Philosophy

Ambivalence

PLEASE SCROLL DOWN FOR ARTICLE This article was downloaded by: [Ph.D, J.S. Swindell] On: 10 March 2010 Access details: Access Details: [subscription number 919787708] Publisher Routledge Informa Ltd Registered in England and Wales Registered Number: 1072954 Registered office: Mortimer House, 3741 Mortimer Street, London W1T 3JH, UK Philosophical Explorations Publication details, including instructions for authors and subscription information:  Ambivalence J. S. Swindell a a Center for Medical Ethics and Health Policy, Baylor College of Medicine, Houston, USA Online publication date: 10 March 2010 To cite this Article Swindell, J. S.(2010) 'Ambivalence', Philosophical Explorations, 13: 1, 23 - 34 To link to this Article: DOI: 10.1080/13869790903318516 URL:  Full terms and conditions of use:  This article may be used for research, teaching and private study purposes. Any substantial or systematic reproduction, re-distribution, re-selling, loan or sub-licensing, systematic supply or distribution in any form to anyone is expressly forbidden. The publisher does not give any warranty express or implied or make any representation that the contents will be complete or accurate or up to date. The accuracy of any instructions, formulae and drug doses should be independently verified with primary sources. The publisher shall not be liable for any loss, actions, claims, proceedings, demand or costs or damages whatsoever or howsoever caused arising directly or indirectly in connection with or arising out of the use of this material. Ambivalence J.S. Swindell Center for Medical Ethics and Health Policy, Baylor College of Medicine, Houston, USA The phenomenon of ambivalence is an important one for any philosophy of action. Despite this importance, there is a lack of a fully satisfactory analysis of the phenomenon. Although many contemporary philosophers recognize the phenomenon, and address topics related to it, only Harry Frankfurt has given the phenomenon full treatment in the context of action theory - providing an analysis of how it relates to the structure and freedom of the will. In this paper, I develop objections to Frankfurt's account, all revolving around the charge that his account contains a serious ambiguity between willing and identifying. With such objections in place, I then develop an analysis that avoids the difficulties and ambiguities that Frankfurt's analysis is prey to. I briefly distinguish ambivalence from other types of internal conflict. This paper aims to offer conceptual clarification on the phenomenon of ambivalence, which will then allow for discussions about the normative merits and demerits of ambivalence, the effects of ambivalence on autonomous action, and methods of resolution of ambivalence. Keywords: ambivalence; autonomy; Frankfurt; will; identification 1. Introduction The phenomenon of ambivalence is an important one for any philosophy of action. Despite this importance, there is a lack of a fully satisfactory analysis of the phenomenon. Although many contemporary philosophers recognize the phenomenon, and address topics related to it,1 only Harry Frankfurt has given the phenomenon a full treatment in the context of action theory - examining how it relates to the structure of the will, freedom of the will, and freedom of action. In this paper, I develop objections to Frankfurt's analysis of the phenomenon of ambivalence. I argue that his account contains an ambiguity between identification and willing. I treat this ambiguity as a distinction, and then use it to develop an analysis of the phenomenon of ambivalence that avoids the difficulties and ambiguities to which Frankfurt's analysis is prey. Throughout, I consider and rebut some preliminary objections to this new analysis. 2. Frankfurt on ambivalence Frankfurt has argued that the objects, people, courses of action etc., that we desire are objects of first-order desires. We, as humans, have the ability to reflect on these desires ISSN 1386-9795 print/ISSN 1741-5918 online # 2010 Taylor & Francis DOI: 10.1080/13869790903318516  Email:  Philosophical Explorations Vol. 13, No. 1, March 2010, 23-34 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ P h . D , J . S . S w i n d e l l ] A t : 1 8 : 2 9 1 0 M a r c h 2 0 1 0 and either want to have them or not want to have them - these desires about our first-order desires are second-order desires. If, upon reflecting on a desire, we want to have it and we want it to be effective in moving us to action, then it is our will (also referred to by Frankfurt as a second-order volition), and acting freely consists in acting in accordance with our will (Frankfurt 1988a, 14-6). According to Frankfurt, ambivalence occurs when there is a conflict during will formation. An ambivalent agent experiences conflict during the process of reflecting on a desire that she has, and the conflict prevents her from forming a will, i.e. from taking a position on whether it is a desire that she wants to have and to be effective in action. Frankfurt's exact words: Ambivalence is constituted by conflicting volitional movements or tendencies. . . (Frankfurt 1999b, 99) If there is an unresolved conflict among someone's second-order desires, then he is in danger of having no second-order volition; for unless this conflict is resolved, he has no preference concerning which of his first-order desires is to be his will. (Frankfurt 1988a, 21) He is inclined in one direction, and he is inclined in the contrary direction as well; and his attitude toward these inclinations is unsettled. Thus, it is true of him neither that he prefers one of his alternatives, nor that he prefers the other, nor that he likes them equally. (Frankfurt 1999b, 100) Frankfurt differentiates ambivalence from other types of conflict that an agent may experience. One common type of conflict that an agent may experience is temptation. In the case of temptation, the agent has taken a side about what desires she wants to have and to move her to act (she has formed a will); and so the conflict is between her and the outlaw desires. In ambivalence, however, the conflict is in the agent; for she has not taken a side; the agent herself is torn. Frankfurt says, '. . .the person is not merely in conflict with forces "outside" him; rather, he himself is divided' (Frankfurt 1988b, 165). Another common type of conflict that an agent may experience is a conflict of first-order desires. An agent may experience a conflict at the first-order level (e.g. eating steak or a vegetarian meal for dinner), but to qualify as a case of ambivalence, there would have to be a conflict at the second-order level as well (e.g. the agent is conflicted about whether she wants her desire for pleasure or her desire for health to be effective in action). Frankfurt argues that the opposite of ambivalence is wholeheartedness. He says, 'If ambivalence is a disease of the will, the health of the will is to be unified and in this sense wholehearted' (Frankfurt 1999b, 100). And that wholeheartedness '. . . requires that with respect to any such conflict, he himself be fully resolved. This means that he must be resolutely on the side of one of the forces struggling within him and not on the side of any other. Concerning the opposition of these forces, he has to know where he himself stands. In other words, he must know what he wants' (Frankfurt 1999b, 100). Once a person is wholehearted, Frankfurt describes it as being '. . . tantamount to the enjoyment of a kind of self-satisfaction . . . a state of satisfaction with the condition of the self . . .' (Frankfurt 1999b, 102). The satisfaction that Frankfurt has in mind is not narcissistic or enthusiastic, it is just '. . . an absence of restlessness or resistance . . .' (Frankfurt 1999b, 103-4). 