desire to influence children’s
genetic constitutions through gamete donor
selection represents troubling parental attitudes
which may be contrary to common conceptions
of the good parent and parental virtues such as
‘unconditional love’ and ‘openness to the
unbidden’.” 46 Would selecting make you a bad
parent? This is a Kantian idea that choosing a
child’s genetic make-up is akin to
“instrumentalising children: treating them as a
means of fulfilling parental hopes and dreams
rather than as entities who, once born, exist for
their own sake.” 47
In response, we must recognise the difference
between prospective and existing parents. It is
fair to want a child without any form of disease
because of the suffering it may cause, however
that does not mean you wouldn’t love a child
who did have a disease. When it comes to samesex
couples, this defence holds up. If they
choose to genetically screen and act on the
results, there is no reason to believe they would
love a child with a medical condition any less,
even if they have attempted to select against.
Procreative Liberty
Gamete donation is a useful place to start this
discussion, however, its usefulness is limited,
mostly because there are only two choices in a
same-sex couple, and the couple in question are
personally affected by any diseases a child might
have. Procreative liberty is the “freedom to
decide whether or not to have offspring and to
control the use of one’s reproductive capacity.” 48
Under procreative liberty, prospective parents
should be able to decide whether they wish to
genetically test before deciding what, if any,
selection processes they want to use.
Robertson believes we should have the right to
use or not use any reproductive technology we
want, “unless strong justification for limiting
them can be established.” 49 Some circumstances
are ‘serious enough’ for parents to be dissuaded
or prohibited from acting with liberty, for
example, family history of Huntington’s might
encourage getting screened even if it does
impinge on procreative liberty. Robertson says it
should be up to the “opponents of any
particular technique” to make a case for why
liberty should be taken away from the parents. 50
This being said, under most circumstances,
liberty should be prioritised because of its
“central importance to individual meaning,
dignity, and identity.” 51
On this view, a same-sex couple looking to
conceive is within their moral right to get
genetically tested for carrier genes, or not to. To
act on any result, or not to. This allows a lot of
freedom and is a rational moral position to hold:
the couple have the freedom to choose and live
with the consequences.
46 Brandt, Reuven, Stephen Wilkinson, and Nicola Williams. 2019. Stanford Encyclopedia: The Donation and Sale of Human Eggs
and Sperm. Accessed February 5, 2021. https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/win2019/entries/gametes-donation-sale/.
47 Ibid.
48 Robertson, John A. 1994. Children of Choice: Freedom and the New Reproductinve Technologies. Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 16.
49 Ibid, 4.
50 Ibid, 16.
51 Ibid.
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Savulescu and Kahane argue against procreative
liberty claiming that, “according to this principle,
it is permissible for parents to select the best, but
it is equally permissible for them to select the
worst.” 52 This is true and is something that needs
to be reconciled. As a result, procreative liberty
should be supported conditionally since, at the
very least, it encourages respect for other
people’s decisions.
Non-identity Problem and Genetic
Essentialism
Arguments in favour of genetic selection face
some problems. One opposition is Parfit’s nonidentity
problem. The idea is that “most
reproductive choices cannot benefit a future
child because the choice itself changes the
genetic identity of the child brought into
existence.” 53 Future children are possibilities, not
guarantees. “’Possible people’ are people who
will exist if we act in one way, but who won't
exist if we act in the other way.” 54 We cannot say
that the child of a same-sex couple who is born
with a disease would not have had that disease
had the other parent contributed genetically as
the other parent would have produced a
completely different child. In this case, the two
possible children don’t even have the same
biological parents. Once born, a child cannot be
better or worse off from a genetic standpoint. 55
This ties into genetic essentialism. Genetic
essentialism is “the tendency to reduce the self
in all of its complexity to genes.” 56 When it
comes to genetic selection, it is the idea that we
reduce a future child down to possible disease
traits, not considering their other characteristics.
Reducing someone to their genetics causes
problems. We tend to bundle people with similar
genetics together, assuming they are similar in
ways beyond this. “People’s understanding of
genes may thus serve as an essence placeholder,
allowing people to infer their own and others’
abilities and tendencies based on assumed shared
genes.” 57 This runs the risk of a deterministic
view of a future child’s life.
Someone who discovered they carry the gene for
CF, might make assumptions about what a child
born with CF will be like, based on someone
they know who has CF, or someone from TV,
for example. Genetic essentialism encourages
“people to view genetically influenced outcomes
as inescapable and fatalistic. If the genes are
present, the outcome is expected.” 58
Another concern is that it can lead people to
assume that the cause of a disease is genetic. In
some cases, such as CF, this is the case. In others
however, there is a risk whether one has a
genetic predisposition or not, such as breast
cancer. Getting genetically tested and making a
decision about who should contribute the
genetic material to a future child might lead to
“devalu[ing] the role of ontogenetic,
environmental, or experiential factors.” 59
52 Savulescu, Julian, and Guy Kahane. 2009. "The moral obligation to create children with the best chance of the best life."
Bioethics 23 (5): 274-290.
53 Malek, Janet, and Judith Daar. 2012. "The Case for a Parental Duty to Use Preimplantation Genetic Diagnosis for Medical
Benefit." The American Journal of Bioethics 12 (4): 3-11.
54 Parfit, Derek. 2006. "Rights, Interests, and Possible People." In Bioethics: An Anthology, edited by Peter Singer and Helga
Kuhse, 86-90. Oxford: Blackwell., 86.
55 Ibid.
56 De Melo-Martín, Inmaculada. 2014. "The Ethics of Anonymous Gamete Donation: Is There a Right to Know One's
Genetic Origins?" Hastings Center Report 44 (2).
57 Dar-Nimrod, Ilan, and Steven J. Heine. 2012. "Genetic Essentialism: On the Deceptive Determinism of DNA."
Psychological Bulletin 37 (5): 800-818.
58 Ibid.
59 Ibid.
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Genetic essentialism can lead people to believe
that the only way to improve the quality of life
of a person with a genetic disability is through a
genetic cure. While this is sometimes the
ultimate cure, arrangements can be made to
make people’s lives easier. This follows the social
model of disability and the idea that we don’t
always need a cure for the disease, we simply
need better ways of dealing with it. Genetic
essentialism is a reason not to genetically test as
“once people’s genetic essentialist biases have
been activated, people come to view the relevant
condition or outcome in different ways than if
they had not considered an associated genetic
foundation.” 60 There is significant cause for
concern that by genetically testing, prospective
parents will come to pin all their assumptions
and hopes on the genetics of the future child,
rather than letting the future child be something
more than their genetics.
Procreative Beneficence
An argument for genetic selection is Savulescu’s
procreative beneficence. He poses this in relation
to PGD however it is applicable here too.
Procreative beneficence is the idea that “couples
who decide to have a child have a significant
moral reason to select the child who, given his or
her genetic endowment, can be expected to
enjoy the most well-being.” 61
On this view, we have significant moral
obligation to provide the best possible life for
our potential future children, just as we would
provide the best possible life for our existing
children. This is not a new idea. For example,
many parents will wait to be financially stable
before having children partly in order to provide
the best life with the most opportunities and to
allow the parents to lead good lives themselves.
Savulescu and Kahane justify procreative
beneficence in two ways. The first requires
thinking of our future children as people. If we
think like this, then “our reason to select the
child with better prospects is that that child will
benefit more than the other would by being
caused to exist.” 62 For example, all other things
being equal, a child with CF has worse life
prospects – life expectancy, quality of life, etc –
than a child without.
This justification is dependent on everything else
in the future children ’s lives being equal. This is
not possible. Asch notes, “judging one life to be
better than another simply based on this one
factor reduces the value of the individual to that
single characteristic in a morally problematic
way.” 63 This response is in line with genetic
essentialism. This may be the case, however
Savulescu notes that it is not the trait that poses
the problem, “but its impact on a life in ways
that matter which is important.” 64
Beyond this defence however, Savulescu and
Kahane have a second justification. Instead of
thinking about the future child as a person, we
take a more impersonal view. This view states
“that selecting the most advantaged child would
make the outcome better, even if it is not better
for the child created.” 65 This view accepts that
you do not make any specific ‘child better-off ’.
It’s not like curing a disease that someone already
has. What it means is that you make a ‘better-off
child’. 66 Choosing a child without CF is better,
60 Dar-Nimrod, Ilan, and Steven J. Heine. 2012. "Genetic Essentialism: On the Deceptive Determinism of DNA."
Psychological Bulletin 37 (5): 800-818.
61 Savulescu, Julian, and Guy Kahane. 2009. "The moral obligation to create children with the best chance of the best life."
Bioethics 23 (5): 274-290.
62 Ibid.
63 Malek, Janet, and Judith Daar. 2012. "The Case for a Parental Duty to Use Preimplantation Genetic Diagnosis for Medical
Benefit." The American Journal of Bioethics 12 (4): 3-11.
64 Savulescu, J. 2001. "Procreative beneficence: why we should select the best children." Bioethics 15 (5-6): 413-26.
65 Ibid.
Malek, Janet, and Judith Daar. 2012. "The Case for a Parental Duty to Use Preimplantation Genetic Diagnosis for Medical
66
Benefit." The American Journal of Bioethics 12 (4): 3-11.
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regardless of the identity of that child. In this
way, Savulescu and Kahane escape the nonidentity
problem.
Following procreative beneficence, it is morally
preferable for both members of a same-sex
couple to get genetically tested for carrier genes
in order to determine who should contribute the
genetic material to a future child. This aims for
the best possible outcome.
Procreative beneficence is a very demanding
moral standpoint. Depending on what each
member of a same-sex couple carries, it could be
difficult to know who to choose. If neither
carries anything then it would be fair to choose
either. However, if both carry minor traits, such
as bad eyesight, how is a decision made?
Something Savulescu and Kahane propose is the
idea of a minimum threshold. This says that the
couple “have a significant moral reason to select
one of the possible children they could have
who is expected to have a life worth living over any
that does not; they have no significant moral
reason to choose one such possible child over
any other.” 67
This is a more intuitive standpoint; however, it
throws up the problem that if both members of
the couple carry genes with traits that are below
the minimum threshold, then neither should
contribute genetically to a future child. That
being said, it is reasonable to advise both
members of a couple against contributing
genetic material to a future child if unfavourable
traits are carried by both.
Another concern with procreative beneficence,
as with all arguments in favour of selection, is
the problem of value judgements. This is the
assumption that disease traits are bad and that
someone without a disease will have a better
quality of life, as well as the assumption that
diseases can be ranked, some deemed as
acceptable, some not.
Value Judgments
In this section on value judgements, I will first
explore the disability paradox. In relation to this,
I will discuss quality of life (henceforth, QoL)
and explore a system which can be used to ‘rank’
disease traits against each other.
The disability paradox is this: “why do many
people with serious and persistent disabilities
report that they experience a good or excellent
quality of life when to most external observers
these people seem to live an undesirable daily
existence?” 68 This often comes up in relation to
deaf people. Hearing people are often under the
impression that their life would be worse if they
were deaf, due to missed experiences, harder
communication, etc. Often however, deaf people
report experiencing no such reduction in QoL.
It is possible that able-bodied people make these
judgement “based on misinformation regarding
both the severity and true nature of disability.” 69
It is also possible that disabled people have
adjusted to their way of living and do not regard
their condition as negative. Whatever the reason
for it, there is clearly a disconnect between how
disabled people regard their QoL and how ablebodied
people view it.
This idea came to a head with the 2002 case of a
deaf lesbian couple, Sharon Duchesneau and
Candy McCullough, who actively attempted to
conceive a deaf child, using a fifth-generation
deaf sperm donor. The deaf community had
been a huge part of both of their lives, and they
had a very good QoL and believed that a deaf
child would also be a member of this community
and the child’s life would be richer for it. Many
people did not agree with their decision, thinking
67 Savulescu, Julian, and Guy Kahane. 2009. "The moral obligation to create children with the best chance of the best life."
Bioethics 23 (5): 274-290.
68 Albrecht, Gary L., and Patrick J. Davlieger. 1999. "The disability paradox: high quality of life against all odds." Social Science
& Medicine 48 (8): 977-988.
Brandt, Reuven, Stephen Wilkinson, and Nicola Williams. 2019. Stanford Encyclopedia: The Donation and Sale of Human Eggs
69
and Sperm. Accessed February 5, 2021. https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/win2019/entries/gametes-donation-sale/.
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that it was unfair to purposefully attempt to have
a child with a disability. This clearly demonstrates
the disability paradox. 70
In the UK, under the 2008 Human Fertilisation
and Embryology Act, selecting for a deaf child is
prohibited. When using PGD, “any embryo with
an ‘abnormality’ that could cause ‘serious
physical or mental disability’ must not be chosen
over an embryo without one.” 71
The disability paradox poses problems for the
arguments I have discussed. If we know for a
fact that we are increasing QoL by selecting
against disease, then selection is morally
permissible. However, if we accept the disability
paradox, then it is harder to know what to do.
Intuition leads us to rank diseases. This is
also done in practice. As mentioned, gamete
donor clinics allow some diseases but not others.
The Human Fertilisation and Embryology
Authority also has a list of over six hundred
diseases for which one currently is allowed to use
PGD to select against. 72 Clearly both have made
value judgements about what is ‘bad enough’ to
select against.
The question now is where to draw the line.
