A Picture of Art

In my philosophy of art course this term we are talking about Tolstoy and Collingwood on expression, Plotinus and Hume and Kant on beauty, and Dewey as a kind of semi-successful synthesis of these two dimensions of art (artist and audience, expression and beauty). As the course goes on we will spend more time discussing whether any of this sort of theorizing survives the new approaches of conceptual art. I think it does – at least, I think these ideas and thinkers remain useful for thinking about art today – but I don’t want to argue that here.

The word ‘beauty’ is a mess in philosophy, as perhaps befits the unbeautiful state of the broader human world. The important (meta-)property this word is trying to pick out in aesthetics is the one involved when you say “what a magnificent landscape” or “you must see that movie” or “Memoirs of Hadrian is a genuinely great work of literature” or even “Cezanne’s many landscapes with Mont Sainte-Victoire and still lives with apples gave us a new way of seeing the world, which has since become one of our basic cognitive touchstones for judging and understanding visual art.” (In this last it is the way of seeing offered in a variety of paintings offered as the property you must notice if you are also to perceive their beauty, along with the usual move indicating an expansion of our conceptual resources in understanding art on the basis of Cezanne’s success.) Plausibly, this property is something like a type of interest or enjoyment which is (1) valuable and/or normative and (2) in some way socially shared, intersubjective, general, or universal. (Credit here to Richard Warner and Steven Wagner as well as to Immanuel Kant for shaping my thinking on this subject.)

But for our purposes ‘beauty’ can be semi-defined as ‘the property(-ies) that make artworks interesting as artworks to their audiences’, sidestepping the harder questions. The point of the term theoretically speaking is to organize audience aesthetics, the reception of artworks by audiences.

The philosophical problem here, which at least has structural similarities to a real problem that artists face in relating to their audiences, is this. We have a reasonably good account of art from the artist’s point of view in the expression theories. And we can form a reasonably good working grasp of the sorts of value one may find in the experience of art first and foremost from the artworks themselves, second from the works of the best critics, and also from the best philosophers of aesthetic experience, such as Plato, Plotinus, Hume, Kant, and Nietzsche.

Presumably an adequate theory of art would provide a unified view of these two dimensions of art.

Collingwood and Dewey both had useful and somewhat similar things to say about how these two faces of art might be connected. For Collingwood, the making of an artwork is an act of imaginative emotional expression. The audience’s job is then to reconstruct that expressive act from the performance or object the act yielded, which means, in part, to use the performance or object as a vehicle for their own expression, or at least to try it out in imagination as a candidate for such. (Judgments like “very impressive, but not for me” can sometimes acknowledge artistic success along with the unwillingness of that audience member to inhabit the artist’s perspective, on this view.) For Dewey, the making of an artwork is an encoding of experiences, and although there are differences in the details, the overall picture of what the audience does is again a perceiving aimed at reenacting the artist’s expressive process, at least within the limits of one’s own different perspective.

Dewey’s word ‘experience’, and his idea that the artist must “embody in himself the attitude of the perceiver while he works” – meaning not that he must worry about what audiences or fellow artists will think, but that he is creating something for perception and should generally treat it as such as he makes it – help take something like Collingwood’s idea and connect it more explicitly to the idea of beauty. Perhaps ultimately beautiful expressions are just some subset of interesting ones, but one connects the idea of beauty to that of experiences and series of perceptions which are ‘textured,’ meaningfully directed sensual surfaces, seemingly disparate ideas unified at some level just beyond our ability to directly grasp, and which unify us in their apprehension.

This last (and crucial) social dimension of art is more or less left out of the current path of thought, rendering it incomplete, but with one more ingredient we will at least have the ingredients for a picture of the connection between the artist’s expression and the audience’s reception. This piece is the answer to Plato’s question about where art comes from – where artists get their inspirations.

Broadly speaking answers to this question fall into five categories, which should not be taken as mutually exclusive: the supernatural (God, muses, spirits); the intellectual (ideas or theories, theses about art itself); the natural (typically, sensuous forms which the artist’s power of selection singles out for attention owing to their distinctive power of aesthetic reward; ‘significant form’); the cultural (the artist as the vehicle of one or more identities which the artist inhabits and which are taken to have their own unique characters of expression; or, as the channeler of broader energies informing the time and place in which she lives); and the individual (the artist as spokesperson for her own viewpoint, or as idiot-savant of the genius of her own unconscious).