3. Why Frankfurt's analysis is flawed Although Frankfurt's work has the merits of taking on the phenomenon of ambivalence directly, his analysis contains a serious ambiguity between identifying and willing. This 24 J.S. Swindell D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ P h . D , J . S . S w i n d e l l ] A t : 1 8 : 2 9 1 0 M a r c h 2 0 1 0 ambiguity needs to be sorted out in order to accurately locate the phenomenon of ambivalence and in order to differentiate it from other conflicts of the will. The ambiguity To begin, consider Frankfurt's analysis of freedom of the will. In his 1971 seminal paper, 'Freedom of the Will and the Concept of a Person', Frankfurt argued that what makes us persons is the ability to reflect on our desires; to form 'second-order desires'. For example, a smoker may desire a cigarette, but she does not want to want to smoke the cigarette because she is trying to quit. The smoker has a 'first-order desire' to smoke, but does not have a 'second-order desire' to smoke. Frankfurt argues that the smoker's will is not free, because a person's will is free only when her first order desires are in accord with her second order desires. The smoker who is trying to quit does not identify with her first order desire to smoke the cigarette; she views it as outlaw (Frankfurt 1988a, 14-6). On this account, freedom of the will requires an agent somehow to identify with, as opposed to outlaw, the desires that she has. Frankfurt describes the range of ways that an agent can identify with a desire: to identify with a desire is to 'acknowledge that satisfying it is to be assigned some position in my preferences'; it may be that the desire doesn't please me or make me proud, but I am 'willing to have it represent me'; I 'accept it'; I make 'no determined effort to dissociate myself from it'; in 'weary resignation' I 'consent' to having it and to being influenced by it (Frankfurt 2006, 8).2 Or, I could identify more strongly with the desire and regard it with 'welcoming approval', or even feel like not having that desire would be 'unthinkable' (Frankfurt 1988c, 177-90; Frankfurt 1998, 26-7). On the other hand, to view a desire as outlaw is described by Frankfurt in the following range of ways: I feel like I am a 'bystander' to it; it 'disturbs' me; it makes 'no sense' to me; I'd 'never think of acting on it'; it has 'no recognizable warrant'; it 'happens to me/enters my mind'; it feels 'oddly disconnected' from me or even 'dangerously antithetical'; it is an 'unacceptable intruder'; I feel an 'anxious disposition to resist it'; it is 'outlawed and disenfranchised'; 'I refuse to recognize it as grounds for what I think and do'; I treat it as 'categorically unacceptable' and try to 'suppress it or rid myself of it entirely'; regardless of how insistent it may or how powerfully moved by it I am I 'give it no rational claim'; I am 'determined to give it no position at all' in the order of my preferences (Frankfurt 2006, 9-10).3 If the outlawed desire succeeds in defeating our attempts to resist it, then '. . . the outlaw imposes itself upon us without authority, and against our own will. This suggests a useful way of understanding what it is for a person's will to be free' (Frankfurt 2006, 14). So far, it seems that, for Frankfurt, a person is acting with free will so long as she is acting on one of the desires that she identifies with (and not acting on one that she views as outlaw). But, in other places in Frankfurt's work, it seems as if something more specific is required for freedom of the will: in order for a person to enjoy freedom of the will, she must choose a particular desire, out of the set that she identifies with, to be effective in action. That desire is then said to be the one that she 'wills'. For example, Frankfurt says: 'It is not merely that he wants the desire to X to be among the desires by which, to one degree or another, he is moved or inclined to act. He wants this desire to be effective - that is, to provide the motive in what he actually does . . . want the desire to X not merely to be one of his desires but, more decisively, to be his will' (Frankfurt 1988a, 15). So then, the picture is something like this: On this reading of Frankfurt, freedom of the will consists not merely in having and acting on desires that an agent identifies with, but in having and acting on the desire that Ambivalence 25 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ P h . D , J . S . S w i n d e l l ] A t : 1 8 : 2 9 1 0 M a r c h 2 0 1 0 the agent (more narrowly) wills (wants to be effective in guiding action). Freedom of the will consists in an orderly arrangement. Passages in Frankfurt's most recent essay, 'Taking Ourselves Seriously', lend support to this reading that freedom of the will consists in an orderly arrangement of first-order desires (i.e. structure and harmony). Frankfurt says: 'The volitional unity in which the freedom of the will consists is purely structural' (Frankfurt 2006); 'When we are acquiescent to ourselves, or willing freely, there is no conflict within the structure of our motivations and desires' (Frankfurt 2006); 'Willing freely means that the self is at that time harmoniously integrated' (Frankfurt 2006); and 'This would amount to an inner harmony that comes to much the same thing as having a free will' (Frankfurt 2006, 17-9). The ambiguity in Frankfurt's account of freedom of the will leads to a similar ambiguity in his analysis of the phenomenon of ambivalence. At times, Frankfurt writes as if ambivalence occurs at the level of identification, and at other times he writes as if it occurs at the level of identification plus willing (at the level of ordering the desires that the person identifies with). In support of the former reading of Frankfurt's analysis of the phenomenon of ambivalence, consider the following passage: 'A person is ambivalent, then, only if he is indecisive concerning whether to be for or against a certain psychic position' (Frankfurt 1999b, 99). It is not that the agent has decided that she identifies with the desire and approves of it being among her motivations, but just cannot decide whether she wants it or other desires that she identifies with to move her to action right now. The agent cannot even decide whether she identifies with the desire in question at all. Similarly, about the ambivalent agent, Frankfurt says: 'He is inclined in one direction, and he is inclined in the contrary direction as well; and his attitude toward these inclinations is unsettled. Thus, it is true of him neither that he prefers one of his alternatives, nor that he prefers the other, nor that he likes them both equally' (Frankfurt 1999b, 100). At other times, however, Frankfurt writes as if ambivalence occurs at the level of willing; that it is a failure of the agent to order her desires and decide which of them she wants to be effective in action at a particular time. In other words, he writes as if ambivalence occurs when an agent likes or dislikes both alternatives equally (contra the above quote), and cannot decide which to prioritize, or which to be effective in action at a particular time. Frankfurt writes, to overcome ambivalence, an agent should '. . . give up trying to have things both ways and find some coherent order . . .' (Frankfurt 1999b, 107). The ambivalent agent has a conflict among the desires that she identifies with and has trouble ordering them, i.e., deciding which of the conflicting desires she wants to be effective in action at a particular time. Now that the ambiguity in Frankfurt's account is exposed, the ambiguity can be turned into a distinction (between willing and identifying), that can allow us not only to understand the phenomenon of ambivalence better, but also to understand its relationship to other conflicts of the will. For example, if ambivalence is understood as a failure or a trouble at the level of deciding which desire the agent wants to be effective in action at a particular time (i.e. of willing), then one way that weakness of will might be understood is that an agent has decided which desire she wants to be effective in action but acts not on that desire, but on another desire that she identifies with (but does not more narrowly will). If, on the other hand, ambivalence is understood as a failure to decide whether a desire is one that the agent identifies with or views as outlaw, then one way that weakness of the will might be understood is that an agent has decided which desires she in some sense identifies with and which she views as outlaw, but has acted on a desire that she has outlawed. Moreover, understanding ambivalence in will versus identification will be an important distinction to keep in mind when theorizing about how to resolve it. Suggested methods of 26 J.S. Swindell D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ P h . D , J . S . S w i n d e l l ] A t : 1 8 : 2 9 1 0 M a r c h 2 0 1 0 resolution may vary greatly if the problem is one of forming a psychic attitude towards a desire or one of ordering desires. 