When is it morally justified to select against a
disease trait? I will now assess factors that
increase and reduce QoL. In their study
confirming the existence of the disability
paradox, Albrecht and Davlieger spoke to
disabled participants about what increases QoL
and what reduces it. For factors that increase
QoL:
“respondents explain their well-being in
terms of acknowledging their
impairment, being in control of their
minds and bodies; being able to perform
expected roles; having a `can do'
approach to life; finding a purpose,
meaning, and harmony in life; having a
spiritual foundation and outlook;
constructing and living in a reciprocal
social world, including emotional give
and take; and, feeling satisfied when
comparing one’s self to one's capabilities
and the conditions of others in similar
situations.” 73
Factors that reduce QoL are:
“disorganizing experience of pain; being
de-energized by continual fatigue and a
sense of hopelessness; the loss of
control of corporal or mental activities;
and/or having no clear purpose or
spiritual outlook in life.” 74
Many of these factors are subjective and so the
problem of ranking isn’t solved entirely.
However, it does make it easier. While these
factors are subjective, they are also intuitive and
understandable so I will be using these as the
basis for value judgements.
Imagine, for example, one member of a samesex
couple carried a gene for autosomal recessive
polycystic kidney disease (henceforth, ARKPD)
and the other carried a gene for macular
degeneration (henceforth, AMD). We can use
the factors above to assess who should
contribute genetically to the future child.
ARKPD is an inherited disease with a lifeexpectance
of less than a year. If the child does
live beyond that point, they are likely to
experience many nasty and painful effects. 75 The
child will experience most of the factors for
reducing QoL, such as pain and loss of control.
70 Wordsworth, Rich. 2015. Why Some Parents Choose to have a Deaf Baby. Accessed March 13, 2021. https://www.vice.com/
en/article/ypwa5j/how-reproductive-tech-could-threaten-or-preserve-deaf-culture.
71 Ibid.
72 Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority. 2021. Approved PGD and PTT conditions. Accessed March 13, 2021.
https://www.hfea.gov.uk/treatments/embryo-testing-and-treatments-for-disease/approved-pgd-and-ptt-conditions/.
73 Albrecht, Gary L., and Patrick J. Davlieger. 1999. "The disability paradox: high quality of life against all odds." Social Science
& Medicine 48 (8): 977-988.
74 Ibid.
Malek, Janet, and Judith Daar. 2012. "The Case for a Parental Duty to Use Preimplantation Genetic Diagnosis for Medical
75
Benefit." The American Journal of Bioethics 12 (4): 3-11.
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It is unlikely that they will experience any of the
factors that increase QoL.
AMD is a disease that can be inherited, and
which causes slow loss of sight in the middle
part of your eye. It usually affects over fifty-yearolds.
76 It is likely you will live most of your life
unaffected. At later stages the loss of vision may
reduce QoL, however there is a lot of help for
people with impaired vision and it is fairly likely
that you will be able to continue doing a lot of
everyday activities.
Using the QoL factors, we can clearly see that
ARKPD is a worse disease than AMD. The
negatives of having a child with ARKPD
outweigh any potential arguments against
selection however AMD is more permissible in
that a good QoL can still be achieved even with
this condition. Therefore, if one member of a
same-sex couple were carrying a gene ARKPD
and the other carried AMD, it is rational to
suggest that the person carrying AMD
contributes the genetic material to the future
child, despite it being an unfavourable trait.
The right to ignorance
One final consideration is that, if same-sex
couple choose to undergo genetic testing in
order to determine who should contribute
genetically to a future child, they must learn
genetic information about their future child, as
well as about themselves. The right to genetic
privacy and ignorance is a topic many people feel
strongly about. In some places, the right to
ignorance has been enshrined in law. 77 People
may wish to remain ignorant due to stigma
around certain disorders, or because they do not
want to know their fate.
A question that Harris and Keywood discuss is
how the right to ignorance works with
autonomy. What they suggest is that a “right [to
ignorance] cannot easily be defended by
reference to claims to autonomy.” 78 By choosing
to know or not to know, a person changes what
decisions they make in the future, however, we
cannot say that “our autonomy has been
adversely affected by knowing something we
would prefer not to have known” whereas not
knowing the information limits our future
choices. 79 Giving information someone had
requested not to have “may violate a liberty they
assert but I do not violate their autonomy, for
the information I give them is necessary for their
autonomous decision making.” 80
While it may not be autonomous to remain
ignorant, it is in keeping with personal liberty.
However, with the case of a same-sex couple,
not only is the autonomy of the parents limited
by not getting the genetic test, but the liberty of
the future child is also limited as the decision
about who should contribute genetically affects
the future child. Liberty claims must be
“[c]ompatible with a like liberty for all.” 81
By respecting their own liberty to remain
ignorant, a same-sex couple interferes with the
liberty of any future children as well as reducing
their own autonomy to make a decision about
who should contribute genetically. However, if a
parent does undergo a genetic test, they interfere
with the autonomy and privacy of their future
children. For example, if a parent knows that
they carry the BRCA1 for breast cancer,
knowing that their child might also have this
gene, could be thought of as violating the
genetic autonomy and privacy of that child.
76 NHS. 2018. Age-related Macular Degeneration. Accessed April 1, 2021. https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/age-related-maculardegeneration-amd/.
77 Council of Europe. 1997. "European Treaty Series-No. 164Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Dignity
of the Human COnvention for the Protection of Human Rights and Dignity of the Human Being with regard to the
Application of Biology and Medicine." European Treaty Series
78 Harris, J., and K. Keywood. 2001. "Ignorance, Information and Autonomy." Theoretical Medicine and Bioethics 22 (5):
415-436, 418.
79 Ibid, 419.
80 Ibid.
81 Ibid.
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However, the right to autonomy and privacy
must be “balanced against claims that the failure
to test deprives children of the ‘right’ to grow up
i n a n a t m o s p h e r e o f o p e n n e s s a n d
understanding of their situation and a ‘right’ or
interest not to form unrealistic hopes and plans
about the future.” 82
Autonomy aside, wanting to remain ignorant
about one’s genetics is not an uncommon
feeling, 83 however remaining, as shown by Harris
and Keywood, remaining ignorant cannot be
done in the name of autonomy. Wanting to
remain ignorant is intuitive, for example based
on the worry of genetic essentialism: feeling that
once the possibility of developing a disease has
been revealed through genetics, life is
determined. With these reasons in mind,
remaining ignorant is reason enough not to
genetically test, even to prevent passing on of
genetic disease.
Conclusion
To conclude, the question of whether same-sex
couples seeking to reproduce ought to undergo
genetic testing in order to decide who should
contribute genetic material to their future child/
ren provides a useful framework to discuss many
of the ideas surrounding genetic selection of
disease traits. Same-sex couples do have to make
a choice - with any children they have - about
who will be the biological parents. If genetic
testing is the way that they want to make this
choice, then there is good moral reason to make
it in this way. However, this is not the only way
to make a choice and if another choice is
preferable, there is no moral obligation to focus
solely on genetics.
From this discussion, the most standout reason
for potential parents to use genetic testing to
make their decision is if there is a worrying
family or personal medical history. If this is the
case, then there is more moral obligation to the
future child to get genetically tested in order to
decide if it is ‘safe’ to pass on certain genetics.
Understanding disability is important before
making these decisions however, recognising that
disability does not need to be a defining
characteristic in a child’s life and a very high QoL
can still be achieved. Certain conditions however,
such as ARKPD, do lower the QoL of the child,
and the parents, to such an extent that there
could be a moral encouragement to select
against.
Procreative autonomy is a useful way to think
about whether to undergo genetic testing.
However, once genetic testing has been decided
upon and done, procreative beneficence with a
minimum threshold is a useful moral position. If
someone tests positive for carrying a condition
that is ‘bad enough’, using the QoL criteria of
Albrecht and Davlieger, there is a moral
obligation to select against that condition. When
a condition can be seen to still allow for a high
QoL, it should be up to the parents what they
wish to do.
While we discussed the usefulness of gamete
donation, there is no obligation to get genetically
tested in the first place however, due to wanting
to remain ignorant for example. The conditions
of becoming a biological parent are very
different from the conditions of becoming a
gamete donor in that there is a connection to the
child which donors do not have.
This essay provides a specific framework with
which we can think about genetic selection
against disease, specifically through preconception
selection. It focuses on the moral
responsibility of selection against disease and the
discussion could be expanded to heterosexual
couples with further thought. Overall, we have
established that it is morally permissible to use
genetic testing as a way to decide which parent
should contribute the genetic material, however
it is not a moral obligation.
82 Harris, J., and K. Keywood. 2001. "Ignorance, Information and Autonomy." Theoretical Medicine and Bioethics 22 (5):
415-436, 423.
83 Gino, Francesca. 2020. “Ignorance is bliss? Why people prefer to remain unaware of potentially unpleasant but useful
information.” Scientific America.
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Robertson, John A. 1994. Children of Choice: Freedom and the New Reproductinve Technologies. Princeton:
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Savulescu, J. 2001. "Procreative beneficence: why we should select the best children." Bioethics 15 (5-6):
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Savulescu, Julian, and Guy Kahane. 2009. "The moral obligation to create children with the best chance
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Argument for the Impossibility of Free Immoral Action in Kant
Abstract
Benjamin Pryce
In Section III of his Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals, Kant discusses the nature of free will, and how it
relates to the moral law. Following a line of argument suggested by Fugate, 84 I intend to demonstrate that Kant’s
asymmetrical conception of free will as a positive rational capacity may be defended from a common criticism known as
Objection R/S 85 by interpreting moral evil as resulting from a lack of this capacity, rather than a separate capacity to act
against the law. I will posit that equating this freedom to a capacity for moral understanding allows for further insight into
its nature, highlighted by my own examples as well as an analogy from Fugate, and Kant’s own discussion of the ‘holy
will’ in the Groundwork 86. I aim to defend this position against several objections and counterexamples, and suggest that
the inevitable result, that moral responsibility may not be imputable to an immoral agent, might not be as troubling as it
first appears.
Objection R/S
I
One common objection to Kant’s discussion of
free will is attributed to Carl Leonhard Reinhold
and Henry Sidgwick who, according to Fugate,
each argued separately 87 that Kant commits
himself to the following ‘seemingly inconsistent
triad of propositions’:
‘1. Freedom of the will is the ground of
moral imputation. Or, more precisely
expressed, freedom is that quality of the
causality of the will by virtue of which
actions can first be ascribed to the will as
to their sufficient cause.
2. Freedom of the will and the moral law
are analytically related and thus reciprocal
concepts (Wechselbegriffe).
3. The human will, which is free, can
have moral evil imputed to it’. 88
I will argue that Kant may not in fact be
committed to this third claim, which, by leaving
only the first two (consistent) propositions,
would appear to resolve Objection R/S. Fugate
suggests this may be achieved by understanding
84 Courtney D. Fugate, “On a Supposed Solution to the Reinhold/Sidgwick Problem in Kant’s Metaphysics of Morals”,
European Journal of Philosophy 23:3 (2012), 367-8.
85 Fugate, “Reinhold/Sidgwick Problem,” 349.
86 GMM 4:414 (Kant, Immanuel. Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals. Translated by Christopher Bennett, Joe
Saunders and Robert Stern. (Oxford University Press, 2019): 28-29).
87 Although, each considered themselves to be defending Kant rather than challenging him (Paul Guyer, "The Struggle for
Freedom: Freedom of Will in Kant and Reinhold.” In Kant on Persons and Agency, ed. Eric Watkins. (Cambridge University
Press 2017), 121).
88 Fugate, “Reinhold/Sidgwick Problem,” 349-350.
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immorality ‘not as something positive in itself,
but rather as an inexplicable failing of freedom
to become manifest’ 89. Under this interpretation
of proposition 3, immorality would seem to
result from a lack of freedom, and assuming that
people are only responsible for their actions
insofar as they are free, this leads to the
conclusion that immorality cannot lead to the
imputation of responsibility.
Main Argument
Kant insists throughout the Groundwork that the
moral law can be arrived at a priori, that is,
through reason alone, and thus no empirical
evidence is required to discover it 90. In Section I,
he argues that simply thinking about the moral
law can generate in a rational agent a sense of
respect for it, and that this is ultimately what leads
them to carry out their actions. 91 This is a crucial
step, as it follows that if indeed the moral law
can be discovered through reason alone, and is
the source of all moral action according to
proposition 1, then immoral action must arise
either from ignorance of this law, or else from
some motivating force other than ‘respect for the
law’ which tempts the agent away from it. I will
investigate the former case, as this seems a more
plausible interpretation of Kant’s writings, and
accounts for immoral action without having to
posit another independent source of free action.
Under this interpretation of Kant, freedom then
becomes a positive capacity for moral awareness
or understanding, and therefore the extent to
which an agent is free is determined by the
extent to which they possess this capacity.
Hence, complete ignorance of the moral law
would allow no room for imputation of moral
responsibility.