My proposal here is merely structural: that where there is art there is inspiration, and where there is inspiration there is some source or sources for it, drawn from any or all of the five categories above. Even if we think of expression in the older terms of feeling or emotion, feelings and emotions come out of people in their encounters with the world. The ‘source’ of art is just the complex combination of past experiences and reflections on those experiences to which the artist reacts and whose outlines form the space which her aesthetic idea indicates a path through and/or organizes. The art is not reducible to its source(s), but as an expression in reaction to them it is not independent from it either, and in reconstructing the expressive act that constitutes the work the audience must find connected sources in their own experience if they are to understand the work’s aesthetic idea and find meaning in it.

The following diagram is offered as a way to organize this particular way of looking at the relationship between artist, artwork, and audience:

Cropped Art Diagram

The reversed half-arrows here are meant to indicate that as the artist moves from inspiration to creation, she enters into dialogue with her materials and with the finished work that she sees emerging from her creative process; and that as the audience member moves from perception to recreation, she attempts to connect the thing she is perceiving to the sources from which it came, and as taking a particular stance with respect to those sources, so that she can perceive it as the kind of expressive act it is.

On this view, then, the property formerly known as beauty is something like a positive feedback loop between the perception of the artwork and the recreation of the ‘source’, a meta-level property of audience reception. When what there is to see gives us a lot to think or feel, which makes us look again, which gives us more to think or feel, culminating in a kind of satisfaction which constitutes one kind of aesthetic understanding.


One Way of Thinking About the “What is Art?” Question

What is an artist? Someone who makes artworks.

What is an artwork? Something which is for audiences to experience (perceive, receive, evaluate, interpret, regard, etc.).

These might seem to be definitions, but most would find them insufficient, too broad, as will be clearer shortly. However, they do seem to be true, and they give us, if not information, at least a helpful framework for thinking about art.

(The only loaded term I see above is ‘for’. The argument here comes from the notion of ‘private art’, as made e.g. (apparently) not by Emily Dickinson as she was but Emily Dickinson as we imagine her: if one writes for one’s journal, not for the public, is one still writing for an audience? I say yes: a poem (e.g.) is an entity-made-for-an-audience whether or not it is actually shown to this or that audience or not. There are cases where the difference between activities assumed private and activities assumed public is important, but I am not sure that they undermine the idea that art is in some fundamental sense communicative whether it is used to communicate or not. I also don’t accept a universal skepticism about purposes/ends of activity or our ability to perceive them in our activities and their products.)

Here’s a sort of picture:

Art Diagram

On this picture, the artwork is an entity-made-to-be-experienced.

You will find worse definitions of art than this here and there in the literature, but as it stands most people would find this too broad. Some apparent counterexamples would include roller coasters, those little plastic monsters you buy from grocery store vending machines, and (this last example thanks to Noel Carroll’s Philosophy of Art: A Contemporary Introduction) neatly manicured suburban lawns, which are prepared in meticulous detail to exacting yet plausibly undefinable formal specifications for an appreciative yet critical audience of neighbor-lawn manicurists. Most of the contested, ‘it-might-be-art’ categories like cuisine, comic books, and pornography all clearly get into the ‘art club’ on this definition.

There is something to the broad category we pick out here, though. Poems, paintings, dances, and Seven Easy Pieces are all entities-made-to-be-experienced; forks, stop signs, airplanes, and my dog are not. (They all can be experienced, and the stop sign arguably requires being experienced as a precondition for communication, but plausibly none of them are ‘for’ being experienced in the way that a painting or poem is.) So it seems at least plausible that there is some broader category here, Experiential Objects say, of which Artworks form a subset.

I can imagine a philosopher of art suggesting that Experiential Objects is the only interesting broad category into which artworks can be lumped, and that our narrower and more precise definitions of ‘art’ are actually no such thing, but rather various views about which types of makings, entities, and experiences count as ‘good’ or ‘valuable’ art, masquerading as theories of art-in-general. Certainly we use ‘art’ both as a descriptive and as an evaluative term in different contexts, and this might serve as a lever for an able art theorist/philosopher to attempt to defend the broader category as the only relevant one at the level of pure description, even while allowing that there might be good reasons to restrict good, important, or valuable art to one or more proper subsets of the Experiential Objects at the level of evaluation.