4. New analysis Locating ambivalence The above discussion of the ambiguity in Frankfurt's analysis of the phenomenon of ambivalence is not purely negative, for we can sort out the ambiguities and develop an alternative analysis of the phenomenon. Referring to Figure 1, ambivalence can occur during the first decision process (of whether or not to identify with or reject a particular first order desire). Ambivalence can also occur during the second decision process, i.e. when an agent is deciding which desire (of the desires she identifies with) she wants to be effective in action at a particular time. Hence, ambivalence can be either a failure/trouble to form a psychic position towards one's desires (to identify or outlaw) or a failure/trouble to order one's desires (to form a will). Indeed, there are many cases where an agent identifies with desires where the satisfaction of one negatively affects the satisfaction of another, and as a result has trouble ordering those preferences.4 Consider the literary example of Agamemnon. In Aeschylus's play Agamemnon, Agamemnon is faced with the conflict of whether or not to kill his daughter Iphigenia in order to spare the lives of his cavalry. The anguish of his mental conflict can be felt in his words (Aeschylus 2008): A heavy doom, sure, if God's will were broken; But to slay mine own child, who my house delighteth, Is that not heavy? That her blood should flow On her father's hand, hard beside an altar? My path is sorrow wheresoe'er I go. Shall Agamemnon fail his ships and people, And the hosts of Hellas melt as melts the snow? They cry, they thirst, for a death that shall break the spell, Figure 1. Identifying and willing. Ambivalence 27 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ P h . D , J . S . S w i n d e l l ] A t : 1 8 : 2 9 1 0 M a r c h 2 0 1 0 For a Virgin's blood: 'tis a rite of old, men tell. And they burn with longing.- O God may the end be well! Agamemnon has two desires, to spare the life of his daughter and to spare the lives of his cavalry. It is not as if Agamemnon is having a problem forming a psychic attitude towards those desires; he is not having a problem deciding whether he identifies with both desires or views them as outlaw. He does identify with both. The problem that Agamemnon is having is one of ordering his desires; of deciding which desire he wills to be effective in action at this particular time. Consider another example of an agent experiencing ambivalence: an agent is ambivalent about having children. The agent has a desire to raise children (and raise them well) and is not having a problem deciding whether he identifies with that desire or views it as outlaw; he identifies with it (he wants to assign it some position among the motivations and causes of his behavior). But the agent also has a desire to devote himself intensely to his career. He also identifies with that desire, but knows that the satisfaction of it conflicts with the satisfaction of his desire to raise children well, and so is having a problem deciding which of the two desires he wants to move him to action. His ambivalence is a case of a failure to order desires (a failure of willing) and not a failure to form a psychic position about a desire (a failure of identifying). Ambivalence as a structure of the will Thus far, I have clarified an ambiguity in Frankfurt's account about the location of ambivalence, and have argued that cases of ambivalence can be located not just in the realm of identifying, but also in the realm of willing. Another important conceptual issue that must be addressed is whether ambivalence is to be construed as a feeling that an agent has or as a structure of an agent's will. Frankfurt defines ambivalence as a structure of the will, as I explained in the section on Frankfurt's analysis of ambivalence. I essentially agree with Frankfurt's analysis on this point, but an important objection needs to be addressed. Some might object that ambivalence is fundamentally a feeling, the feeling of being torn and conflicted, just as love and anger are fundamentally feelings. It would seem odd for love or anger to be defined as anything but a feeling; it would be as if we as outsiders could insist that someone was not really angry or in love because they did not behave a certain way. It would be similarly odd to define ambivalence as anything but a feeling. In response, this objection has some merit, for there is an affective component to ambivalence just as there is to love and anger. But there is a danger in making the affective component the, or part of the, necessary and sufficient conditions for ambivalence for two reasons: (1) we then face a conceptual difficulty of counterexamples where an agent (e.g. a zombie, or an anthropologist from Mars) has the structure of the will for ambivalence, looks like she is ambivalent, but lacks the affective component; (2) it becomes difficult to differentiate ambivalence from other conflicts, such as temptation and regret, that might feel very similar to the agent experiencing them. So, in order to accommodate the objection that there is some affective component tied to the phenomenon of ambivalence, but avoid the difficulties involved in making an affective element the, or part of the, necessary and sufficient conditions for ambivalence, I suggest that ambivalence is fundamentally a certain structure of the will (conflict of second order desires) that is 'necessarily-typically' accompanied by a certain affective element (the feeling of being torn). That is, the affective component is necessarily part of it, but it does not have to occur in all genuine cases; it merely has to 28 J.S. Swindell D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ P h . D , J . S . S w i n d e l l ] A t : 1 8 : 2 9 1 0 M a r c h 2 0 1 0 typically occur. I borrow the term 'necessarily-typically' from Berys Gaut in his article, 'The Paradox of Horror' (Gaut 1993). Gaut argued that although it may seem paradoxical that some of us enjoy horror (i.e. enjoy unpleasant emotions such as fear and disgust), it is not a paradox at all because emotions are essentially evaluations (in the case of horror, negative) which can feel either pleasant or unpleasant (in the case of horror, pleasant). He recognizes that negative emotions (evaluations) are usually tied to unpleasant feelings and so he argues for a conceptual connection between the evaluation and the feeling that he calls 'necessarily-typically'. Negative emotions 'necessarily-typically' produce unpleasant feelings, in the same way that pain 'necessarily-typically' produces avoidance behavior. Two degrees of ambivalence Thus far, I have characterized ambivalence as a structure of the will in which there is either a difficulty in forming of second order positions (identifying or outlawing) or a difficulty ordering second order desires (willing), that necessarily typically causes the agent to feel torn. Ambivalence of both types comes in degrees. The most severe degree, I call paralyzing ambivalence. The difficulty of a decision is so paralyzing that the agent does not form a will at all; she does not decide which of her desires she wants to be effective in action at a particular time (think of Agamemnon in the phase of paralysis). A less severe degree of ambivalence I call residual ambivalence. The agent does form a will but is still drawn towards the other desires that conflict