Fugate outlines Kant’s understanding of
immoral choice (‘Unvermögen’), as follows:
‘[...]he does not think it to be like the
case of a person with closed eyes, but
rather like the case of a person with no
eyes, or at least like one who has not
developed eyes to a state where they are
ready to become active.’ 92
Under this interpretation, Kant does see evil
action as a real option, but one which loses its
appeal entirely when the agent is able to ‘see’ the
moral law in its fullness. This idea arises in the
Groundwork when Kant introduces the concept
of the ‘holy will’, 93 one which is so in tune with
the moral law that it ceases to present itself as a
law at all, as such a will experiences no resistance
to it, thus eliminating any possibility of ‘duty’ or
‘conformity’ 94 in its actions. Perhaps, then, Kant
may have introduced the holy will not as a
fundamentally distinct concept from the rational
will, 95 but merely as the extreme case of freedom
possessed in the absolute. This interpretation
would allow immoral action to be understood as
resulting from a lack of freedom, rather than
from an entirely separate capacity for evil. A will
which is wholly evil therefore possesses no
freedom, and is understood as the antithesis of
the holy will; it is entirely unfree. Such an agent
could not, then, be plausibly held responsible for
their actions.
This conclusion fits with many of our intuitions
about moral responsibility, as we see in the
example of children’s immoral actions. Often
aware on some basic level that their actions are
wrong, this is rarely enough to compel them to
act otherwise; in many cases, only fear of getting
89 Fugate, “Reinhold/Sidgwick Problem,” 367.
90 Fugate, “Reinhold/Sidgwick Problem,” 352.
91 GMM 4:400 (15-16).
92 Fugate, “Reinhold/Sidgwick Problem,” 363.
93 GMM 4:414 (28-29).
94 GMM 4:433 (46).
95 In this case, conformity to the law presents itself as a duty.
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caught will stop them. Their understanding of
‘right from wrong’ amounts to little more than
propositional knowledge 96 given to them by their
parents, and thus lacks the deeper significance
we take to constitute genuine moral
understanding. Such maxims of selfpreservation,
it seems, have nothing at all to do
with moral motivation, and instead fall into
Kant’s category of hypothetical imperatives:
ones which aim only at achieving some end (in
this case avoiding punishment), rather than
having value ‘in themselves’, 97 as in the case of
categorical imperatives. 98 That young children do
not fully grasp the moral dimension of their
decisions is the ground on which we consider
them to be responsible for their actions to a
lesser degree than, say, an adult doing the same
thing.
The conclusion that moral freedom is
proportional to some form of awareness of our
available options in fact fits well with our
intuitions about such freedom. As with children,
this is often crudely articulated as the extent to
which someone ‘knew right from wrong’ in a
court of law. However, there is a grain of truth
in this expression which points to the deeper
sense Kant is referring to. If ‘knowing right
from wrong’ is simply knowledge of which
actions are right and wrong as a matter of fact,
then morality becomes a seemingly arbitrary
quest to accumulate propositional knowledge. If,
however, we think of this knowledge as being
the degree to which we experience moral
enlightenment, in the sense of increasing our
moral awareness through reflection on the law,
then we are left with a less arbitrary (though no
less mysterious) source of morality, which has
little to do with knowledge of facts and more to
do with depth of understanding of some
underlying truth about the world. Of course, this
view may be dismissed on grounds that it makes
a significant realist assumption about morality,
namely that in some sense the moral law exists as
a ‘thing in itself ’ 99 which we are able to
encounter. However, this interpretation is a
natural reading of Kant, which is justification
enough for its inclusion here.
We do not see accumulation of mere knowledge
of right and wrong actions, as matters of fact, to
constitute wisdom, or good moral character.
Kant highlights this when he talks about the
‘respect’ we have for the moral law, 100 and how
this is what compels us to act on it. He crucially
identifies revelation, or epiphany, as the
motivating force behind moral action, rather
than a vague and oversimplified ‘knowledge of
right from wrong’ which is often understood as
the basis on which a judge should convict a
criminal. Though a credible legal system is
ultimately limited to observable evidence in its
consideration of a person’s moral intentions,
Kant believed we can do a far more precise job
of this through pure rational thought. 101
Thus, our intuition that moral responsibility (i)
exists on a scale, and is not equal between agents,
and (ii) has something to do with awareness or
understanding, seems appropriate, and would
suggest that immoral action may indeed result
from a lack of moral understanding which, if
equivalent to freedom as a positive rational
capacity as Kant discusses, cannot allow for
imputation of moral responsibility. This
concludes my main argument, having
demonstrated the idea of freedom as a capacity
for moral understanding as originating from
96 Defined by Paul Moser as ‘knowledge that some proposition is true’ in “Propositional Knowledge”, Philosophical Studies:
An International Journal for Philosophy in the Analytic Tradition 52, no. 1 (Jul.,1987): 91.
97 GMM 4:451 (63).
98 GMM 4:414 (28-29).
99 GMM 4:459 (72).
100 GMM 4:400 (15).
101 Admittedly, Kant seemed to give up on solving the mysterious origins of evil towards the end of his life, instead
focusing on the more fruitful path of investigating the source of good action in a moral agent.
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Kant’s text, and explored its consequences for
the imputation of responsibility through analogy
and example. 102
Objections
II
This leads naturally to the objection that there
seem to be counterexamples in which an agent is
fully aware of what they are doing, and how it
conflicts with the moral law, and yet chooses to
do it anyway. Denying the possibility of free
immoral choice would seem to contradict our
intuition that people choose to act from bad
intentions consciously and deliberately,
apparently well aware of the harmful
consequences of their actions and, in some
cases, even desiring them. For all the crimes
committed in a fit of rage or state of
incapacitation, there are others which do not
seem to arise from a clouding of one’s mental
faculties, but from these very faculties
themselves.
Cases such as these appear to go against the
position I am defending, that Kant’s freedom
can be defined purely as a capacity for
understanding or awareness of the moral law. It
must be noted, however, that freedom as moral
understanding is not identical to clarity of
thought, 103 and so it may be possible for an
agent to have thought clearly about the options
available to them without necessarily
understanding what makes these options right or
wrong. As highlighted by Fugate’s eyesight
analogy, such a lack of perception would not be
the fault of the agent, and as such it seems
unlikely that responsibility could meaningfully be
attributed to them. 104
Similarly, it could be objected that any definition
as an asymmetrical capacity misses out a vital
component of the concept of freedom, and
therefore falls at the first hurdle. 105 It is core to
any conception of the free will, it may be argued,
that it accounts not only for good acts but also
bad ones. Perhaps more worryingly, ruling out
the possibility of freely chosen immoral action
may seem to constitute letting wrongdoers ‘off
the hook’, a prospect which would ring alarm
bells for any functional legal system.
However, this concern is misplaced. The claim
that immoral agents are not ultimately
responsible for their actions does not tell us how
they should be dealt with; it may be that
accountability in a legal sense still has its place as
a means to an end, 106 for example in crime
prevention (or criminal reform), without saying
anything about whether moral responsibility is a
meaningful concept a priori. Such legal
accountability does not entail that an agent must
be established as being ultimately responsible for
their actions, in a sense which negates the
possibility that their wrongdoing was the
inevitable result of a complex chain of previous
crimes by other agents. This is supported
empirically by the sheer number of criminals
who are themselves victims of serious abuse (for
which they cannot be to blame): a fact which
cannot be ignored when considering the possible
cause(s) of their actions. The assertion that such
moral responsibility can exist in addition to the
‘nature and nurture’ components of a person’s
decisions may be superfluous, as it is unclear
what purpose could be served by establishing
someone as the final cause of their actions rather
than merely the immediate cause, other than
allowing a society to rid themselves of their
failed duties towards them. Such scapegoating
may only be truly avoided by accepting the
interconnectedness of our actions, and the
inevitable influence they may have in shaping the
future decisions of others.
102 However, I will largely refrain from discussing the broader consequences of this.
103 Though this may be a consequence, or even a necessary (but not sufficient) condition for it.
104 An alternative comparison could be made to the example of the propositional moral knowledge of children as set out
above, whereby moral evil arises from immaturity.
105 Jens Timmermann, Kant's Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals: A Commentary (Cambridge University Press, 2007),166.
106 This would constitute a hypothetical imperative under Kant’s system (GMM 4:414 (28-29)).
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Perhaps, then, the concept of blame is only
useful insofar as it allows us to identify the agent
immediately responsible for a crime, in order to
prevent them from causing further harm, but
also in instigating their reform. This mindset
seems to be reflected in modern criminal justice
systems, wherein criminals are increasingly
understood to be victims themselves, rather than
the ultimate source of their own ill will.
Moreover, what purpose could there be in
identifying a criminal beyond protection of
society from a repeat of their crimes, or personal
transformation of the offender in question? It is
unclear what it would mean to assert that an
agent, in addition to having committed a crime
(in the immediate, objective sense), also bears the
ultimate responsibility for it in a moral sense.
Such a claim would have to escape the challenge
of establishing moral responsibility as belonging
ultimately to the offender in question, rather
than being passed down in a near-infinite causal
chain in which an agent’s wrongdoing creates the
necessary psychological conditions for
criminality in their victim. It is unclear, then, that
adapting our definition of freedom to
encompass moral evil achieves anything new, and
so it may be unnecessary to impute responsibility
to an immoral agent.
A third objection may arise from a committed
physical determinist, who believes that an
asymmetrical conception of free will does not
leave room for their metaphysical position. This
is put forward by Timmermann, who argues that
defining freedom as a ‘mere capacity’ makes it
incompatible with ‘nature as a closed
deterministic system’, 107 claiming that the idea
that ‘our morally bad actions can in principle be
predicted, as Kant puts it in the Critique of
Practical Reason, with the same kind of certainty
as a lunar or solar eclipse’ makes us ‘uneasy’. 108
This objection, however, seems to arise from a
misunderstanding of the concept of freedom.
To say that freedom entails that someone’s
chosen action could not have been predicted,
even given complete knowledge of their
character, is counterintuitive; it is generally
assumed that a person’s behaviour is predictable
to the extent that we know their character, and
that such knowledge is based on their previous
actions. It is difficult to see an alternative to this
which would not introduce at least some element
of randomness, a concept which would seem to
constitute the very antithesis of freedom, at least
in the moral sense.
Consider the extreme case, in which all actions
are essentially randomly determined: a person’s
actions may bear no resemblance whatsoever to
those we would expect given their character,
making them impossible to identify as belonging
to that person at all. It seems, then, that
randomness is something to be avoided in our
definition of freedom, and this avoidance may
allow for compatibility with a causally
determined system. We may yet be able to define
freedom as an asymmetrical capacity for moral
understanding, and thus rule out the possibility
of imputing responsibility for immoral actions.
A further objection to the equation of freedom
to moral awareness may posit that freedom is
located within our capacity for choice, and not in
the will itself. On this understanding, our choice
is free insofar as it is spontaneous (a term Kant
uses in the Groundwork 109), and so cannot be
determined by the will, as such an imposition
would serve only to erode the freedom
exemplified in the decision. Fugate identifies a
flaw in this objection: 110 ‘[that] it takes the
freedom of choice to be inconsistent with its
determination by will, and thus places will and
with it the moral law in front of choice as if it
were just any other object to be adopted.’ Hence
the moral law must be given ‘some kind of
additional appeal’ in order to be selected by the
‘spontaneous faculty of choice’, which would not
fit with Kant’s ‘doctrine of the moral incentive’.
He concludes instead that the freedom to choose
our actions is perfectly compatible with
determination by the will, and that this freedom
may even arise from such determination (a view
107 Timmermann, Kant’s Groundwork, 166.
108 Timmermann, Kant’s Groundwork, 166.
109 GMM 4:452 (65)
110 Fugate, “Reinhold/Sidgwick Problem,” 357.
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he attributes to Schmid), taking Kant to be
saying that ‘choice of the will [...] owes its own
freedom to the fact that it stands in a relation to
will’. Thus the will is truly free, and is analytically
equivalent to the moral law, opening up the
possibility that negation of the law is a symptom
of a constrained will, or one whose formation is
incomplete. This casts further doubt on the
possibility of imputing moral responsibility to an
agent.
Synthesis
III
Timmermann almost has it right, however, when
he takes Kant to be saying that:
‘Some actions are free in the sense that
they actually realise their full potential,
but all actions are, as one might put it,
sufficiently free for the agent to be
responsible for his or her actions.’ 111
Here he captures the extreme case in which an
agent’s actions ‘realise their full potential’ by
conforming to the moral law, although he is
vague as to why ‘all actions’ should be
considered ‘sufficiently free’ for imputation of
responsibility to the agent. He seems to
acknowledge the relative nature of freedom
(‘sufficiently’); however, he fails to make clear
that this may result in a similarly relative
conception of responsibility. A binary
conception, where agents are held absolutely
responsible for actions over which they had only
relative control, is counterintuitive. A brief
consideration of immorality in children, or in
p e o p l e w h o s e r a t i o n a l f a c u l t i e s a r e
compromised, reveals this very notion: that
moral responsibility is relative, and exists in
proportion to the degree of moral freedom that
can be attributed to the agent.
freedom as an asymmetrical capacity with the
statement that ‘[b]ad actions are subject to
freedom, but they do not proceed from it’, 112
suggesting that our choices do not result entirely
from freedom of the will, and thus the will
cannot be held fully responsible for them. It
seems, then, that Kant does acknowledge the
relative nature of moral responsibility, despite
not always making this explicit in his later
works. 113
Conclusion
In conclusion, I have argued along the lines
suggested by Fugate that Kant’s conception of
freedom as an asymmetrical capacity does not
commit him to holding to an ‘inconsistent triad
of propositions’, 114 as according to Objection
R/S, and that this prospect can be avoided by
understanding immorality not as arising from an
independent capacity for evil, but rather as a
failure of one’s positive capacity of moral
freedom to sufficiently motivate the agent
towards conformity with the law. From here, I
went on to posit that this positive moral capacity
is equivalent to moral understanding, fitting well
with Kant’s discussion of the holy will, as well as
our own intuitions about immorality in children.