But this is not what is normally done. Instead, philosophers of art normally look to narrow down on what type of maker, entity, and/or experience count as art. Oversimplifying in the usual ways, representation theories and formalist theories narrow down on the type of entity (one which represents and/or possesses appropriate formal virtues); expression theories adverbialize the whole diagram (expressive making, expressive entities, experiencing-as-expressive), aesthetic experience theories narrow down the type of experience the object is made for, institutional theories contextualize the diagram within a special group of people, and ‘conceptual theories’ (this is a sort of catch-all term, although if you theorize about art academically from the arts and humanities and you are not in a philosophy department you may well hold such a theory – I would put Joseph Kosuth and Thierry de Duve here for example) least suggest that we take the diagram as only signifying ‘art’ when applied at the meta-level, so that a proper work of art is not just made for experience but is ‘about’ making-for-experience, sheds interesting light on it by doing it in a new way or transforming the way we think about how it is done in existing ways.

The suggestion of this post is that this might be a useful framework to think about the ‘what is art’ question in terms of. I have found it so, in any case. If there is a theory of art you like, consider what restrictions it places on the category of Experiential Objects. Why are those worthwhile restrictions to place? Why should we call just this restriction ‘art’, and exclude what lies outside it? What values do we realize in so doing? What light does this restriction shed on the actual history of art? (We don’t necessarily have to universally affirm the objects which are currently thought to belong in that history as artworks, but we do have to account for them in some way – even Tolstoy did that.)

This is not a call for a sort of universal enfranchisement of Experiential Objects in the Artworld. I have no objection to ‘art’ being an essentially normative term and discipline. The philosophical challenge might just be to understand and make a good case for that normative dimension. And the descriptive category of Experiential Objects might make a good background against which to think about which norms might be constitutive of arthood and why.


Today’s raisins are poetic defenses of poetry. The first two are relics from early graduate school days I found this morning preparing to discuss poetry and philosophy; the third is an excerpt from Octavio Paz’ El Mismo Tiempo (“Identical Time”), as translated by Eliot Weinberger.


I. “What are poets for?”

“What are poets for
in a destitute time?”
he asked,
chomping off
the butt end
of a Macanudo.
“Not for paying the rent,
that’s for damn sure.
I had a poet
up in 10A
for a while:
dressed in black,
fought with his girlfriend
in the middle of the night.
That guy moved out
after three months.
He still owes me fifty bucks
for the toilet.”
He spat
in a high, sanguine arc
brown saliva shimmering
like rhododendrons
against the pavement.
“No, sir.
I don’t think
I’ll ever rent
to one of those fucking poets


II. Zen Master

“A poem”
he said,
“is noise
where there ought to be quiet.
The poet hears
the holy silence of being
but can’t contain his imagination.
So he writes
where listening alone
is needful.”
We sat together
he and I
in the moonlit silence
contemplating the temptation
to speak its Name.
“These reflections too,”
he said
“are manifestations
of the same phenomenon.”


III. from Identical Time

Today I am alive and without nostalgia
the night flows
                            the city flows
I write on this page that flows
I shuttle with these shuttling words
The world did not begin with me
it will not end with me
                                          I am
one pulsebeat in the throbbing river
Twenty years ago Vasconcelos told me
“Devote yourself to philosophy
It won’t give you life
                                      but it is a defense against death”
And Ortega y Gasset
                                      in a bar on the Rodano
“Learn German
and apply yourself to thinking
                                                        Forget the rest.”

I do not write to kill time
nor to revive it
I write that I may live and be revived
This afternoon from a bridge I saw
the sun enter the waters of the river
All was in flames
the statues the house the porticoes burned
In the gardens feminine clusters of grapes
ingots of liquid light
the coolness of solar vessels
The poplars a foliage of sparks
the water horizontal unmoving
beneath the flaming earths and skies
Each drop of water
                                    a fixed eye
the weight of enormous beauty
on each open eye
Reality suspended
                                    on the stalk of time
beauty weighs nothing
                                          Peaceful reflection
time and beauty are the same
                                                        light and water

Gaze that sustains the loveliness
time enchanted in a gaze
world weightless
                                 as man is weighted
Is not beauty enough?

Philosophers’ Carnival #169

Welcome to Installment #169 of the Philosophers’ Carnival, a monthly digest of substantive philosophy posts from around the blogosphere! Many thanks to Tristan Haze and Lewis Powell for helpful suggestions of things to include.