with the desire that she wills. I will discuss each degree of ambivalence in turn. As an example of a case of paralyzing ambivalence, consider the following: Mr. X, a youthful 70 year old man, was involved in a head on motor vehicle accident. As a result, he lay in a hospital bed, on a ventilator, and paralyzed from the neck down. Mr. X had to decide whether to have the ventilator withdrawn and die, or remain on the ventilator, living a life on a ventilator and paralyzed from the neck down. Mr. X's family, physicians, and an ethicist all talked with Mr. X to try to ascertain what he really wanted. These conversations spanned over weeks, but Mr. X did not know what he really wanted. He could not decide which of his desires (his desire to live or his desire to avoid living a life paralyzed and on a ventilator) he wanted to be effective in action; he could not form a will; he was paralyzingly ambivalent. The severity of ambivalence found in paralyzing ambivalence is usually the result of having to decide between making a full commitment to one thing or another, and a compromise is not obvious or available because one commitment excludes acting on the other. When an agent, such as Mr. X, is paralyzingly ambivalent (referring once again to the diagram below), he experiences a conflict among the desires that he identifies with and does not settle on which of those desires he wants to be at the top of the order; to be effective in action at a particular time. In the case of Mr. X, he has a desire to live that he identifies with, and a desire to live a certain quality of life that he identifies with, and the satisfaction of those two desires conflict in this particular instance. Mr. X does not decide on the ordering of those desires; his ambivalence is paralyzing in that he fails to form a will. While paralyzing ambivalence is a structure of the will in which there is a difficulty in forming second order positions (identifying or outlawing), or a difficulty in ordering second order desires that (1) necessarily typically causes the agent to feel torn and (2) results in the agent failing to form a will, there is another degree of ambivalence that I call residual. Residual ambivalence is a structure of the will in which there is a difficulty in forming second order positions (identifying or outlawing), or a difficulty in ordering second order desires that (1) necessarily typically causes the agent to feel torn or uneasy, but (2) does Ambivalence 29 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ P h . D , J . S . S w i n d e l l ] A t : 1 8 : 2 9 1 0 M a r c h 2 0 1 0 not result in the agent failing to form a will. The agent does form a will but is still drawn towards the other second order desires that conflict with the desire that she wills. Imagine the following example: Chris and John are engaged to be married and have a young child together. John was raised Catholic, but has not seriously practiced his religion since his teens. Lately however, John has been rekindling his relationship with the Church and over the past few months he has begun to experience a deep feeling that he is being called to become a priest. John has a desire to marry Chris and share a life with Chris and their daughter, but he also has a desire to become a priest. Both desires are ones that he identifies with in that he in some sense endorses them as being among the influences on his behavior. After some time and inner turmoil, John makes a decision and forms a will. He commits to his desire for a life with Chris and their daughter being the one that is effective in action. One question that may arise is that it is not clear what it means to simultaneously form a will (decide which desire is to be effective in action at t1) yet still be strongly drawn towards conflicting alternatives (that one also identifies with). This question arises from the differentiation between types of ambivalence that I have provided, and from the distinction between willing and identifying that I have drawn. It is an important and interesting question about the particular phenomenon of residual ambivalence, and although addressing it fully would require a separate paper on residual ambivalence alone, I will provide a preliminary response. To form a will in cases of residual ambivalence is to resign oneself to a certain ordering of one's desires, and to take steps towards making the desire that has been ordered primary effective in action. Now, taking steps towards making the primary desire effective in action can mean small and gradual steps. For example, whenever John feels like looking at the webpage for priests he redirects his thoughts to something else. Whenever he begins to miss his deep involvement with the Church, he reminds himself of what he would be losing in pursuing that option. John begins therapy with Chris to make their relationship even better and more attractive. John is, however, residually ambivalent. He is still drawn towards (and at times strongly drawn towards) his desire to become a priest, especially when he drives by a church or sees a book on Catholicism while he is browsing at his local bookstore. Ambivalence vs. regret Analysis of ambivalence sheds light on a related phenomenon: regret. Ambivalence, of the residual degree in particular, bears some relation to regret. There are, however, two different sorts of regret to be discussed: (1) an agent regrets how she ordered her desires, or (2) an agent regrets that she had to order her desires; that the satisfaction of some conflicted with the satisfaction of others. The former type of regret is directed towards the agent herself, the latter type of regret can be directed towards oneself or towards the world. The type of regret that is most likely to be associated with the phenomenon of residual ambivalence is the latter. Referring back to the case of John the would-be priest, it is not that he regrets that he decided that he wanted his desire for a relationship with Chris to be effective in action instead of his desire to become a priest. The regret that John may experience is directed towards the world, it is regret that he could not have both desires satisfied. To complicate matters, there is a way in which regret may be directed towards the self, but not be regret about how the agent ordered her desires. If the decision that the agent made about the ordering of her desires involved other persons, then the agent may regret that she did harm to those persons (even though she does not regret her ordering). For example, if ambivalent Agamemnon finally chose (as he did) his army over his daughter, then it is too 30 J.S. Swindell D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ P h . D , J . S . S w i n d e l l ] A t : 1 8 : 2 9 1 0 M a r c h 2 0 1 0 simple to describe his regret as towards the world, as regret that he could not save both Iphigenia and his army. Agamemnon may regret doing wrong to Iphigenia. It may be more accurate to describe his regret as directed towards her and not towards the world or the circumstances. All of this is just to point out, however, that the phenomenon of ambivalence has some relation to the phenomenon of regret, but that they are not the same thing. Ambivalence vs. weakness of will and temptation Another common type of conflict of the will is temptation, which if succumbed to becomes weakness of will. Recall that Frankfurt differentiates ambivalence from temptation in the following way: in the case of temptation, the conflict is between the agent/the desires that she identifies with and the desires that she views as outlaw. In ambivalence, however, the conflict is in the agent. Frankfurt is partly correct in his distinction between ambivalence and temptation. Temptation can be a conflict between the desires that the agent identifies with and the ones that she views as outlaw, but temptation can also be a conflict between the desire that the agent wills (the one that she wants to be effective in action at t1) and the other desires that she identifies with. Hence, an agent is weak of will when she acts on a