Having suggested potential solutions to some
objections and counterexamples, I have
demonstrated that the resulting conclusion, that
it may not be possible to hold immoral agents
responsible for their immorality, need not be
problematic after all.
In quoting from the Religion, Timmermann goes
on to demonstrate Kant as having conceived of
111 Timmermann, Kant’s Groundwork, 165.
112 Timmermann, Kant’s Groundwork, 165-6.
113 These ambiguities are not the focus of this essay, however many examples are discussed in Fugate, “Reinhold/Sidgwick
Problem,”.
114 Fugate, “Reinhold/Sidgwick Problem,” 350.
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Bibliography
Fugate, Courtney. “On a Supposed Solution to the Reinhold/Sidgwick Problem in Kant’s Metaphysics
of Morals.” European Journal of Philosophy 23, no. 3 (2012): 349-373.
Guyer, Paul. "The Struggle for Freedom: Freedom of Will in Kant and Reinhold.” In Kant on Persons and
Agency, edited by Eric Watkins. Cambridge University Press (2017): 120-37.
Kant, Immanuel. Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals. Translated by Christopher Bennett, Joe
Saunders and Robert Stern. Oxford University Press, 2019.
Moser, Paul. “Propositional Knowledge”, Philosophical Studies: An International Journal for Philosophy in the
Analytic Tradition 52, no. 1 (Jul.,1987): 91-114.
Timmermann, Jens. Kant's Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals: A Commentary. Cambridge University
Press, 2007.
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When Harry Sexually Harassed Sally - An extension of the behavioural
view for consent
Marta Bax
Abstract
This article serves as both a response and extension of an ongoing debate around the subject of consent. The literature has
divided some seeking to define consent into two respective views: the mental view, by which an action is consensual if a
subject mentally agrees to it; the behavioural view, which argues consent must be disclosed by the consent-giver to the
receiver by some act of communication. I argue in favour of the latter by drawing a distinction between consent as
agreement and consent as permission, and more closely aligning consent with the notion of permission, which entails a
behavioural view. However, the characterisation of the behavioural view for consent is incomplete. Drawing on a
particular trope of the romantic comedy which has become embedded in pop culture, I explain against a potential problem
for the consensual behaviourist by arguing for a ‘contextual relationships’ view of consent: consent may exist as being built
up over time as a consequence of the relationship it exists in. Communication-instances may act as groundwork
communication which allows for uncommunicated consent in instances of little to no communication.
In this essay, I defend a behavioural view which
entails a communication 115 requirement for
successful consent. I do this by extending Tom
Dougherty’s defence of communication in his
paper ‘On Wrongs and Crimes: Does Consent
Require Only an Attempt to Communicate?’, a
critique of several arguments presented by
Victor Tadros to justify the view that consent
requires an attempt to communicate, but nothing
more. This extension is required (a) to explain
why it is that many people share Tadros’
assumption that consent can be a merely mental
requirement and (b) to explain why behavioural
consent can be given in instances that are void
of communication. I conclude that consent
ought to be seen as an action that grants
permission as well as one that communicates
agreement and that this permission can be
implicit in the relationships we form with people
due to previous instances of communication, or
in virtue of the socially accepted roles we choose
to enter in.
Preliminary: Mental Views vs Behavioural
Views
In specifying conditions for consent, the moral
philosopher faces several challenges. Accounts
within the literature have contributed to framing
the notion as one which must be autonomously
given 116, must be informed 117 and must be
explicitly communicated by some form of
outward behaviour, amongst many other
conditions. A full account of consent will tend
to all these supposed requirements and specify
the scope with which consent extends to each.
For the purposes of this essay, I will focus on
the latter only. The debate regarding whether
consent requires some explicit form of outward
behaviour as opposed to an implicit non-
115 What is specifically meant by communication, for the purposes of this essay, is communication through some form of
outward behaviour, as specified in the preliminary section below
116 Reis-Dennis, S. 2020. “Understanding Autonomy: An Urgent Intervention”. Journal of Law and the Biosciences, (7).
117 Pugh J. 2020. “Autonomy, Rationality, and Contemporary Bioethics.” Oxford (UK): Oxford University Press. Chapter 6.
“Informed Consent, Autonomy, and Beliefs”.
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behavioural agreement between parties has been
framed by Tom Dougherty as a debate between
‘Mental Views’ and ‘Behavioural Views’:
Mental Views: morally valid consent consists in
some form of mental entity, such as intention to
consent, on the consent-giver’s part
Behavioural Views: morally valid consent requires
some form of outward behaviour on the
consent-giver’s part 118
A form of outward behaviour on the consentgiver’s
part outlines the need for the consentgiver
to communicate their reception of the
proposition which they are consenting to, to the
original proposer, or consent-receiver. 119 This
successful reception of the proposition is known
in the literature as ‘uptake’. Uptake can be more
formally characterized as any condition for
consent pertaining to the accepted receipt of a
proposition requiring consent on the part of the
consent-giver. The behaviourist about consent
(Dougherty) will require that uptake is
communicated by some form of outward
behaviour because it is this communication that
allows the consent-receiver to understand that
they do indeed have consent. They will endorse
the uptake view of consent: Consent is an act that
requires both an attempt to communicate and
uptake. 120 The mentalist about consent (Tadros)
will reject this, arguing consent is guaranteed in
situations where the consent-giver agrees to the
proposition in question, regardless of whether
the receiver is aware of the agreement. In order
to address the intuitions behind these views, this
essay’s first section shall deal with a clarification
that needs to be made with respect to a general
working definition of consent – consent as
agreeing vs consent as permission. It seems to
me that whilst Dougherty’s deconstruction of,
and accompanying arguments for, the uptake
view 121 are generally correct, he is quick in
dismissing Tadros’ non-communicative
intuitions. Once a distinction is made between
the different intuitions agreement and
permission generate, one can trace the route of
the paper’s conflict: Tadros seems to be arguing
for a notion of consent as agreeing, Dougherty
as explicitly giving permission. One’s intuitions
therefore on the question of whether consent
requires outward communication will change
depending on which base assumption is adopted.
Assuming this distinction is warranted, the
second section addresses the normative question
concerning which understanding of consent one
ought to endorse, arguing that the permissionsense
of consent, and therefore the uptake view
of consent, is preferable.
I
Tadros vs Dougherty, Agreement vs
Permission
Some grounding of the main conflicting
arguments pertaining to consent will help justify
the claim that the two authors disagree
primitively on the fundamental formulation of
consent itself. Dougherty presents three replies
in favour of the uptake view in response to
Tadros’ main arguments against uptake. In order,
these are:
(1) The Mumble Argument 122
(2) The Delayed Consent Argument 123
(3) The Control Argument124
Each of these is approached by both
philosophers from two intuitively biased
standpoints; one defines consent as agreement,
the other permission.
118 Dougherty, T. 2018. “On Wrongs And Crimes: Does Consent Require Only An Attempt To Communicate?”. Criminal
Law And Philosophy 13 (3).
119 ‘Proposition’ in this case simply refers to what the consent-giver is actually consenting to
120 Dougherty, T. “On Wrongs and Crimes”: 411.
121 Dougherty, T. “On Wrongs and Crimes”: 411.
122 Dougherty, T. “On Wrongs and Crimes”: 412.
123 Dougherty, T. “On Wrongs and Crimes”: 414.
124 Dougherty, T. “On Wrongs and Crimes”: 416.
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(1) The Mumble Argument
The first case is as follows: X asks Y for consent,
Y mumbles a reply. X is not sure what Y has said
and so is not sure whether Y has consented.
Tadros takes this case to support the view that
consent does not require uptake. Dougherty
deconstructs his reasoning as such:
P1*: X is warranted in being unsure whether Y
has consented.
P2: X is warranted in being unsure whether
consent was given only if they do not know the
criteria required for consent to be given.
P3: X knows he lacks uptake
C1*: X does not know the Y consents
Finally, infer from C1 and P3:
C2* Therefore, X’s lack of uptake does not make
it the case that Jones does not consent.
The idea is that X simultaneously does not know
whether consent has been given, and does know
that they lack uptake. Therefore, consent must
be independent of uptake. However, for the
argument to work, both parties (those
sympathetic to the uptake view and those
employing the argument against it) have to
accept the premises. The problem, as Dougherty
notes, is that P1* may not be accepted by
sympathisers of uptake in the first place. Note,
P1 insists that not knowing whether you have
been given consent is a justification for not
knowing whether you have consent. However,
those who endorse uptake will say that situations
in which uptake is not received are not
ambiguous about whether consent is given, but
clear-cut: they are situations in which consent is
absent, and therefore you are not justified in
believing you may have consent. For a
(convenient) analogy to motivate this intuition,
consider a case involving permission instead.
You ask me whether I can have your car keys. I
mumble something back. Are you justified in
thinking I may have given you permission to take
my car? At first sight, the answer may be clearly
‘Yes’. I either agreed to you taking my car out for
a spin or disagreed. However, this potential for
agreement does not imply permission. In order
to have successfully given you permission, or not
given you permission, for that matter, you need
to be aware of whether I have agreed or not. I
may be relaxed about the idea and, agreeing to it,
have attempted to give you permission by
mumbling a ‘yes, of course’. But then you are
warranted only in thinking I may have agreed to
your proposition, or attempted to give you
permission; not that I have actually given you
permission. This is because you were not
successfully given (you did not hear) the
agreement. The reception on your part of my
agreement -which distinguishes agreement from
permission - is similar to the uptake-criterion of
consent Dougherty takes to be primitive.
Similarly to how you are not warranted in
thinking I may have given you permission to take
my car out, X is not warranted in thinking Y may
have consented.
(2) Delayed Consent
The second argument Tadros provides in favour
of a non-uptake interpretation of consent is:
“Delay: On Monday, Bill asks Sally if he can
borrow her car on Wednesday. On Tuesday Sally
writes an email to Bill that he can. Bill does not
read the email until Thursday.” 125
Delay is to be interpreted by sympathizers of the
uptake view as meaning Bill had consent from
Sally to take her car out on Thursday only.
Intuitively, Tadros claims the better view is to
allow that Sally consented on Tuesday, but Bill
did not find out until Thursday. Discussing this
argument, Dougherty draws on the parallel case
of promises without uptake in order to argue that
promises, like consent, do indeed require uptake.
The case of Delayed Receipt 126 is similar to Delay in
that it features two people, Adam and Bertha.
On (for the sake of comparison) Monday, Bertha
writes a letter to Adam promising monogamy.
On Wednesday night, she has sex for the last
time with her ex-boyfriend, Willis. On Thursday,
Adam receives the letter. If consistent with his
views on Delay, it seems Tadros would claim
Bertha promised on Monday, and therefore
incurs promissory obligations at that time.
125 Tadros, V. 2016. “Wrongs and Crimes”. Oxford University Press: 206
126 Dougherty, D. “On Wrongs and Crimes”: 414-415.
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Adam, however, discovers these obligations on
Thursday. Promissory obligation, therefore, is
independent of uptake. Following Liberto 127,
Dougherty responds with two conditions for the
generation of promissory obligations: (a) for a
promissory obligation to arise, it has to be the
case that a promise has been launched, and (b)
that uptake eventually occurs. The uptake view of
promises is preserved in this case since although
it is conceded that promissory obligations can
occur before uptake, the validity of these
obligations remains contingent on whether
uptake eventually occurs.
I think such a reply gets around the issue but
does so fairly weakly. Firstly, there needs to be a
well-justified explanation for why exactly it is
that, upon promising, the promisor is under an
obligation to the promissee, when the promissee
may never be made aware of the promise, or
may potentially refute the promise. Given the
very definition of promising and its use are
debated topics in the philosophical literature,
there isn’t much said on why this notion is
preferable, other than it being an ad hoc move to
save the uptake criterion. Additionally,
conditions (a) and (b) jointly introduce
unnecessary complications. Take, for example, a
promise Sam makes to Brook to marry them in
early adulthood. Ten years on, Brook fulfils (b)
and agrees to marry Sam. The promise was
neither accepted nor refuted until this point. Was
Sam under an obligation, all these years, to marry
Brook? It is worth noting that Liberto does
support her account by providing solutions to
problems conditions (a) and (b) may incur 128. My
aim in this section is instead to justify why (a)
and (b) hold.
The idea is that the general intuitions for (a) and
(b) are right, but for a crucial supplementary
reason. It is not that Bertha has broken a
promise before receiving uptake on Adam’s part
because promissory obligations already existed
from the moment the promise was launched.
Rather, Bertha has broken the promise because
at the moment uptake occurred (Adam accepting
the promise), the terms had already been
damaged. According to Adam, the fine-print of
Bertha’s promise read: ‘I have finally decided to
commit to monogamy from this moment on.’ If the
letter instead implicitly stated ‘I want to be
monogamous from the moment you read this
letter,’ Bertha has indeed committed no wrong. It
doesn’t matter that a promise was launched early
or later or made at the time of promising – what
matters is that if the terms of the promise made
at the moment included actions of the past, the
promissory obligation that is generated by both
parties signing on extends to past events.