Janice Dowell posted an excerpt from “Some thoughts on constructing and justifying semantic and metasemantic theories” on PEA Soup, which I followed back to the full piece on Meena Krishnamurthy’s blog Philosop-her. Since Professor Dowell posted there this blog has featured Christine Korsgaard on provisional rights and the state, Robin Jeshion on the semantics of slurs, and Lisa Bortolotti on the epistemic benefits of delusion.

Brandon at Siris has two beautiful posts on the virtue of temperance, here and here.

If you have time to settle in for a bit with a cup of Pu-erh, Philip Cartwright has posted an excellent discussion of the negative account of understanding in Philosophical Investigations §§138-242, titled “Understanding, States, and Correctness.”

Putnam on Wikipedia on Putnam.

Jon Cogburn’s post on the subject led me to Matthew David Segall’s discussion at Footnotes 2 Plato of “Shaviro on Harman and Whitehead: Process- vs. Object-Oriented Philosophies.” Mr. Segall bites the bullet on an infinite relational regress in ontology, championing Whitehead over Harman.

Laura Bernhardt at Ginger IS the Professor writes about music as a practice and about “the failure of most recent ontologies of music to take it seriously as a practice rather than an object.” Perhaps some Whitehead is in order?

Elizabeth Camp gets pinkalicious at Aesthetics for Birds; Mitch Hernandez analyzes Hipsterismus at Aesthetics Today.

At The Space of Reasons Avery Archer offers an objection to an otherwise strong-seeming argument of Peter Hanks’ by offering an example suggesting that uses of ‘knows’ need not be univocal to be felicitous.

Alexander Pruss, the Iron Man of philosophy blogging, has a slew of new posts since I started typing this post up this morning last month’s Carnival, including this intriguing one about Antipresentism. While briefly away from his own blog he also managed this nice post on Hiddenness and the Necessary Condition Fallacy at the Prosblogion as well.

According to Wolfgang Schwarz, microequiprobability is not enough. There always seem to be more assumptions than we think when we start applying mathematics to reality…

Kipling appears to have been premature in his assessment, as Elisa Freschi’s and Skholiast’s posts show – the meeting between East and West is underway as you read this. Check out Warp, Weft, and Way and Speculum Criticum Traditionis for the details!

Nick Byrd presents an argument to help assess whether there is a problem with contingent mental states (intuitions) providing evidence for non-contingent propositions (necessary truths).

Aaron Thomas-Bolduc gives A Philosopher’s Take on Deflationism, Conservativity, and Truth.

Gabriele Contessa at Yet Another Philosopher’s Blog?!? asks about Logic versus Rhetoric in Philosophical Argumentation.

At More Important than That, David Papineau talks about Sporting Geography, Political Geography, and the Ryder Cup; Tristan Haze at Sprachlogik has a post about Granularity and Relativism about Truth.

This month’s installment of the Philosopher’s Carnival concludes with Sam the Platopus talking about Kuhn in relation to Popper. He writes: “With its paradigm in tatters a field may become increasingly fragmented, until in the end there are as many competing theories as there are experts, each trying to reconstruct the entire field from the ground up. At some point one of the competing theories will begin to dominate, ultimately becoming established as the new paradigm.”

In most fields, we take the situation described by the first sentence as a kind of sickness, the second as the beginning of a restoration to health. I am somewhat inclined to think that just the opposite is true of philosophy.

Thanks for reading! Please submit post suggestions for next month using the form on the Carnival homepage. And don’t forget to tune in to Philosophy, et cetera next month, where Richard Chappell will be hosting Carnival #170. Enjoy!

The Just Balance, Chapter Three

This chapter, titled “The Sensations of the Present Moment,” sees Winch reconstructing Weil’s rejection of the ‘myth of the given’ in Lectures on Philosophy. Winch provides an excellent interpretation of some of both Weil’s and Wittgenstein’s arguments against what might be called sense-data empiricism, according to which “the formation of concepts involves a certain passively given material (sensations) the inherent characteristics of and relations between which are then discerned through an activity of mind” (SW:TJB 20). The argument is in effect that sensations come always already conceptually sorted, so they cannot provide some sort of neutral pre-conceptual or non-conceptualized content from which such a sorting could be derived. Weil concludes that

Sensations tell us nothing about the world: they contain neither matter, space, time and they give us nothing outside of themselves, and in a way they are nothing.