desire other than the one that she wills. This other desire can either be one that she views as outlaw or one that she identifies with. For example, I may decide that I do not identify with my first order desire to eat ice cream for dinner, but the desire to eat ice cream for dinner continues to influence me; it tempts me. I succumb to it and eat ice cream for dinner; I am weak of will. Or, I may decide that I do identify with my desire to eat ice cream for dinner, but on this particular evening I do not will it. I have another desire that I identify with that conflicts with it (e.g. I am on a health kick right now and have a desire to be healthy, and I ate ice cream for dinner last night). The desire to be healthy is the one that I will; it is the one that I want to be effective in action this evening. The desire to eat ice cream for dinner tempts me and if I succumb to it I am weak of will, even though it is a desire that I identify with. These cases of temptation/ weakness of will are different from a case of ambivalence, where I am not able to decide whether I identify at all with my first order desire to eat ice cream for dinner (whether I assign it some position), or (more likely) where I am not able to decide what I will this evening (whether I want my second order desire for health or my second order desire for ice cream to move me to action this evening). One objection is that on my analysis, temptation/weakness of will cannot be distinguished from residual ambivalence. I have said that if a desire other than the one that I will influences me (even if it is a desire I identify with), then that is a case of temptation. Yet, cases of residual ambivalence just are cases where desires that I identify with continue to influence me. So, it is true that on my analysis all cases of residual ambivalence are cases temptation. The difference between the two phenomena, however, is that not all cases of temptation are cases of residual ambivalence (since I have argued that temptation also occurs when an agent is influenced by desires that she views as outlaw). On my analysis it is also true that cases of residual ambivalence are also cases of temptation and may very easily turn into cases of weakness of will. For if the agent acts on a desire other than the one that she wills (even if it is a desire that she identifies with), then she is weak of will. Return to the case of the man who wills to remain with his fiancée and their daughter, but is residually ambivalent in that he is still strongly influenced by his conflicting second order desire to become a priest. He is tempted by his desire to become a priest, and if he abandons his fiancée and runs off to become a priest then he is weak of will, even though his desire to become a priest is one that he identifies with. Ambivalence 31 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ P h . D , J . S . S w i n d e l l ] A t : 1 8 : 2 9 1 0 M a r c h 2 0 1 0 Ambivalence vs. indifference Ambivalence is not to be confused with indifference. Here, Frankfurt is entirely correct. Consider the following quote by the character Meursault in Albert Camus's The Stranger (Camus 1989, Part 1, Chapter 4): She was wearing a pair of my pajamas with the sleeves rolled up. When she laughed I wanted her again. A minute later she asked me if I loved her. I told her it didn't mean anything but that I didn't think so. She looked sad. But as we were fixing lunch, and for no apparent reason, she laughed in such a way that I kissed her. Meursault does not reject his desire for Marie, nor does he endorse it. He is not ambivalent, for he is not experiencing strong feelings drawing him in conflicting directions. He is what we might call, indifferent. To be indifferent to one's own motives is to, as Frankfurt says, '. . .take no evaluative attitude toward the desires that incline him to act. If there is a conflict between those desires, he does not care which of them proves to be the more effective. In other words, the individual does not participate in the conflict' (Frankfurt 1988b, 164). This type of indifference we might call, borrowing from Frankfurt, 'wanton indifference' (Frankfurt 1988a, 18). Another type of indifference (one that Frankfurt does not discuss) is someone who does not even have first order desires that incline him to act one way or the other. There is no conflict between the desires that incline him to act (first order desires) because he does not even have inclinations one way or the other. Imagine that an agent has to decide whether to spend the day at the beach or the park - those are his only two options. The agent is indifferent about where he spends the day in the sense that he does not have a first order desire inclining him to spend the day at the beach, nor does he have a first order desire inclining him to spend the day at the park. This type of indifference we might call 'first order indifference', or more colloquially depression or lack of motivation. Both wanton indifference and first order indifference are distinguished from ambivalence by the fact that in cases of indifference, there is no conflict of the will at all. 5. Conclusion In conclusion, internal conflict comes in various forms. In this paper, I have provided an analysis of one of the more neglected forms of internal conflicts: ambivalence. I have argued that Frankfurt's account of ambivalence contains an ambiguity between identification and willing. I turn this ambiguity into a distinction, and use it to develop an analysis of the phenomenon of ambivalence that avoids the difficulties and ambiguities to which Frankfurt's analysis is prey. I argue that ambivalence is a structure of the will in which there is either a difficulty in forming second order positions (identifying or outlawing) or a difficulty ordering second order desires (willing), that necessarily typically causes the agent to feel torn. I hope that the conceptual clarifications that I have made contribute to a better understanding of the phenomenon of ambivalence, which will then allow for discussions about the merits and demerits of ambivalence, the effects of ambivalence on autonomous action, and methods of resolution of ambivalence in cases where ambivalence has significant negative consequences for an agent. Notes 1. See, for example, Bratman (1999); Bratman (2002); Bratman (2003); Calhoun (1995); Christman (1991); Christman (1993); Ekstrom (1993); Ekstrom (2005); Velleman (2002); Greenspan (1980); Harrist (2006) and Koch (1987). 32 J.S. Swindell D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ P h . D , J . S . S w i n d e l l ] A t : 1 8 : 2 9 1 0 M a r c h 2 0 1 0 2. See Frankfurt (2006, 8). The exact quote is as follows (emphasis original): 'When we consider the psychic raw materials with which nature and circumstance have provided us, we are sometimes more or less content. They may not exactly please us, or make us proud. Nevertheless, we are willing for them to represent us. We accept them as conveying what we really feel, what we truly desire, what we do indeed think and so on. They do not arouse in us any determined effort to dissociate ourselves from them. Whether with welcoming approval, or in weary resignation, we consent to having them and to being influenced by them. This willing acceptance of attitudes, thoughts, and feelings transforms their status. They are no longer merely items that happen to appear in a certain psychic history. We have taken responsibility for them as authentic expressions of ourselves'. 3. See Frankfurt (2006, 9-10). The exact quotes are as follows: 'Sometimes we do not participate actively in what goes on in us. It takes place, somehow, but we are just bystanders to it. There are obsessional thoughts, for instance, that disturb us but that we cannot get out of our heads; there are peculiar reckless impulses that make no sense to us, and upon which we would never think of acting; there are hot surges of anarchic emotion that assault us from out of nowhere and that have no recognizable warrant from the circumstances in which they erupt'. And 'By a kind of psychic immune response . . . we dissociate ourselves from them, and seek to prevent them from being at all effective . . . this means that we deny them any entitlement to supply us with motives or reasons. . ..Regardless of how insistent they may be, we assign their claims no place whatever in the order of preferences and priorities that we establish for our deliberate choices and acts'. 