Promissory obligations do not obtain because
the promise was launched, they obtain because
when the promise was accepted (uptake
occurred), it extended to actions of the past. I
would argue that unless this distinction was
specified, Adam did not uptake Bertha’s promise
in the correct way. If Bertha meant for her
accountability to start when Adam read the
letter, yet did not specify this, Adam’s confusion
is warranted, but his justification in holding her
accountable is not: in the end, Bertha did not
promise to be monogamous until Adam received
the letter. Unless specified, consent is up for
interpretation. It is therefore important that the
promissee ensures themselves of the details of
the promise they have been made. I think
Liberto and Dougherty won’t have a problem
with such a justification for conditions (a) and
(b) in favour of uptake. I also think the argument
for uptake existing in Delayed Receipt is stronger
than Tadros’ intuition. Crucially, Tadros need not
agree. He may retain that although unspecified,
the agreement between Adam and Bertha for her
to be monogamous unless specified, implies she
committed to this from the moment the letter
was written. It doesn’t matter whether then
Bertha meant for this to mean from the moment
Adam read the letter, ie. it doesn’t matter whether
she actually permitted Adam to interpret the
agreement in this way. It is in this sense that
relying on a distinction between permission and
agreement, and falling back on the latter, could
still vindicate Tadros’ intuitions.
(3) The Control Argument
127 Liberto, H. 2018. "Promises and the Backward Reach of Uptake." American Philosophical Quarterly 55, (1): 20-21.
http://www.jstor.org/stable/45128595.
128 Liberto, H. 2018. "Promises and the Backward Reach of Uptake." American Philosophical Quarterly 55, (1): 15-26.
http://www.jstor.org/stable/45128595.
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Tadros’ final argument against uptake relies on
an additional requirement between autonomy
and consent some may hold necessary. The
autonomy thesis, ie. the idea that consent-givers
have an autonomous right to decide to give
consent, is present also in accounts of promises.
The issue arises from two requirements implicit
within the uptake view for consent: in order to
consent with uptake, one has to firstly be capable
of autonomous consent. Dougherty fleshes this
out in terms of “Negative Autonomy: The
capacity to ensure that one is not validly
consenting.” 129 Secondly, the uptake view, in
virtue of requiring that the promissee is aware
of the promise, requires that the promisor is
capable of ensuring consent when consent is
intended. Ie. “Positive Autonomy: The capacity
to ensure that one is validly consenting.” 130
Tadros’ argument is that the uptake view is
limited in that it cannot guarantee positive
autonomy, because plausibly, there are instances
in which no matter the promiser’s efforts, they
fail to guarantee the uptake of the promissee 131
(The Mumble argument above can qualify as one
such effort). The uncertainty of guaranteeing
autonomy in this sense is a problem for Tadros.
It is not for Dougherty. Dougherty himself adds
that given this is an intuitive stand-off, there’s
not much room to provide an argument against
Tadros’ position. However, there is space to
once again outline this as a distinction between
consent as agreement and consent as permission.
If the previous and following arguments in
favour of the latter hold, then one can reject
Tadros’ intuition on the basis of said distinction.
As alluded to in the discussion of the mumble
argument, in order to successfully give permission
for an action x, one has to first ensure that the
permission is received. Otherwise, it is not the
case that permission is given so much as one has
attempted to give permission. In order to give
permission, there has to be some X to whom
you give the permission to, i.e., a sort of
‘transfer’ of intentions is made. In this respect,
consent requires communication because this
transfer of intentions from one to the other
cannot be done telepathically. On the other
hand, it is intuitively plausible that Y can agree to
a set of terms without X being aware she agreed
to them, even if those terms were set down by
X. The very process of letting someone know
you consent entails your mental analysis of the
situation, agreeing, and then letting them know.
To successfully agree to the performance of
action x, the consent-giver needs no assurance
that uptake occurs. She can agree autonomously
to an action being done to her, for example,
without needing to be sure whether her consentreceiver
is aware. This second notion of
agreement reflects Tadros’ requirement in
maintaining the close link between both positive
and negative autonomy with consent, since
negative autonomy is not challenged, and
positive autonomy goes unrequired due to the
absence of uptake.
A question may still remain for some readers of
why exactly, then, one should endorse a notion
of consent as affiliated with permission over one
affiliated with agreement. The following section
aims to motivate this very claim.
II
Permission > Agreement
Does our notion of consent and hence our
opinion on whether consent requires
communication simply depend on which
interpretation we prefer to choose? My
inclinations say no: the framing of consent as
permission rather than agreement is more
desirable. One motivation for this is that consent
on most if not all accounts seems to be a special
type of agreement – namely an agreement for
some agent / group to do something to you, or
vice-versa. It is an expression of agreement that
requires an agential relationship – more in line
with the notion of permission between humans
than any agreement towards a concept / action /
thought. To be more precise, the very nature of
an agential relationship requires a distinction
between the concepts of consent as permission
and agreement. A person can agree to a set of
terms, for example, a legal contract, fixed in
129 Dougherty, T. “On Wrongs and Crimes”: 417.
130 Dougherty, T. “On Wrongs and Crimes”: 417.
131 Tadros, V. 2016. “Wrongs and Crimes”. Oxford University Press: 219
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writing. Since this contract is immutable, they
need not worry about changing terms or
intentions. Talk about receiving permission,
however, and the subject of change is
introduced. The terms of a contract between
people may change as the external situation
changes (I consented to you giving me a kiss in
exchange for a rubber, but now my friend has
given me hers, so I no longer consent to you
giving me a kiss). They may change as a person’s
internal intentions change (I no longer wish to
be kissed, even if you gave me your rubber. This
might not be fair, or a violation of my agreement,
but you would still lack permission). Agential
relationships factor in this change, and so fall
more in line with the notion of consent as
permission rather than agreement. A modern
reading of sexual consent adheres to the
argument – sexual consent between two people
must be constantly given. Indeed, generally, it is
taken for granted that “so long as (a person)
presently dissents, it is irrelevant that they have
consented in the past.” 132
The framing of consent in terms of permission
serves additionally to aid understanding of valid
vs invalid consent to harm, discussed in Tadros’
2011 article. 133 This focuses on contrasting
intuitions arising on whether consent can make a
difference to the permissibility of harming
others, notable examples including euthanasia
and voluntary cannibalism. What follows in
order to make sense of this contrast between
appeals to autonomy (what is expressed by
informed consent) vs conventional morality
(principles somewhat against harm which we
have come to accept in society), is a further
analysis of the content of the consent, for
example, the magnitude of harm undertaken. 134
Euthanasia is in many cultures considered too
great a violation of the harm principle for a
person’s autonomous desire to die to override
the principle. This is a case where the content of
consent overrides the validity of consent, but
further work needs to be done to explain why
this is. Understanding consent in terms of
permissibility can summarise why this conflict
exists in the first place. There may be cases
where an individual’s permission conflicts with
what society deems as permissible, and these are
cases that constitute invalid consent in said
societies. The ‘content’ ought to be analysed
further not only to see if the individual grants
permission, but whether the social fabric does
too. The requirement of permission from
multiple sources by those against euthanasia can
explain the discord between autonomous rights
and the harm principle. I note that in both
‘Wrongs and Crimes’ 135 and ‘Rape Without
Consent’ 136 Tadros himself expresses concern
over close affiliation of consent with agreement
on the subject of rape, due to the “paradox at
the heart of the definition” 137 involving a tension
between agreeing by choice vs lacking general
capacity or freedom. His resolution is to distance
a new definition of rape from the consent-based
model to a differentiated one. I would suggest
instead converging the agreement-based model
of consent on a permission-based one. “There
are two ways in which agreement might be
understood: either subjectively, as a meeting of
minds, or objectively through the
communication of the parties.” 138 The latter
requires permission and hence qualifies as better
groundwork for what constitutes consent.
Given the above discussion, I am going to
assume consent comes in the form of
permission moreso than agreement, for the
remainder of the essay. This permission-view
entails that consent requires communication. I
am aware that this choice has not been
132 Dougherty, T. 2014. “Fickle Consent” Philosophical Studies 167 (1): 26. doi:10.1007/s11098-013-0230-7.
133 Tadros, V. 2011. “Consent To Harm”. Current Legal Problems 64 (1): 23-49. doi:10.1093/clp/cur004.
134 Tadros, V. “Consent to Harm”: 26.
135 Tadros, V. “Wrongs and crimes”: 207.
136 Tadros, V. 2006. "Rape Without Consent". Oxford Journal Of Legal Studies 26 (3): 515-543. doi:10.1093/ojls/gql016.
137 Tadros, V. “Rape Without Consent”: 521.
138 Tadros, V. “Rape Without Consent”: 521.
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meticulously defended – and welcome any
counterarguments – but I think it is a distinction
that agrees with Dougherty’s superior
counterarguments whilst still allowing
justification for the intuitions of Tadros and
those similar to him via explanatory power 139.
III
Problems for Permission: Romantic Comedy
Scenario (No Communication)
This third section marks a problem for the
behaviourist which, contrary to Tadros’ intuitive
charges, is born out of the permission-view for
consent. I assume consent is sufficient for
fulfilling the demands of sexual morality to
highlight two cases that imply uptake without the
usual framing requiring additional outward
behaviour expressing uptake. What exactly is
entailed by permissive-consent under this view is
blurred with regards to the wider literature on
sexual ethics. In order to work, such an account
will fall much more in line with an ‘enthusiastic’
reading of behavioural consent as opposed to a
‘yes means yes’, ‘no means no’ black-and-white
take. 140 Additionally, these cases ought still
conform to some relevant interpretation of
‘informed consent’, the definition of which may
need to undergo some adjustments with regards
to these particular instances. If upon evaluation
with regards to the wider literature, these cases
hold as instances of valid consent, then there is a
subtlety to address by what behaviourists mean
when we talk of ‘outward’ behaviour when
communicating consent. The subtlety is that
outward behaviour communicating uptake can
be implicit in the relationships we form with
people due to previous instances of
communication, or in virtue of the socially
accepted roles we choose to enter in. An
understanding of, and accompanying complicity,
with regards to these roles is sufficient for
informed permissive-consent. The argument in
favour of this additional requirement is
presented below.
Given the requirement for uptake is accepted on
the permission view for consent, it can be inferred
that some accompanying act of communication
on the part of the consent-giver is additionally
required. Otherwise, there is no prompt that
makes the consent-receiver aware of the
existence of a proposition to consent to. Take,
for example, Tadros’ own foreign lovers’ case:
“Foreign Lovers: Brenda consents to sex with Ahmed in
a language that Brenda thinks Ahmed understands, but
he does not. Because Ahmed does not believe Brenda
consents, they do not have sex.” 141
In order for Brenda to express her permission in
granting Ahmed’s request for sex, she first has to
understand that he indeed is asking for sex. In
order to do so, it seems as though he has to
effectively communicate his intentions to her
somewhat. 142 Under the permission view for
consent, Brenda would then have to successfully
permit the proposition, i.e. grant consent with
communication of uptake. In other words, on
this view, there seems to be not only a need for
uptake of a proposition on the part of the
consent-giver, but additionally there must be
some successful communication from both
parties of the intended request for consent, and
the following denial/acceptance of said request.
Consent is a two-way communicative relation.
The requirement for this two-way
communication is implicit in the arguments for
uptake analysed so far. The question I raise in
this section is whether there exist specific
instances of uptake void of this communicative
relation. These are not, in the vein of Tadros,
examples which ought to fuel intuitions that
139 The explanation is the divergence between two intuitive views based on ideas of consent as agreement vs consent as
permission.
140 Coy M. & Kelly, L. & Vera-Gray, F. & Garner, M. & Kanyeredzi, A. 2016. “From ‘no means no’ to ‘an enthusiastic yes’:
Changing the Discourse on Sexual Consent Through Sex and Relationships Education.” 10.1057/9781137500229_6.
141 Dougherty, T. “On Wrongs and Crimes”: 418.
This is also arguably true for an agreement view of consent: although Brenda may not needs to express her uptake to
142
Ahmed for consent, there is still a requirement for Ahmed to communicate his asking for consent in order for there to be a
general understanding of what agreement is being consented to.
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uptake is unrequired for consent. The argument
here will be that uptake can exist without
attempted communication. It is a distinction
Dougherty fails to make in his formulation of
the uptake view, one which is however required to
properly capture the behavioural view.
Romantic comedy scenario (No communication):
In this scenario, Ahmed wants to kiss Brenda,
but this is not communicated. Brenda wants
Ahmed to kiss her, but this too is not
communicated. Ahmed sweeps in and abruptly
kisses Brenda.
It seems clear in the above case that consent in
the permissive ‘you can do this to me’ sense
hasn’t been explicitly given, but there seems to
be justification in saying that the kissing act isn’t
really treated as a non-consensual action, or at
least a harmful non-consensual action (by both
Brenda and Ahmed, as well as the audience).