Nevertheless we perceive the world; so what is given us is not simply sensations. Far from sensation being the only thing that is immediately given to us, it is, as such, only given us by an effort of abstraction, and a great effort at that.

I think the discussion in this chapter is very clear and might be useful to students who are tempted by classical empiricist views of concept formation. (How these observations, if correct, might be sorted according to current debates in the philosophy of mind is a trickier question, which I will pass over.) The discussion of color from the Lectures is particularly good:

It is impossible to give a name to the colors one sees. Every colored point has its own peculiar color which is not like any other color. Are there greater or lesser differences, for sight, between colors? The degrees of difference imply series which we have to construct and which we construct in our imaginations by making use of series which we can make from some material or other. Wherever there is series there is an activity of the mind. One could make series (blue to red through violet) in such a way that it would be difficult to distinguish each term from those immediately next to it. So one cannot speak of series, nor of greater or lesser differences, by reference to sight alone. So long as two colors appear different, they are so absolutely. One does not lay down a series between the two, because one cannot order colors in a series except by relating them to quantities (an increasing proportion of blue). But as far as sight alone goes, there is no quantity. There is, properly speaking, no quantitative difference between qualities. The differences between qualities are differences of kind, not of degree.

Whether the existence of series always requires activity of mind I doubt, but perception of series as series does, and I do think Weil was right that insofar as we think about our perceiving in the highly abstracted way one associates with ‘momentary perception of color,’ there is nothing in those momentary perceptions conceived that way that connects them to any other momentary perception; one can’t even note the qualitative sameness of two sensations except by relating the sensation of the present moment to something else which is not present. Winch presents Weil as here offering a kind of reductio of the view that comparing colors in terms of, say, a proportion of blue could ever arise out of momentary sensations of color alone; as Winch puts it, one has to also learn “certain ways of speaking and thinking, certain principles of arrangement.”

I want to add: some arrangements may be more natural or correct for certain purposes, or be more generally comprehensive or explanatory; nonetheless we still don’t find that out from our bare color-perceptions; we find it out by comparing different ways of organizing and thinking about colors. It’s not that we compare two different ways of systematizing the same system-independent entities, but that we compare two different systematizations of the same entities.

In any case there are actually two different complementary arguments here: one which says ‘bare sensations’ or ‘sense-data ‘ by themselves can’t teach us what they would need to for an empiricist theory of our concepts to be right, and another which says we actually don’t have such ‘bare sensations’ or ‘sense-data’ at all except as highly abstracted states of mind constructed out of experiences which are much fuller in terms of their relations and associations to other experiences and to our concepts.

One then wants to know – but where do our ways of conceptually organizing sensation and experience come from? Not from the sensations themselves, we find argued in chapter three, but in chapter two it was in a sense already argued that they also don’t come from rational methods prior to or independent from the ‘contents’ being thought about themselves. Winch suggests that Weil is pushing towards a view where human activities provide the (various and diverse) ordering principles of our experience. “It is only in the temporal context of human action,” Winch writes, “that anything (and a fortiori sensations) can be seen as systematically interrelated” (SW:TJB 31; cf. also 29).

In the earlier work (e.g. in the passage on color quoted above) Weil often writes of thought as giving order to reality. In the next chapter Winch will argue that the lines of thinking traced here move her towards giving up that principle in favor of the idea that thoughts are birthed into a world that is already ordered: “though order is indeed a product of the activity of human beings, that activity itself does not, in the first instance, involve thought” (SW:TJB 33). This in turn suggests of some affinities between Weil and the later Wittgenstein: we act in the world in various ways which disclose that world to us as a subject for thought, but the organization of that world emerges in the first instance from our forms of life. Our forms of activity locate our sensations and experiences in time and in relation to other sensations and experiences and thus render them material for thought.

I do think it is important to recognize the relations between thought and action, and that the emphasis on what is variously called “embodied thought,” “particularism,” “pragmatism,”etc. – on thoughts as they get expressed through and organize our practical activities – is an important one to grasp. But I wonder if talking about forms of activity as prior to thought pushes the point too far. The idea that action, will, capability are prior to thought is useful as a counter to the false picture of ourselves as practically unconstrained representers of reality, beings who are first and foremost something like disembodied minds who might or might not employ their representations as bases for subsequent actions. But there is a relatedness of activity to thought that does seem somewhat inescapable to me. Giving orders and training people behaviorally in procedures is not like wielding a hammer or writing a computer program; it makes a difference to the ordering of all our activities that we are thinking creatures.