4. An agent may be unambivalent about the first decision (whether or not the desire is one that she identifies with), she may even be unambivalent about the second decision in that she wants either desire 1 or 2 to move her to action at t1 but not desire 3 or 4. What she is ambivalent about is whether she wants desire 1 or desire 2 to move her to action at t1. For example, imagine that a person is unambivalent that she identifies with her desire to go to the beach, her desire to go the park, her desire to go to the bookstore, and her desire to have sex. She is even unambivalent that she wants either the desire to go to the beach or the park this afternoon. What she is ambivalent about is whether she wants her desire to go to the beach or her desire to go to the park to be the one that is effective in action this afternoon. This footnote arises from Geoffrey-Sayre McCord encouraging me to reflect on the way that dividing up desires affects the classification of ambivalence during an informal conversation upon his visit to Michigan State University in June 2007. Notes on contributor J.S. Swindell is an Assistant Professor at the Center for Medical Ethics and Health Policy at Baylor College of Medicine. In 2008, she received her PhD in philosophy from Michigan State University. She has several articles on autonomy published or in press, and her research interests focus on decision making and the philosophy of action. References Aeschylus. 2008. Agamemnon of Aeschylus. Translated into English rhyming verse with explanatory notes. Trans. Gilbert Murray. London: George Allen. Bratman, M. 1999. Identification, decision, and treating as a reason. In Faces of intention: Selected essays on intention and agency, ed. M. Bratman, 185-206. New York: Cambridge University Press. Bratman, M. 2002. Hierarchy, circularity, and double reduction. In Contours of agency: Essays on themes from Harry Frankfurt, ed. S. Buss and L. Overton, 65-90. Cambridge, MA: Bradford Book/MIT Press. Bratman, M. 2003. Autonomy and hierarchy. Social Philosophy and Policy 2: 156-76. Calhoun, C. 1995. Standing for something. The Journal of Philosophy 92: 235-60. Camus, A. 1989. The stranger. New York: Vintage International. Christman, J. 1991. Autonomy and personal history. Canadian Journal of Philosophy 21: 1-24. Christman, J. 1993. Defending historical autonomy: A reply to Professor Mele. Canadian Journal of Philosophy 2: 281-89. Ambivalence 33 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ P h . D , J . S . S w i n d e l l ] A t : 1 8 : 2 9 1 0 M a r c h 2 0 1 0 Ekstrom, L.W. 1993. A coherence theory of autonomy. Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 53: 599-616. Ekstrom, L.W. 2005. Autonomy and personal integration. In Personal autonomy: New essays on personal autonomy and its role in contemporary moral philosophy, ed. J.S. Taylor, 143-61. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Frankfurt, H. 1988a. Freedom of the will and the concept of a person. In The importance of what we care about: Philosophical essays, ed. H. Frankfurt, 11-25. New York: Cambridge University Press. Frankfurt, H. 1988b. Identification and wholeheartedness. In The importance of what we care about: Philosophical essays, ed. H. Frankfurt, 159-77. New York: Cambridge University Press. Frankfurt, H. 1988c. Rationality and the unthinkable. In The importance of what we care about: Philosophical essays, ed. H. Frankfurt, 177-90. New York: Cambridge University Press. Frankfurt, H. 1998. Discussion with Harry Frankfurt. Ethical Perspectives 5: 30-5. Frankfurt, H. 1999a. Autonomy, necessity, and love. In Necessity, volition, and love, ed. H. Frankfurt, 129-42. New York: Cambridge University Press. Frankfurt, H. 1999b. The faintest passion. In Necessity, volition, and love, ed. H. Frankfurt, 95-108. New York: Cambridge University Press. Frankfurt, H. 2006. Taking ourselves seriously. In Taking ourselves seriously and getting it right, ed. H. Frankfurt, 1-27. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Gaut, B. 1993. The paradox of horror. The British Journal of Aesthetics 33: 333-45. Greenspan, P. 1980. A case of mixed feelings: Ambivalence and the logic of emotion. In Explaining emotions, ed. A.O. Rorty, 223-50. Berkeley: University of California Press. Harrist, S. 2006. A phenomenological investigation of the experience of ambivalence. Journal of Phenomenological Psychology 37: 85-114. Koch, P. 1987. Emotional ambivalence. Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 48: 257-79. Velleman, D. 2002. Identification and identity. In Contours of agency: Essays on themes from Harry Frankfurt, ed. S. Buss and L. Overton, 92-123. Cambridge, MA: Bradford Book/MIT Press. 34 J.S. Swindell D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ P h . D , J . S . S w i n d e l l ] A t : 1 8 : 2 9 1 0 M a r c h 2 0 1


Averiguando la esboza de Filolao, tomando cuenta del recurso acesorio que hizo verodImilmente a datos observacionales

Philosophy

Averiguando a Filolao

Ninguna entre las previas rendiciones, ya había recobrado validez astronómica. Como si los quienes hicieron ricercas desde Crotona hubieran sido modelistas. Desde ahora, no pienso mi granito de arena apuntàndolo en astronomía desconviniese a Mattei con tal de cautela filológica2. Presupuesto : Filolao ciertamente no detuve su marco sin consideraciones observacionales3. Aunque S fue obfuscado por el <foco central>, medidas pienden a T. a) yo comprobo, mediante calibraje -c-... b) ...2 porciones del càlculo, resp. a los siguientes 'an'! : T[ierra] ; S[ol] ; l[una]... c) , para lo que suele restaurar la longueza inicial ; puès 2*<r>≞ 'a!'c . Por misma ocasión, περιοδοσ≝ " circuito anual ". Este procedimiento c) hace sentido, desde que 'a7'! 'a4'! o 54 meses lunares ≡ !° !í!" 'a4'! , mientras n° ciclo plurianual r! ≎1 més lunar. Postulado resp. a los <rayo[s]> de Filolao, r : ∀r ∈ t (totientes perfectos, desde Euler) : r1 r! r3 r4 r! r! r7 1 3 9 27 81 243 729 Puès la validez calendaria (n. 3) rinde lícito no reducir el atajo de Filolao [S ≞< cuadrado_cubo>] al sólo uso mnemotécnico : màs allà de la suerte ocultada de S, vale fuera de Filolao en < 2!. 3! >4 medida comùn -por lo menos (¿mero azar o coincidencia significativa?) para la pareja retro-inluminada (vide infra, n. 4). Esos convencionales < 22.33 > se averan idóneos para poner Filolao en perspectiva de datos contemporàneos. Surge ahora el problema conexo (estudiado a lo largo del desarrollo de totientes5) en torno a la potencia unaria i.e. {1 siendo (o no) un p[rimo]}, en que posibilidad elegimos < 1!"#$. 2!. 3! >. Expediente (ésta cuantidad limitante6 108, equiparando ambos 'l ≬ T'! y 'S ≬ T' ! ) : al hacer recurso acesorio a los ''totientes'' correspondientes, c) (es decir : doblamiento del <rayo>) quedarà evidente con 'a3'c (i.e. 2*'9'), ya que : (i) φ 9 = φ 18 , mientras... (ii)...los divisores φ 9 observen los 3 primeros étapas de Filolao : {r!; r!; r!} . 1 En forma de su progresión, cuya razón es ! , PLUTARCO,De anima procreatione in Tim. , ch. XXX. 2 El llorado MATTEI († 2014) en Platon & le miroir du mythe, p. 17, liminaire, Puf, re-ed : FILOLAO, fr. B-7. 3 El calendario de Filolao (364,5 días) està representado por un 1⁄4 del περιοδοσ S-ofuscante. Se consigue al entroncar los 54 meses lunares pendientes a las duraciones reconstituidas : ′S T′ 'T/l'!! !! . 4 Calibraje, merced al n° de diàmetros requeridos para trascurrir unas distancias marcadas por el signo '≬' S. 108!"#$ = S≬T[ierra] :: l[una]≬T = l!"#$ .108 5 Daniel VELLEMAN, How to prove it, Cambridge, 2006. 6 A pesar de no ser ≝diàmetros (n. 4 hacia arriba), vale nuestro postulado : !"#. 'l≬T'! l≬T ≡ !"#. 