Why? Perhaps as an audience, we have just
grown likely to excuse instances void of consent
where the main leads are attractive and clearly
like each other. Three other possible appeals to
justification can be made. One route is to say
that consent is made obvious the moment both
participants / Brenda specifically does not stop
the kiss and welcomes it – but this seems very
problematic. E.g. imagine Brenda didn’t intend
or want the kiss, but from the moment it starts
she actually doesn’t find it too bad, and so
continues. Would Ahmed still have had consent
at the moment he leaned forward to kiss her?
Initial consent’s time seems to have come and
passed the moment someone starts performing
an action on you.
A second possible route is to draw a distinction
between instances that are non-consensual, by
which case the consent-giver actively does not
want to give consent, and cases where there is
merely a lack of consent, i.e. there is either no
attempt, a failed attempt, or simply no
communication which may classify as consent.
Cases such as these, however, mark precisely the
distinction between a mental and behavioural
view of consent. The behavioural view to which
I am committed requires communication in
order to establish permissibility. Whether the
absence of consent implies permission on the
part of the consent-giver will inevitably vary by
situation. Two such examples are present in
Dougherty’s ‘Consent, Communication and
Abandonment’: 143
“Wanted Sex. Sue wants Sam to have sex with her.
Yet she is afraid that if she communicates that to
him, he might think she is ‘‘easy’’ or ‘‘trashy’’ and
ultimately reject a long-term relationship with
her, a relationship she desires.
One night, Sam begins making sexual advances
with Sue. Sue wants him to proceed, but she says
nothing to encourage him and indeed resists him
with some force at each step of the way. This
resistance does not deter him, and ultimately,
they have sex.
Sue is delighted. Things worked out just as she
had hoped. Sam had sex with her, but she was
able to communicate that she was not consenting
to it.” 144
“Unwanted Sex. Teresa is not willing to have sex
with Tony. Teresa does nothing to indicate that
she is willing to engage in sexual intercourse with
Tony. Tony realizes that Teresa is not willing to
engage in sexual intercourse, and has not
communicated that she is. Tony proceeds to
engage in sexual intercourse with Teresa.” 145
Both above cases are examples of consent as
absent rather than non-consensual. Dougherty’s
critics have argued that there is a difference that
must be noted between the two scenarios when
considering the criminal justice system which
ought to hold that Tony’s actions are more
morally reprehensible than Sam’s. If it isn’t
mental consent, then the question for
behaviourists is what is the difference between
the two cases which allows permissibility in
Sam’s case but not Tony’s? Why might the
absence of consent be permissible? The answer
is this: an action where consent is behaviourally
absent may classify as consensual if and only if it
was previously explicitly agreed that the absence
143 Dougherty, T. 2019. "Consent, Communication, And Abandonment". Law And Philosophy 38 (4): 387-405. doi:10.1007/
s10982-019-09355-5.
144 Dougherty, T. “Consent, Communication, And Abandonment”: 389.
145 Dougherty, T. “Consent, Communication, And Abandonment”: 391.
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of consent entails consent. I.e. if Sam is
(correctly) aware of Sue’s wanting to have sex by
purposely choosing to perform an absence of
consent, it may be understood as consent (given
she still feels this way). However, if Sam was
unaware of Sue’s motivations, and yet chose to
have sex with her in the absence of sexual
consent, then the action has equal consensual
standing with Tony’s below. Both men are not
given permission to have sex with the women,
the difference is Sue welcomed the act, Teresa
did not. Additionally, it is worth noting that
intuitions about this particular difference may
change with the type of consent warranted.
There are certain agreements between people
commonly understood to require only some
form of passive consent (as long as you don’t
actively prohibit it, it is generally alright to
assume you have consented. An example is an
email arrangement between a professor and
student about the next supervision time: if the
supervisor emails the student specifying a time
for the next supervision unless specifically
requested by the student, the implicit agreement
that they will meet at a said time remains without
need for the student to email back. Sexual
consent is not that type of agreement. It is one
where permission from both parties is required
and disclosed. For these reasons I do not think
this ‘passive’ route alone is the answer to our
dismissal of potentially problematic romantic
comedy scenes.
The final route (I think the more favourable) is
to say that consent exists in this case as being
built up over time as a consequence of the relationship it
exists in - in our romantic comedy case, this
happens over the course of an on-screen
relationship. Brenda and Ahmed enter into a
(potential) romantic relationship along the film’s
timeline made up of many different individual
instances of communication (e.g. going on dates,
walking each other home, meet-cutes). These
communication instances build the nature of this
relationship they have and act as the groundwork
communication which allows for uncommunicated
consent in instances of little/no communication.
To give a different example, one can think of
two colleagues’ previously established work
relationship where they jump up on each other
and scare one another. The nature of the
relationship being established via groundwork
communication, when this non-communicated
act happens, it passes for consent. This is not to
say that just because two people are framed as
romantic interests, and Ahmed and Brenda
communicated this relationship to each other
previously in the film, that Ahmed has
permission at any moment to kiss Brenda.
Perhaps Brenda was angry with him, didn’t want
a kiss, or found a new love interest in the
previous scene. If all these factors amount to
Brenda not wanting to be kissed, then of course
Ahmed does not have permission to kiss her.
What this ‘contextual relationships’ view of
consent merely implies is that sometimes
consent can be given in non-communicative
situations, NOT as a result of intended mental
consent or attempted consent, nor because of a
previous explicit agreement that the absence of
consent entails consent, but as a result of the
nature of an established relationship. This can be
established in virtue of either previous acts of
communication (two co-workers agreeing they
will play these pranks on each other), or by
socially accepted (and communicated) roles in
relationships (Brenda and Ahmed entering the
roles of romantic interests in a romantic
comedy).
A benefit of this view is that it means consent in
the same scenario ‘without communication’
looks different for different relationships. In a
situation where two co-workers have not
previously established a joke relationship, when
Sam jumps on Bill out of the blue it is clear that
Sam does not have consent. The additional
benefit of this contextualising view of consent is
that it more easily appeases those still with
intuitions of consent as a mental agreement
between two people by allowing for consent to
be present in situations where there is no
communication. However, this view still falls
under a behavioural (communication) idea of
consent because these special-case instances rely
on relationships and dynamics made up of
previous communication.
Possible Counterargument – Ignorant
customers and scheming waiters
One possible way to argue against this
‘contextual relationships’ view as founded on
communication is to formulate an instance in
which the contextual relationship element and
the communication element are in conflict with
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each other. For example, imagine a client in a
restaurant in which the menu is written in a
language she doesn’t understand, asking the
waiter for meat when really, she intends to eat
fish. The waiter decides out of spite (perhaps
because her pronunciation is off) to bring her
the fish dish under the impression that what she
really wants is meat. Thanks to two errors (a-la-
Zagzebski), the client gets the meal she intended
to. But has she consented to the waiter’s actions?
Under a normal behavioural view, it seems she
has not: there was a failure in communication on
both parts. But on a contextual relationship view,
it seems she has – the socially accepted roles in
this relationship are those of the waiter and the
client, both have communicated their roles by
the manner of sitting down at a table in a
restaurant, picking up a menu, walking over to
the table, asking to take an order … The
dynamic of the roles entails the client consents
to the waiter bringing the client the food she
wants. The waiter does this, therefore the client
has consented.
If these two views really do conflict with how
they see consent, then it cannot be the case that
the contextual relationship view is seen as an
extension of the behavioural view and has
explanatory power for instances in which there
seems to be no communication but we are
willing to call consent. It is therefore a relief for
the behavioural view that they do not conflict:
The dynamic of the client / waiter role not only
entails that the waiter brings the client the food
she wants, but that the waiter brings the client
the food she specifically orders. If I order food,
but then change my mind after I have ordered it,
it is not the waiter’s fault if she brings me the
option I ordered, rather it is expected. I have not
given her permission to bring me the food I really
want if I did not communicate this to her. This
is built into the dynamic of the socially accepted
roles in the client/waiter relationship. Hence,
when I enter the role of the client in this
dynamic, I am only non-communicatively
consenting to the waiter bringing me the food I
ordered, not what I wanted. Therefore, when the
waiter brings out the fish dish, both on the
classic behavioural and contextual relationship
view, consent is absent.
Conclusion
To conclude, consent does require
communication. However, the role
communication plays in certain instances of
consent may be subtler, e.g. it may be the case in
instances of no-communication that consent is
given, but this is dependent on a relationship
dynamic established by previous communication.
This extended version of consent as permission
clearly falls under the behavioural view defended
by Dougherty, whilst providing an explanation
for opposing intuitions presented by Tadros and
his akin.
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Bibliography
Coy M. & Kelly, L. & Vera-Gray, F. & Garner, M. & Kanyeredzi, A. 2016. “From ‘no means no’ to ‘an
enthusiastic yes’: Changing the Discourse on Sexual Consent Through Sex and Relationships
Education.” In book: Global Perspectives and Key Debates in Sex and Relationships Education: Addressing
Issues of Gender, Sexuality, Plurality and Power 10.1057/9781137500229_6.
Dougherty, T. 2019. "Consent, Communication, And Abandonment". Law And Philosophy 38 (4):
387-405. doi:10.1007/s10982-019-09355-5.
Dougherty, T. 2014. “Fickle Consent”. Philosophical Studies 167 (1): 25-40. doi:10.1007/
s11098-013-0230-7.
Dougherty, T. 2018. “On Wrongs And Crimes: Does Consent Require Only An Attempt To
Communicate?”. Criminal Law And Philosophy 13 (3): 409-423. doi:10.1007/s11572-018-9473-x.
Fox, R.M. & DeMarco J.P. 1996. “On Making and Keeping Promises”. Journal of Applied
Philosophy (13): 199-208. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1468-5930.1996.tb00162.x
Liberto, H. 2018. "Promises and the Backward Reach of Uptake." American Philosophical
Quarterly 55, (1): 15-26. http://www.jstor.org/stable/45128595.
Pugh J. 2020. “Autonomy, Rationality, and Contemporary Bioethics.” Oxford (UK): Oxford
Press. Chapter 6. “Informed Consent, Autonomy, and Beliefs”. https://
www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK556864/
Reis-Dennis, S. 2020. “Understanding Autonomy: An Urgent Intervention”. Journal of Law
Biosciences, (7). https://doi.org/10.1093/jlb/lsaa037
University
and the
Tadros, V. 2011. “Consent To Harm”. Current Legal Problems 64 (1): 23-49. doi:10.1093/clp/cur004.
Tadros, V. 2006. "Rape Without Consent". Oxford Journal Of Legal Studies 26 (3): 515-543. doi:10.1093/
ojls/gql016.
Tadros, V. 2016. “Wrongs and Crimes”. Oxford University Press
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Can Science Explain Consciousness?
Will Ryan
Abstract
Despite the usual success of science in explaining all phenomena it investigates, a scientific explanation of consciousness
has remained elusive. Accordingly, this essay considers whether science is equipped to tackle the problem of consciousness.
A critical overview of a sample of scientific approaches to investigating the problem reveals that they consistently fail to
provide an intelligible explanation of why processes consisting of nonconscious matter should be accompanied by subjective
experience. Consequently, a philosophical analysis of the mind-body problem is conducted to see if conceptual clarity might
indicate a way forward. This discovers an operative assumption in the scientific field that consciousness is an emergent,
biological phenomenon. It is therefore suggested that consciousness be treated as an irreducible feature of reality instead. A
scientific approach that treats consciousness as irreducible is identified in integrated information theory (IIT). Further
examination finds that IIT provides more efficient explanations for testable consciousness related phenomena than other
theories, and it is argued that its reliability in explaining testable phenomena increases confidence in its untestable claims
about the place of consciousness in nature. It is therefore concluded that science can explain consciousness, given the
appropriate conceptual foundations.
Introduction
The progress of natural science throughout the
last century has been meteoric. From quantum
theory to mapping the human genome, scientific
developments have impacted every aspect of
modern life. Nonetheless, one phenomenon has
remained as contentious as ever throughout this
period: consciousness. This is, perhaps, in part
due to its intangible nature. It may also partly be
due to the understandable wariness of scientific
sensibilities towards admitting something to
serious study that might inadvertently give
credence to supernatural notions like the soul.
However, the possibility that it is because science
just is not equipped to explain consciousness
cannot be overlooked. The past few decades has
seen a resurgence of scientific and philosophical
interest into consciousness research, with a
plethora of different opinions emerging as to
what it is and how to investigate it. Some have
expressed confidence that any apparent
problems in explaining consciousness will be
swept away with further scientific investigation
(Baars 1988, Crick and Koch 1990, Seth 2018),
while others have gone as far as to doubt
whether there is anything real to be explained in
the first place beyond nonconscious physical
processes (Churchland 1981, Dennett 1993,
Frankish 2016). Even so, as advancements in
relevant fields of scientific enquiry over the years
have delivered an unprecedented understanding
of human behaviour and the neural processes
that underlie it, so too have arguments gained
traction claiming that consciousness is
impervious to these methods of scientific
investigation (Nagel 1974, Levine 1983,
Chalmers 1995, Strawson 2006, Goff 2019).
Such a stark lack of consensus around a topic so
fundamental to human self-knowledge,
knowledge of the world, and the relationship
between the two is obviously disconcerting.