So I wonder if it’s really right to break the circle in this way. Maybe thought both orders the world for us and is ordered by the world. Human beings act as thinking beings and in so doing disclose the world in various different ways for the activity of thinking. Nothing is being explained by anything else if thinking orders the world for us while thoughts are at the same time birthed into a world that is already ordered; but then at this general level of philosophizing maybe it shouldn’t be.

The argument sketched above does require us to take self-consciousness, awareness of one’s own activity, as a form of thinking. If by ‘thought’ we mean only systematic representations consciously articulated to oneself prior to undertaking a course of action, on the other hand, then it seems right to say that we don’t do that all the time, and such thinking seems not to be at the basis of all our activity. But I’m not sure it’s correct to restrict the general idea of thinking to this particular type. There’s is a sense in which a carpenter or bricklayer, say, thinks as she works: the bricks are to go in a certain pattern, with even spacing between them, but even if the pattern and the spacing have been entirely determined beforehand by someone else, still one is constantly eyeballing and adjusting the bricks to make sure they meet it, and this is a thinking process, with perception and judgment integrated into action and response. Training a person to do this is not like constructing a robot which can do something similar.

We do learn about things by being trained in techniques we might or might not understand, mastering bits and pieces of a language that is already in place for us on birth, following orders, and so on. Our experiences of the world are shaped at a very deep level by our ways of acting and living in it. And I suppose that we can live and act thoughtlessly. But even thoughtless human action is generally intentional, and therefore at some level not thoughtless.

I want to say that thought weaves in and out of the fabric of our lives at every level. The important thing about connecting thought to action isn’t to ground it philosophically, but practically. In Waiting for God Simone Weil wrote: “It is not surprising that a man who has bread should give a piece to someone who is starving. What is surprising is that he should be capable of doing so with so different a gesture from that with which we buy an object. Almsgiving when it is not supernatural is like a sort of purchase. It buys the sufferer.” Talking about charity in this sort of way connects it to the ways we treat our fellows. It makes the discussion ‘real’ in terms of the thoughts, emotions, and attitudes we express towards the people around us, in the way that philosophical deliberations about perfect and imperfect duties (say) generally don’t.

I could understand, and may even hold, the view that our forms of activity shape our perception and thought just as our perception and thought shape our forms of activity, so that no one or two of the three is the philosophical support on which the other one or two rest. I have more trouble taking literally the notion that forms of activity or life conceived as blind patterns or bare rules can be thought of as instantiated prior to thoughtful engagement with reality. Learning to apply a rule to reality, even in the situation of a wage laborer doing a simple task, is a form of thinking; and so is understanding what the supervisor is yelling at you.

On Hedonism

This post is a brief excursion into more straightforward analytic philosophy. It was prompted by discussion with my colleagues at Wayne State, particularly Dr. Wilburn. We were in turn prompted by Plato.

We are often taught that hedonism is the view that the pleasant and the good are identical. I will argue that this must be an incomplete characterization of hedonism, and that a second condition (at least) needs to be added.

This general statement that the pleasant and the good are identical can be glossed in terms of a variety of principles of action. The simplest one would be something like: given a choice of actions, you should choose the one that will give you the most pleasure unless there’s a likely expectation of greater pain as a result from it down the road. (So, no heroin unless you’re diagnosed with a terminal disease; no sleeping with the boss’ wife unless you don’t need the job and he’s not prone to violent revenge.) This is a practicable principle and more or less what, I think, most self-described hedonists in the real world practice, or think they rationally ought to practice, etc.

In philosophy though we mess things up. If the pleasant is identical with the good, after all, we should be focused on what is really pleasant, that is, what maximizes pleasures over a lifetime, or over the lifetime of a population, or over the entire spatio-temporal-causal history of the actual world, etc. The Epicurean version of this, already quite difficult to practice given our extreme ignorance of the long-term consequences of our actions even for ourselves, concerns itself with maximizing pleasure over our entire lives; the utilitarian version, an epistemic absurdity, wants I suppose to maximize it over the future history of the universe, either for human beings alone or, as the revolutionary vanguard argue, for animals and other beings with the capacity to feel pain and pleasure as well.