'S≬T'! S≬T . Cuàn mañoso puede ser Filolao resp. a la pareja En suma : aclaro la ordenanza propuesta por el mismo. Durante siglos, la universidad se quedó al interés paradigmàtico, mientras su marco eliocéntrico tiene relativa validez estadística. Entallada, la esboza1 de Filolao aparece asombrosamente correcta, aùn si resuelta parcial ; se consigue bajo ipotésis de predominio (bajo el informe lumbrifero), aplicado ùnicamente a la pareja retro-inluminada (S∨l)← "foco central" - mientras los valores de los demàs objetos celestes quedan misterio o mero tràmite, segùn y conforme. Ahora, a32∗<rayo> ⇋ 'T'! . Sàlvo el observador terrestre merced a (ii), otros totientes tendràn valor facultativa. Entonces el observador en T sierve como punto de partida ; y los totientes permiterén manejar ambas partes. No es menester los otros totientes (≢! {S l }T!pendiendo a valores [efectivas] -veàse abajo, (1)) ser màs que ''totativas'', puesto que { 'a!'c 'a!'c }⋃φ 18 -siguiendo con órbitas eliocéntricas en ambas ordenanzas. Todavía hace falta subrayar cuàn formal acaba éso apellido revisado 'S'2c , representando la " virtud de los nùmeros sesudos " [Pic] bajo un informe temporal, no un recorrido -ni siquiera los lapsos efectivos tales como los 1.392.000km separando S[, rectificado] y T. En seguida de n. 3 y del desfase debido al Sol reflejado, es recevable referir el desfase (resp. al 'sol' periférico ofuscado) al intervalo ; la duración anual (echando atràs el ajuste inter-calendario inicial) Al reenfocar al intervalo provisional (no obstante la convuelta desalineación resp. al <foco central>) (1) entre ambos astros y el centro segùn Filolao, llegamos un ratio7 igual a φ(100) : (1.1) 'l ≬ T'! ⊐ 54-18, 12.3 (1.2) 'S ≬ T' ! ⊐ 1458-18, 12 2.10 Logrando ésto, recobramos longuezas discretas 8, i.e. poliédricas. Sabemos el marco de Filolao reponer sobre <rayo[s]> por la sencilla razón que en vida tanto iba desconocido. Por eso, Filolao se quedó a coniecturas bi-dimensionales, siempre buscando solucionar lo que quedaba αμαθην (¬calculable) -el pentadecàgono, por ejemplo, para explicar la [anticipada] obliquidad del eclíptico. Logicamente, el paràmetro quedante sino incidente, resp. a la occultación de S, es volumétrico. Y, siguiendo los preceptos pitagóricos, se puede reconducirlo9 al brazo opuesto a la progresión {a!;a!; a!}!!"#$! : (2) luego por la tasa (!! !!) (!! !!) ≈10 se adivina cuàn fàctico rinde a! la τετρακτυσ , tanto como {a! ≬ a! } encubren al mismo factor 10. Entonces halló solución, tan parcial sembrara : (3) a1 + a3 1.2 , reenfocando a minima el marco de Filolao. Para conseguirlo, el ajuste constarà de ser el ratio (1), frente a datos hoy día ciertos : (4) !"#$%&'"% {!! !} !"#$%&'"% {!!!} , permitiendo ahora contestar la pregunta quantum ? (5) 389,18 veces 'l ≬ T'!! , lo que [devuelto a (3) y de acuerdo con (2.v) en n. 7], trae : (6) 389, 18. 'l ≬ T'2c ≲122.102 Así rendido a la pareja de Filolao, se averigua a los ∽ 97,3%10 el intervalo ∎ DS 7 2.i) por formalismo, φ(1440) = φ(111), 2.ii) ...y 37, d[ivisor de φ(111)], aparezcando igualmente d[ivisor de[ 'S ≬ T' ! φ 100 . 2.iii) la pareja permanece, al considerarla dentro de t, si φ 100 = !(!"##) !(!"#)∗ !(!") 2.iv) (3) volverà dable en t : φ 3700 ∗ φ 11 ≎ φ 401 − φ 11 2.v) φ(109) !(!) ! !"" ∗! !! T(S) ≎ T(l) , idest 384000 !"##$$ . 8 ... a los cuales corresponden, segùn PLATÔN, Timeo, tantos cùbos 9 FICINO, Scolios sobre el Timeo, λ , x!!!!!!! ≎ φ(100) -descartando toda regañina de anàcronismo. 10 (2) recoge !"# !"" !!! !"# !"" = 389,18. 12.3 = 14010,4 ≽ 14400.


If one believes vagueness to be an exclusively representational phenomenon, one faces the problem of the many: in the vicinity of Kilimanjaro, there are many 'mountain-candidates', all, apparently, with more or less equal claim to be mountains. David Lewis has defended a radical claim: that all these billions of mountain-candidates are mountains. I argue that the supervaluationist about vagueness should adopt Lewis's proposal, on pain of losing their best explanation of the seductiveness of the sorites paradox.

Philosophy

An Argument for the Many

An Argument for the Many Penultimate Draft.∗ by J.R.G. Williams (September 29, 2005) Abstract If one believes that vagueness is an exclusively representational phenomenon, one faces the problem of the many. In the vicinity of Kilimanjaro, there are many many 'mountain candidates' all, apparently, with more-or-less equal claim to be mountains. David Lewis has defended a radical claim: that all the billions of mountain candidates are mountains. This paper argues that the supervaluationist about vagueness should adopt Lewis' proposal, on pain of losing their best explanation of the seductiveness of the sorites. Before me, there is a mountain. But is there, in front of me, something which is definitely a mountain? A popular approach to the philosophy of vagueness is in danger of implying that the answer is 'no'. But we can independently argue that the answer should be 'yes'. There is a reconciliation in view: but it says strange things about the number of mountains I'm about to climb. I Many philosophers want to construe vagueness as a product of linguistic or representational indeterminacy. My focus here is on the most popular way of cashing this out: the 'standard' form of supervaluationism that is developed in Fine (1975) and recently defended by Keefe (2000). A standard supervaluationist approach to vague language envisages a range of ways of making our vague language precise. A sentence will count as true simpliciter (or ∗Forthcoming in Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society. References should be to the published version. Some text may differ. 1 'supertrue') if it is true on every such precisification. (The metalinguistic notion of supertruth is reflected, in the object-language, by a 'Definitely' operator. We can characterize this, initially, in the following way: 'Definitely S' is true at a precisification p if and only if 'S' is true on all precisifications.)1 One of the main selling points of the standard form of supervaluationism is that we can retain the simple, familiar and powerful classical logic in the context of vagueness. We need not worry that the tautologies that we learn in first year logic courses will be rendered invalid when we move to consider a vague language.2 But just this commitment to classical logic is the source of a range of objections to supervaluationism. We can illustrate the problems by running through a version of the notorious sorites reasoning. Suppose we are contemplating a range of emanations: mounds, hills, mountains, and the like. Suppose this range of emanations includes some which are clearly mountains (Kilimanjaro), and also contains emanations of intermediate heights, decreasing at small intervals, until ultimately we reach something which is clearly not a mountain (say, Glastonbury Tor). We shall suppose that, for any emanation in the series, there is a smaller one whose height is within 10 metres of it. For the sake of exposition, we imagine we are in a possible world where these emanations are arranged in order of decreasing height. Now restrict the domain of quantification to this (finite) range, and let x′ be a way of referring to the tallest emanation that is shorter than x, i.e. the next emanation in the range. Under relatively uncontroversial assumptions, classical logic will deliver: (1) ∃x(x is a mountain ∧¬x′ is a mountain) This, however, sounds like we are asserting the existence of a sharp cut-off between those emanations that are mountains and those which are not mountains. But surely there is no sharp cut-off between mountains and non-mountains: a difference in height of only 10 metres cannot make the difference between mountainhood and non-mountainhood.3 Since the supervaluationist buys into classical logic, she is committed to endorsing (1). This leads to the following puzzle: why do our intuitions repel us from (1), given that (according to the supervaluationist) it is both supertrue and a clear consequence of the uncontroversial premisses such as 'Glastonbury Tor is not a mountain' and 'Kilimanjaro is a mountain'? What explains the repugnance of the existential claim (1)? Correlatively, what explains the seductiveness of the negation of (1), assent to which will generate the sorites paradox? Here is how one supervaluationist responds: 1The definition can be generalized to allow 'definitely' to be applied to an open sentence. This is discussed below. 