Accordingly, this essay will assess the role of
science in furthering the burgeoning
consciousness debate. Beginning by specifying
w h a t p h e n o m e n o n i s d e n o t e d b y
‘consciousness’, it will then consider scientific
approaches to studying it, such as
neurobiological explanations and cognitive
modelling. While these approaches are insightful,
it is found that they fail to explain why the
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physical processes they study should be
accompanied by, or result in, conscious
experiences. A philosophical analysis is therefore
conducted to see if conceptual clarity might
remove this problem. This discovers that science
had thus far failed to explain consciousness
because it has operated under the assumption
that consciousness is an emergent, biological
phenomenon. As such, a way of conceptualising
consciousness as an irreducible feature of the
world will be considered. As this view seems to
provide a way forward, a scientific theory that
treats consciousness as irreducible will then be
examined. Finally, seeing that this approach has
potential to make substantial progress, it is
c o n c l u d e d t h a t s c i e n c e c a n e x p l a i n
consciousness, given the correct conceptual
underpinning.
What is Consciousness?
All humans are intimately acquainted with
consciousness, so it might seem unnecessary to
define it. However, those who have attempted to
pin it down have invariably run into difficulties.
A famous entry from The International Dictionary
of Psychology (Sutherland, 1989) illustrates the
point: ‘The having of perceptions, thoughts and
feelings: awareness . . . Consciousness is a
fascinating but elusive phenomenon: it is
impossible to specify what it is, what it does, or
why it evolved’. Nouns such as ‘awareness’,
‘feelings’, ‘sentience’, and ‘experience’ tend to
arise while trying to home in on consciousness.
These words are generally problematic, however,
as they either simply substitute another word for
‘consciousness’, or don’t capture its essence at
all. For example, awareness can be displayed by
objects there is no reason to consider conscious,
such as the automatic door that opens as one
enters the supermarket. Moreover, the above
definition falls into another common pitfall by
appealing to thoughts and perceptions; but, the
reality of unconscious thought processes being
affected by subliminal perceptions (Karam et al.
2017) makes this strategy tenuous too.
The problem stems from the fact that a word
will usually pick out a referent, some object in the
world or aspect of experience, which is
understood in relation to other objects or aspects
of experience – terms are understood in context.
Consciousness, however, is the context in which
all these relations take place. This means that
there is no context in which it can itself be
placed. Consequently, any attempt to define
consciousness by reference to something more
fundamental must omit crucial features of the
phenomenon, and any attempt to give a
nonreductive definition must ultimately be
circular. It therefore seems the best that can be
done is to elucidate its significant features.
Perhaps the most influential exposition in this
manner is Thomas Nagel’s (1974), which
highlights the ‘subjective character of
experience’. Nagel states that ‘an organism has
conscious mental states if and only if there is
something that it is like to be that organism’. This
statement is effective as it grasps a truly essential
feature of conscious experience, that it entails a
subjective point of view, while being sufficiently
vague so as not to bring along any of the
unnecessary concepts discussed above. 146 This
captures what is being considered in this essay,
so from here on ‘consciousness’ shall simply
denote the presence of a subjective point of
view of any kind. 147
The Scientific Investigation of
Consciousness
Science is an inherently objective enterprise, it
deals exclusively with quantifiable features of the
world that can be corroborated by independent
observers; that is to say, science deals with the
physical world. Thus, if science is to shed light
on consciousness, a mental phenomenon, it must
be possible to explain it in physical terms. Of
course, a good place to start with is the brain:
there is little doubt that the brain, a physical
object, is linked with conscious experience in
some way. As such, a prominent line of
146 Nagel’s conception of consciousness does not require that an organism be aware of its own experience – it does not
require reflexive consciousness or self-awareness. It is merely stating that if it feels like something (anything) to be the
organism – if there is some form of experience of being the organism, rather than total oblivion – then it is conscious.
147 There are many names in the literature to indicate the bare presence of consciousness as opposed to
nonconsciousness in the literature; for example, ‘creature consciousness’, ‘medical consciousness’, ‘generic
consciousness’.
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investigation has been to identify the neural
correlates of consciousness (NCC).
NCCs are defined as ‘the minimum neural
mechanisms sufficient for any one specific
conscious percept’ (Koch, Massimini and Tononi
2016). Accordingly, NCC research targets
specific contents of consciousness by
monitoring brain activity while exposing test
subjects to stimuli. The perceptibility of
particular properties of a stimulus can be
presented at various intensities, for example the
intensity of the redness of a square, and
correlated with the activity of specific neural
circuits. This enables researchers to identify the
neural systems responsible for representing
specific aspects of perceptions, for example
redness or squareness.
Now, the obvious criticism here is that
correlation does not mean causation. However,
the word ‘correlate’ is misleading. The stipulation
that NCCs are the minimum neural systems
sufficient for the given percept filters trivial
correlations, ensuring that only correlates with
explanatory value toward specific elements of
conscious experience are considered NCCs. In
other words, some neural states will correlate
with a percept because they are part of the
general functioning of the brain (indeed, the
entire brain could be considered a correlate);
however, this is a trivial observation as it could
be applied to all perceptions. Therefore, to be
considered an NCC, the neural system must be
specific to the percept, ensuring it has
explanatory value. Thus, ‘Every phenomenal,
subjective state is caused by a particular physical
mechanism in the brain’ (Koch 2017, 43). Even
so, the explanatory value of NCCs is only
applicable to the character of particular
subjective states, given the fact of consciousness;
it does not explain why those neural states
should produce a conscious experience in the
first place.
There have been many suggestions as to what
the NCC could be for consciousness itself, rather
than just its contents (see Chalmers 1998 for a
list). For brevity’s sake, however, one seminal
exemplar will be considered here. NCC pioneers,
Crick and Koch (1990), argued that 40-hertz
oscillations in the cerebral cortex can provide a
broader explanation for consciousness itself.
They claimed that, since different neural circuits
are responsible for representing specific
elements of perceptions (redness, squareness,
and so on), but the experience of the perception
is always unified (a red square is experienced, not
redness and squareness), there must be a neural
mechanism unifying these disparate elements,
ergo enabling conscious experience as a whole.
They argued that 40-hertz oscillations in the
visual cortex (as the example is a visual
perception) synchronise the separate NCCs,
‘binding’ the elements represented by distinct
neural systems into a unified experience. This
explanation, however, is susceptible to the same
problem as before: it gives no reason why this
neural process should feel like something. It
seems, then, that no matter how finely conscious
states are mapped onto neural processes, a
further level of explanation is required to show
why they should be conscious at all.
Another approach to accounting for the link
between brain and consciousness is cognitive
modelling. Cognitive modelling is an effective
way of explaining psychological phenomena
which complexity makes them resistant to direct
analysis and thus renders them less amenable to
neurobiological explanation. By condensing
phenomena into simplified representations of
functions, a system’s internal dynamics can be
mapped out in a more readily understandable
manner. This approach is inspired by
computational modelling; although it does not
entail that cognitive systems are computational
themselves. 148 Accordingly, many of the
phenomena associated with consciousness, such
as learning, memory, and attention have
succumbed to convincing cognitive explanations.
To investigate further, an influential exemplar
will again be analysed as a representative for the
broader approach.
Global workspace theory (GWT; Baars 1988)
aims to explain what makes some cognitive
processes conscious, while other comparable
processes are not. GWT postulates that
consciousness is a global workspace that makes
information available to independent processes
within a distributed system. When information is
made globally accessible to the system through
the workspace (picture a mental blackboard) it
148 It has been argued by some that human cognitive systems are in fact computational. See Dennett (1993) and
Franklin and Graesser (1999).
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becomes conscious. GWT gives satisfying
explanations as to why consciousness is
particularly associated with cognitive functions
that involve the integration of cognitive content,
such as with attention. However, whilst GWT
undoubtably provides an invaluable framework
for explaining why consciousness corresponds to
some cognitive processes and not others (this is
attested to by the enduring influence of GWT in
the decades since: Dehaene and Naccache 2001,
Shanahan 2005), the same difficulty remains: why
should the global accessibility of information be
conscious? There is a missing explanatory link
between the explanation of cognitive functions
and their relation to conscious states. Bernard
Baars, the pioneer of GTW, acknowledged this
problem himself: ‘A skeptical reader may well
agree with much of what we have said so far, but
still wonder whether we are truly describing
conscious experience, or whether, instead, we
can only deal with incidental phenomena
associated with it’ (1988, 27). Rather than
providing a solution, Baars opted to ‘side-step
philosophical issues’ such as this, ‘in the hope
that eventually, new scientific insights may cast
some light on [such] perennial philosophical
concerns’ (ibid, xv-xvi). Nonetheless, in the three
intervening decades, in which neuroscience and
cognitive psychology have made rapid progress,
it is arguable that they have not made any
progress concerning the problem raised above.
The Mind-Body Problem
This obstacle to scientific progress appears to
require philosophical attention; however, this in
itself does not mean that science is not capable
of explaining consciousness, as conceptual
clarity could quell the doubts raised above.
Classically, the problem that these scientific
enquiries keep encountering is known as the
mind-body problem. It is not new; to the
contrary, it is as old as recorded thought and it
has played a central role in modern philosophy
since Descartes. 149 In recent years, the problem
has regained prominence under new names, such
as ‘the explanatory gap’ (Levine 1983) and ‘the
hard problem of consciousness’ (Chalmers
1995). Its resolution demands an intelligible
explanation of how consciousness relates to
matter.
Historically, there are three dominant ways of
accounting for this relation. Firstly, as with
Descartes, dualism considers both mind and
matter to be fundamental substances, neither
reducible to the other. However, dualism is
generally considered undesirable as it produces a
problem as insoluble as the one it is supposed to
solve: if mind and matter are fundamentally
different substances, how is it that they interact?
The next solution can also be considered part of
Descartes’ legacy, although he did not mean it to
be so. As the force of Descartes’ argument
centred on the demonstration of the certainty of
knowledge of mind (the famous cogito), and the
existence of matter was only secured secondarily
with recourse to God, Descartes opened the
door to another strategy to the mind-body
problem: idealism. Idealism is the view that
reality is composed of mind alone. It tends to
stem from the acceptance of the epistemological
primacy of mind (that is, the impossibility of
direct acquaintance with anything beyond mind),
as this produces the problem of what kind of
evidence could prove the existence of the
nonmental. But idealism presents the challenge
of explaining what sustains the world beyond the
mere perception of entities within it, which if
not met quickly leads to solipsism (the view that
there is nothing beyond one’s own mind). While
neither of these approaches necessarily
contradict science, the mechanisms proposed to
solve their problems generally lack parsimony.
On the other hand, the staggering progress of
physical science has brought about a general
consensus that, in fact, matter is the only
substance – a position known as materialism, or
physicalism.
In Search of a Physicalist Solution
As noted above, science deals exclusively with
quantifiable phenomena. This ensures that
independent investigators can falsify erroneous
claims with evidence that can itself be falsified.
By design, this is a method of removing the
subjective peculiarities of different observers to
deliver an objective view of the world. Because
Contemplation of the mind-body problem can be found in the Upanishads and among presocratic philosophers such
149
as Thales and Democritus.
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of this, science provides physical explanations
for all phenomena. Many problems that have
appeared beyond the purview of science have
been dissolved by demonstrating how the thing
under investigation is ultimately amenable to
physical explanation, and can therefore be
considered a physical phenomenon. This
reductive form of explanation has successfully
explained phenomena such as heat, liquidity, and
even life. Naturally, such stunning progress has
engendered a general confidence that, at its most
basic level, reality is physical. This being the case,
many philosophers, ‘putting their faith in the
[scientific] scheme, . . . have determined to
identify mental things with, or “reduce” them to,
physical things’ (Dennett 1969, 5).
A popular strategy for this has been to show that
mental states are explicable entirely in terms of
behavioural dispositions. Gilbert Ryle ([1949]
2000), for example, argued that the belief in a
‘ghost in the machine’ – that is, that there are
two distinct organised units, a body subject to
mechanistic physical law and a ‘shadowy’ mind
that abides by ‘para-mechanistic’ psychological
laws – is caused by philosophers mistaking the
logical category of mental concepts. As such, the
belief that mind and matter are distinct simply
stems from attempting to combine concepts that
occupy different logical categories. In the same
way that arguing ‘one cannot be in denial
because one is in the kitchen’ is invalid, the
mind-body problem is caused by treating mental
concepts as though they should behave like
physical concepts. However, the mere fact that
mental concepts and physical concepts have
different logical behaviours does not
demonstrate that they are ontologically different.
From this, Ryle concludes that mental states do
not exist in a strictly private realm, sequestered
from scientific investigation, because there are
not, ontologically speaking, separate public
(physical) and private (mental) realms – there are
only distinct logical categories for the use of
physical and mental concepts. Although Ryle
claims that this does not give primacy to the
physical over the mental, but rather shows the
ontological contrast to be erroneous, his
argument demonstrates that nothing is left out
when mental states are described in terms of
behavioural dispositions, and thus that mind is
perfectly amenable to physical explanation.
Nonetheless, Ryle’s thesis has been questioned.