So that would lead us to something like: for all actions A, A is the morally best thing you can do iff (i) the total pleasure over the spatio-temporal-causal history of the actual world resulting from A’s commission is greater than the total pain resulting from A’s commission over same and (ii) there was no set of actions over the spatiotemporal entirety of any possible world proceeding according to the laws of nature from the commission of an action other than A at the time A was committed in the actual world which would have led to a greater net of pleasure over pain than was realized in the actual world by the commission of A.

It is interesting that pleasure-consequentialism of this sort is so utterly useless as a guide to action, since one would have thought that one of the points of moving to pleasure as a criterion of the good was that we had better epistemic access to pleasure than to goodness. This may or may not be; what I am arguing, however, that something like this principle needs to be an explicit premise of any hedonistic philosophy worthy of the name.

All these views as stated are insufficient to capture what I think the hedonist wants to say. So too is the following definition on the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy: “the simplest form of ethical hedonism is the claim that all and only pleasure is good non-instrumentally and all and only pain or displeasure is bad non-instrumentally.” And the deficiency they all share is this: if the pleasant and the good are identical, then one can qualify as a hedonist by specifying various goods and inferring from their goodness that they are also pleasant. The following patterns of reasoning are characteristic:

“It is good to exhibit bravery in battle and march to my death with these other soldiers. Therefore, it must be pleasant to bravely march to my death with these other soldiers.”

“I shouldn’t sleep with the boss’ wife. Therefore, it won’t really be pleasant to sleep with the boss’ wife, even if it seems to be pleasant at the time.”

“It is right to devote as much of my income as I can to feeding the hungry, even if I live in penury as a result. Therefore I will get more pleasure out of life if I do so.”

The point is that if we are dealing with an identity-claim between the good and the pleasant, then if we have any independent access to the good, we can reason from the good to the pleasant across that identity-claim just as surely as we can reason from the pleasant to the good. What the hedonist actually wants, though, is only to reason from the pleasant to the good, and never to reason from the good to the pleasant. The view that we ordinarily call hedonism is therefore really a combination of two sorts of principle:

(a) the identity of the pleasant with the good, and

(b) some principle which says that we have independent epistemic access to the pleasant but not to the good, or at least that our epistemic access to the pleasant is in practice so much stronger than our epistemic access to the good that in practice it utterly swamps out whatever considerations might be had from the latter; or, perhaps, some metaphysical principle which says that pleasures are part of the fundamental ontology of the universe, but goods are not, that goods only supervene on the right sorts of combinations of pleasures, or something to that effect.

It does no good here to stamp your feet here and say something like: “But what I mean is that the good is nothing but the pleasant; there is nothing more to goodness but some net sum of human pleasures and pains.” Even on this view, it is still the case that if I know that it is good to get up from my cappuccino, which I will not enjoy even slightly if it falls below a certain critical temperature that it is about to fall below, and rush out to the front of the coffee shop, scuffing my new shoes, to help an old woman who has dropped her shopping bag, then it must be pleasant to do so as well. That is how identity works.

Nor does it seem to me that weakening the logical connection so that pleasure was merely sufficient for the good, or merely necessary, would get us want we want here. If the pleasant is sufficient but not necessary for the good, then there are other things which can make something good as well, and then we will no longer be hedonists in any interesting sense, just people who think that pleasure is sometimes relevant to assessments of what is good and/or right. If we make it necessary but not sufficient, we might or might not still be hedonists, but we will still, if we have independent criteria of the good, be able to reason backwards from those criteria to the pleasantness of this or that course of action, and then we will be forced to conclude that marching bravely to your death for a good cause, sacrificing your own quality of life to improve that of others, etc. are pleasant things to do, simply because they are good. Such might well be an ideal state of character: but my point is that no-one would ordinarily call such a view of things hedonism – only someone trying to defend a philosophical theory would say that it was.

The conjuring trick that the hedonistic philosopher (as I imagine her) seems to be performing is to argue for the identity of the pleasant and the good directly while leaving the assumption that we only have (or have far better) epistemic access to what is pleasurable than to what is good tacit. In fact, though, there is no particular reason to think that that is right, prior to argument at least. We are trained in the use of the words “pleasant” and “good” from when we are very young and both have a variety of associations and criteria of application. Different people and activities are put forward as exemplars of the pursuit of goodness and pleasure, different actions are praised, and so on. In terms of our ordinary lives, irrespective of philosophical or religious considerations, there is a substantial amount of information associated with both our pleasure-terms and with our terms of moral approbation (good, just, merciful, etc.).