As Peter Geach (1971) pointed out, mental states
cannot be defined purely by behavioural
dispositions without reference to other mental
states. To know how someone is disposed to act
based on a belief, one would also need
information about their desires. Thus, if
someone believes that it is snowing, any account
of this fact in behavioural terms could not be
complete without considering whether the
person would like to build a snowman, or to stay
war m, and so on. This problem was
circumvented by David Lewis (1966), who
argued that mental states can be defined in terms
of their causal roles, such as stimuli that cause
them, responsive behaviours, and (importantly)
interactions with other mental states. Since
mental states are causally efficacious, and
causality (according to fundamental physical laws
like the conservation of energy) belongs to
physical states, then mental states must be
physical states. Thus, ‘every experience is
identical with some physical state. Specifically,
with some neurochemical state.’. This conclusion
ensures that mental states are accessible to
scientific investigation, while preserving the
ability to refer to other mental states in their
definition and therefore avoiding the criticism
that Ryle’s analysis was susceptible to.
Lewis’s argument provides an explanation of
how science can explain mental states in terms
of causal roles. However, as stated above, any
satisfactory explanation of the link between
mind and matter must be intelligible. While
Lewis has demonstrated a functional identity
between mind and matter, he has failed to make
this identity intelligible in the same way that, for
example, describing liquid as the free motion of
loosely bound particles is. This point is
highlighted by Nagel (1974), who argues that
mental phenomena cannot be exhaustively
defined in terms of causal roles because this fails
to capture the subjective character of experience,
and without this essential feature ‘the mind-body
problem would be much less interesting’. The
problem is that the subjectivity of consciousness
cannot be excluded in order to explain it
physically, because subjectivity is essential to
consciousness: once subjectivity is excluded, the
phenomenon is no longer consciousness. The
liquidity example above describes how a physical
phenomenon can appear a certain way to an
observer because of the constitution of their
mind. It therefore makes sense that, in the
absence of the observer, the phenomenon as it
appears to the observer has a physical
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explanation. However, as consciousness is
inherently part of the observer’s mind, removing
the observer simply removes the phenomenon in
question. Consciousness, then, resists reduction
to objective, physical explanation.
This makes it clear why Lewis’s argument does
not establish an intelligible link between mind
and matter. It also gets to the core of the
difficulty in providing a scientific explanation of
consciousness: a purely subjective phenomenon
cannot be explained objectively. If matter is the
only substance, reality in its entirety must be
amenable to physical explanation. However, if
successful, Nagel’s argument implies that there is
nothing in a complete physical account of reality
to suggest that certain organisations of matter
should experience their existence. Thus, the
argument is a powerful challenge to the claim
that physical science can explain consciousness.
Nonetheless, one approach to maintaining the
integrity of scientific materialism against Nagel’s
argument is to demonstrate that, in fact,
consciousness is an illusory phenomenon
without any real basis in the world. If so, a
scientific explanation of consciousness would
only involve showing how the illusion is created.
Daniel Dennett (1993) used this strategy, arguing
that the attempt to find a solution to the mindbody
problem is demonstrative of an implicit
adherence to Cartesian dualism. In fact, the
concept of consciousness as a subjective point
of view (an observer experiencing things in
concreto) is prescientific and superfluous, akin to
the nineteenth century notion of a vital force
that animates living things. Using examples from
cognitive science (such as the colour phi
phenomenon; ibid, 120-122), Dennett dismantles
commonly held intuitions about the nature of
conscious experience. For example, he argues
that there is no measurable moment in which a
specific experience takes place. Using evidence
of this kind, he deconstructs the notion that
there is ever a point where ‘it all comes together’
– that is, a point of view – as there are no
concrete facts to be ascertained about when or
where this point could be. Rather, there is a
multitude of internal representations (an
interface like the graphic display on a computer
screen, but without the user) that are
retrospectively woven into the illusion of a
subject experiencing things. Thus, Dennett
concludes that the evidence of modern science
shows that consciousness as a point of view is
illusory, and therefore that it can be explained
comprehensively by nonconscious physical
processes.
If correct, Dennett’s account of consciousness
does indeed undermine the mind-body problem;
however, not many people would accept that
their conscious experience can be discounted
altogether because close scrutiny of it produces
surprising results. The problem is that due to its
immediacy, there is no difference between
seeming and happening when it comes to
consciousness – if an illusion occurs, there must
be something experiencing it, and this experience
must be accounted for in a complete description
of reality. No matter how mistaken one is about
the nature of experience, it cannot be the case
that one is not actually experiencing.
Consequently, Dennett’s tactic of pointing out
the mistakes in common intuitions about the
nature of experience does not have the breadth
necessary to undermine consciousness itself.
Nevertheless, before concluding that Nagel’s
argument spells defeat for science’s hopes of
explaining consciousness, there is another option
worthy of consideration.
The Intrinsic Nature Argument
An alternative strategy that provides a way
forward is employed by Galen Strawson (2006).
Strawson argues that Dennett has it the wrong
way round: it isn’t intuitive assumptions about
the nature of consciousness that are the
problem, but intuitive assumptions about the
nature of matter. As consciousness is ‘the
fundamental given natural fact’, it must be the
starting point of any account of reality.
Accordingly, it is known that conscious matter
exists; however, it is not known, nor could it be
found out, whether nonconscious matter exists.
Thus, the seeming irreconcilability of mind and
matter stems from a fatal error in the basic
premises of the mind-body problem: treating the
two as if they are opposed categories. As such,
Strawson argues that a thoroughgoing
physicalism must regard consciousness as
physical, although this is not the same as being
able to account for it in terms of physics. To
support this, he draws attention to the work of
Russell and Eddington (among others), who
explain how physical science can only ever
deliver a structural analysis of reality. Science can
only analyse extrinsic properties of matter: how
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it behaves and interacts. Consequently, it cannot
reveal what the intrinsic nature of matter is. 150
The only available insight into the intrinsic
nature of matter is that humans are material
beings, and the human experience of being
matter is just that: conscious experience. Thus,
the only possible means of discerning the true
nature of matter indicates that it is experiential.
If this is the case, there is no need to explain
how consciousness emerges from unconscious
matter – consciousness just is matter. At this
point, the question of why consciousness exists
is pushed down to the level of why anything at
all exists.
This conclusion provides a compelling
conceptual foundation for scientific progress in
consciousness research. It removes the need for
a scientific explanation of why consciousness
should accompany certain organisations of
nonconscious matter, clearing the conceptual
barriers to scientific investigation. It does this by
demonstrating that the perceived problem of an
explanatory gap between the physical and the
mental stems from a hidden assumption: that
consciousness must be an emergent
phenomenon. As has been shown, the
difficulties presented by this assumption are
intractable. Fortunately, it is an unfalsifiable
assumption grounded on nothing more than
common sense, therefore it can be easily
challenged. As history has repeatedly
demonstrated, common sense often needs
updating to accommodate progress
(heliocentrism, evolution, relativity, quantum
theory). Facing up to the magnitude of the
mind-body problem, it seems justified to see if
better results are achieved from a different
conceptual foundation. As such, if one regards
consciousness as a fundamental, irreducible
feature of the world, rather than an emergent,
biological phenomenon, the hard problem of
explaining how a new element of reality can
miraculously appear dissolves. This seems to be a
good place for scientific investigation to
continue from.
It may be argued that this could never be
falsified and so is not a valid proposition on
which to base scientific enquiry, but the same is
true of the assertion that nonconscious matter
exists. Strawson’s position does, however, have
the benefit of one piece of empirical evidence:
the fact that humans experience being matter.
Intrinsically conscious matter therefore has more
evidential support than nonconscious matter.
Moreover, the postulation of an irreducible
feature of reality is not unprecedented in the
history of science. James Clerk Maxwell posited
fundamental electromagnetic properties and
forces to progress his theory of
electromagnetism (Goff 2019, 116).
Nonetheless, Strawson’s conclusion does present
difficulties, one of the most problematic being
the combination problem. 151 If a subjective
point of view is fundamental to consciousness,
and consciousness is the intrinsic nature of
matter, and matter at its most basic level takes
the form of particles, then there must be a lot of
tiny points of view. How, then, can these tiny
points of view combine to compose the large,
unified point of view experienced by humans
and other animals? While it makes sense that
matter can combine to make larger objects, the
notion of minds merging to form larger unified
minds is hard to fathom. A clue to the solution
to this problem can be found in the famous
split-brain phenomenon. Following a treatment
for severe epilepsy that involves severing the
corpus callosum (the nerve fibres connecting the
brain’s two hemispheres), patients displayed
interesting behaviours. While they seemed
completely normal in speech and general
behaviour, certain experiments suggested there
were in fact two distinct agents now occupying
one body (Gazzaniga 2000). If it is possible,
then, to split a consciousness in two, perhaps it is
also possible to reverse the process and combine
two consciousnesses into one. Accordingly, a
scientific understanding of this phenomenon
could provide a solution to the combination
problem. A theory that treats consciousness as
irreducible is making progress on this front and
shall therefore now be examined.
150 As Strawson points out, Stephen Hawking stumbled into this problem in concluding A Brief History of Time: ‘Even
if there is only one possible unified theory, it is just a set of rules and equations. What is it that breathes fire into these
equations and makes a universe for them to describe?’ (1988, 174).
151 The combination problem is generally held to have originated from William James’s (1890) discussion of the
problems of a ‘mind dust’ theory.
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Integrated Information Theory
Accepting that no account appealing to
nonconscious physical processes will intelligibly
lead to conscious experience, Giulio Tononi’s
(2008) integrated information theory (IIT)
begins with ‘axioms’ about the characteristics of
consciousness, and then determines what
physical properties must obtain to account for
them. From five axioms, two are salient for the
case in hand. Firstly, conscious states are always
differentiated from a range of other possible
conscious states – they bear specific information.
Secondly, conscious states are unified: although
specific features of an experience can be
abstracted in thought, for example a blue chair,
the experience is always a cohesive, integrated
whole – the blue chair is perceived seamlessly
along with everything else in the room including
sounds, smells and so on. From this, Tononi
argues it is the integration of information that
determines the level of consciousness of a
physical system. If the information content of
the system as a whole is greater than the sum of
its parts, the system carries integrated
information and is conscious. The higher the
integrated information, the higher the level of
consciousness. This gives a mathematically
calculable criterion for consciousness. Thus, the
level of integrated information is measured in
bits and designated with the symbol Φ (phi). As
it turns out, Φ is pervasive, even being found at
the atomic level. Thus, IIT gives an intuitive
explanation of how small systems, such as
atoms, can combine to produce a unified
experience in a larger system, because it is the
information content of the whole system over
its parts that is experienced.
Of course, aspects of this theory are untestable.
There is no way to check whether an atom
experiences anything. However, IIT also
produces testable predictions and gives efficient
explanations for phenomena that other theories
struggle to explain. As such, IIT explains why
severing the corpus callosum of split-brain
patients results in two distinct agents, as the
procedure disables the integration of
information between the two hemispheres,
resulting in two separate systems of integrated
information (Tononi 2015). It also gives a
satisfying explanation as to why some areas of
the brain are associated with consciousness while
other larger areas are not. For example, the
cerebellum comprises four times more neurons
than the cerebral cortex; however, when
damaged it does not affect consciousness. This is
because the cerebellum is composed of largely
independent modules, so information
integration, Φ, is low (ibid). Accordingly, IIT’s
efficacy in explaining accessible phenomena
could instil enough confidence to infer that it is
reliable as to what it tells us about inaccessible
phenomena regarding consciousness.
Consequently, IIT provides a satisfying solution
to the combination problem and lends support
to Strawson’s argument that consciousness
should not be regarded as an emergent, purely
biological phenomenon. It demonstrates that
altering the conceptual underpinning of the
scientific approach to consciousness can provide
promising results. Whilst many baulk at these
results on first approach, the impasse caused by
the common-sense handling of consciousness
makes them far more attractive. Moreover,
although it is currently too early to put too much
confidence in the untestable predictions of IIT,
its performance in explaining testable
phenomena is promising. IIT is therefore an
example of how scientific progress towards
explaining consciousness is possible, given the
correct conceptual foundation.
Conclusion
Put simply, consciousness cannot be explained
by physical science if this means providing an
explanation in terms of reduction to
organisations of nonconscious matter. This is
because this method of scientific explanation
involves filtering subjectivity out of the
description to reveal the underlying objective,
physical phenomenon. However, this method
cannot be applied to consciousness because
consciousness is the subjectivity. This is why
attempts to explain consciousness through
reduction to nonconscious physical processes all
run into the same problem: they cannot explain
why the underlying process is accompanied by
subjective experience in the first place. This
impasse justifies a reconceptualisation of the
relation between mind and matter. The classical
approaches to this were found to lack the
parsimony required by a modern science of
consciousness. Moreover, none of the more
recent attempts to conceptually reconcile mind
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with nonconscious matter managed to provide
an intelligible explanation of how this is
possible, as they all ultimately disregard the
subjective point of view. However, Strawson’s
argument avoids this problem as it holds that
consciousness, as the intrinsic nature of matter,
is irreducible. This provides the conceptual
foundation necessary to progress with scientific
investigation. Integrated information theory is a
promising scientific theory of consciousness that
incorporates this insight. IIT has shown that
treating consciousness as fundamental, rather
than as an emergent, biological phenomenon,
enables scientific progress. As such, it seems that
science is capable of explaining consciousness,
given the correct conceptual grounding.
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Sutherland, Stuart. 1989. The International Dictionary of Psychology. 2nd ed. London: Crossroad Publication
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WITH THANKS
Holden Davies
Editor-in-Chief
Zacharie Chiron
Editor-in-Chief
Rhian Daniel
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Editor
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Cover: Francesca Adams