Most people’s ordinary concept of happiness is something like: good and pleasant. A happy life, many people think, is a life in which one does both good and well. Asserting the identity of the pleasant and the good is thus in a way an affirmation of this ordinary concept of happiness – that since both matter both must ultimately be reconcilable – but by itself, as argued, commitment to this does not commit you what ordinary people would call hedonism. Thus we see that, as often happens in philosophy, there is the potential to advance one’s cause by way of rhetorical sleight of hand. Arguments for a deep and at least minimally plausible principle are used to set up the mark, who is then easily duped by subsequent arguments assuming unargued that she ought to be guided in action by her judgments of what will be pleasant – never noticing that her ‘moralistic’ cousin, who strives her hardest to conform her judgments of pleasure to her judgments of what is good and right, accepts exactly the same principle.

Among non-philosophers, hedonists are the ones who are skeptical of the things they have learned about goodness, but not skeptical of the things they have learned about pleasure. So they focus more on the enjoyment of pleasures than on the enjoyment of goods.

“What is good?” Well, what is pleasant? Sometimes people don’t enjoy eating or sex. Sometimes people focus on the task at hand without the level of pleasure or pain it inflicts on them being particularly relevant to their determination to continue with it. Sometimes people do things to find out if they enjoy them, and aren’t sure whether they actually do or not until after several attempts, or substantial time to reflect after the fact. As with goodness, we have a lot of exemplars and associations and criteria of application, but it can be difficult to figure out how to apply those in our own lives – and different people come to different sorts of answer.

Likewise, a lot of people think that it’s always good to treat others lovingly. I have some inclination to think that’s true whether or not it always increases the net pleasure in the universe to treat people lovingly. Imagine how rotten you’d feel if you were crucifying someone and he was all, “Father, forgive him.” Now he’s dead and you feel terrible for nailing him up. You were just doing your job. It’s nothing personal, man. Why did you forgive me?

Was the net pleasure in the universe increased by this interaction? I’m not sure how I want to answer that question. But I guess I think the guy on the cross did something good there either way.

I think that philosophical hedonists are also in effect starting out from a viewpoint of skepticism about our ordinary mastery of words like “good,” “just,” “merciful,” “right,” “fair,” and so on, preferring instead to base their moral philosophy on our mastery of words such as “pleasant” and “enjoyable.” (That same SEP article has a nice long list of related words at the beginning.) So this view needs some motivation.

At the metaphysical level the hedonist can try address the challenge through some sort of argument that pleasures but not goods are part of the fundamental ontology of the universe. Even if such an argument was accepted, though, it is not clear that this view by itself can overcome the objection raised here to standard articulations of the hedonist philosophy. Even if metaphysical hedonism were true, it could still be the case that our language of goodness did a better job of tracking supervenient goods and thus the overall flow of our pleasures than our language of pleasures does. We could still have a superior practical form of inference from the good to the pleasant even on the view that the good supervenes on the pleasant, in other words, and it could likewise still be the case that we have superior epistemic access to pleasure by way of our epistemic access to supervenient goodness than we do by way of our direct epistemic access to pleasure, just as our epistemic access to temperature is better than our epistemic access to mean molecular kinetic energy, even though the former supervenes on the latter.

So it seems that regardless of the metaphysics of goodness, in addition to the thesis that the pleasant is the good, the philosophical hedonist will also need to defend either the view that we have no epistemic access to the good independent of our epistemic access to the pleasant, or the view that our epistemic access to the pleasant is vastly superior to and ought to be privileged over our epistemic access to the good, or the view that one ought (presumably, because it is more pleasant to do so) to privilege judgments of the pleasant over judgments of the good, when assessing what the pleasant/good is.

I am sure that such arguments have been given. I am sure too that this is all ground that has been trod many times before. But I do know that nothing I have read has particularly convinced me to give up the conviction that an ability, deeply flawed and easily corrupted but genuine, to assess what is good and right is part of our cognitive endowment, and so, while I am quite open to the idea that there is some fairly strong connection between the pleasant and the good, I have no inclination whatever towards hedonism. Pushed into a corner I would much sooner defend the view that the woman who goes willingly to a hopeless and gruesome death which inspires no-one and leads to no future improvements in our condition because she believes it to be good to do so also, if her belief is true, gains pleasure thereby, then the view that because of the pain and misery she will surely suffer her belief that it is good to die in this way must be false.