2The situation is actually more subtle than this might make it seem. See Williamson (1994, ch.5.). 3Perhaps government agencies might impose some precise conditions on what height of emananation should count as a mountain. But I suppose such facts to be incidental to the point at issue here-we can easily imagine a situation where no such stipulative definitions have been put forward. 2 Our belief that there is no true instance of the quantification gets confused with a belief that the quantified statement is not true. The more theoretical description of the lack of a true instance needs to be expressed using either the [Definitely] operator or the truth predicate. . . (Keefe, 2000, p.185) The confusion hypothesis which Keefe here endorses contends that our intuitions against statements such as (1) are rooted in a confusion between two related claims (here stated in the material mode): (2) Definitely[∃x(x is a mountain ∧ x′ is not mountain)] (3) ∃x(Definitely[x is mountain∧ x′ is not mountain]) Keefe continues: The confusion . . . is a confusion of scope, according to whether the truth predicate [or 'Definitely'-operator] appears inside or outside the existential quantifier. It is thus like a confusion between saying that it is true that someone ought to do X and saying that it is true of someone that they ought to do X: that latter may be false while the former is true. (ibid) The suggestion is that, generally, we are apt to confuse an utterance of "There is something which is F" with "There is something which is definitely F": our intuitions about the former track the truth-values of the latter. But the two can come apart in truth-value, as is the case in the crucial sorites premiss. Accordingly, Keefe's suggestion is that an assertion of "there is a mountain next to a non-mountain" is heard as committing one to (3), rather than (2). If so, no wonder that we reject it out of hand. Proposals of this kind can be presented in a theory-neutral way, and can be motivated independently of the point at issue. The need to explain the seductiveness of the sorites is incumbent on all non-logically revisionary treatments of vague language; and the confusion hypothesis requires only that one's favoured treatment allows the construction of the notion 'Definitely'. So, for example, Greenough (2003) defends an epistemic version of the confusion hypothesis;4 and Edgington (1997) appeals to the same moves in the context of a degree theoretic account. So when supervaluationists such as Fine (1975) and Keefe (2000) postulate confusion to explain the sorites, it is 4Indeed, the term 'confusion hypothesis' is due to Greenough. 3 no idiosyncratic idea. As regards independent motivation, one would hope that the alleged confusion involved in the case of sorites can be accounted for within systematic pragmatics for vague language. Weatherson (2002) argues persuasively that such an extension gives a range of powerful, surprising and accurate predications of intuitions about the acceptability of statements involving vague vocabulary. I do not claim that appealing to confusion hypotheses of this kind is the only possible way for a supervaluationist to account for the seductiveness of the sorites. But it is something that prominent supervaluationists do endorse, and I am happy to think that of the extant options, it is the one they should endorse. II Mountains, we think, do not have precise boundaries-there isn't any convention over where precisely the base of Kilimanjaro finishes and the surrounding plains begin; or over which clods of earth at its base are part of the mountain. For one who thinks that vagueness is an exclusively linguistic phenomenon, there are no 'vague objects' in the vicinity of Kilimanjaro, and no vagueness in what parts a given object has. Rather, what exists is an array of mountainy agglomorations of land and rock: the 'Kilimanjaro candidates'. There is Kilimanjaro-generously-construed, which includes all the pieces of land that one might count as part of Kilimanjaro under the most generous interpretation; there is Kilimanjaro-meanly-construed, where the only stretches of land counted as parts of Kilimanjaro are those that are clearly part of the main body of the peak itself. Two questions present themselves, either of which might deserve the name 'the problem of the many'.5 The first asks which of the mountain candidates is Kilimanjaro: which is the referent of 'Kilimanjaro'? The second asks which mountain candidates (if any) are mountains: which fall under the predicate 'is a mountain'? We here focus on the second question. There are two salient ways that a supervaluationist might handle this 'problem of the many', if they want to remain true to the idea of vagueness as an exclusively linguistic phenomena.6 The first, sane, option, is to hold that on every way of making the language precise, exactly one of the mountain-candidates will count as a mountain-different candidates on different precisifications. Overall, then, it will be supertrue that there is a mountain; but it will be indeterminate which object is a mountain. The second, 5See Unger (1980) for an early presentation of this problem. Weatherson (2004) surveys various approaches. 6I count among the 'ontological' options being discounted here, the view that there is a 'mountain' existing over and above the various mountain-candidates, in the manner that the statue is said to be a distinct object, though co-located with, the clay. The reason for this is that it looks like the relation of constitution supposedly holding between the mountain candidates and the floating mountain will be a vague one. Appeal to this solution therefore seems unavailable to one who believes that vagueness is an exclusively linguistic matter. Thanks to Carrie Jenkins for pressing me on this point. 4 insane, option, is to hold that on every way of making the language precise, all of the mountain-candidates will count as mountains. Overall, then, it will be supertrue that there is a mountain standing in front of me; further, strictly speaking it will be supertrue that there are many mountains in front of me, even when (as we would usually describe it) there is only Kilimanjaro around. For on this proposal each one of the mountain candidates will be a numerically distinct mountain. The 'insane' option is commended by Lewis (1993) in "Many, but almost one". He does much there to rehabilitate the option, to show how it can give an account of why we say the things that we do. For example, to the objection that his theory amounts to a massive error theory of ordinary practice of counting and discriminating between mountains, Lewis replies by distinguishing 'almost identity' from identity proper. Objects x and y are almost-identical if they share almost all their parts. So, though the many mountain candidates are not identical in the strictest sense, they are 'almost identical'. Suppose we say that there are just two mountains in a range. We can take this to express the following: there are x and y which are mountains, and every mountain in the range is such that it is almost-identical to either x or to y. If 'identity' as used by English speakers, typically expresses almost-identity, then truisms such as "there are less than a million mountains in Scotland" will come out true, where on the strict reading of they come out false. By systematically reinterpreting the apparatus of individuation for natural languages in this way, Lewis makes tenable the initially incredible thesis that strictly speaking, there are billions of mountains in Scotland.7 III Whether or not we continue to regard the 'many' thesis endorsed by Lewis as insane, if we want to maintain the confusion hypothesis discussed above, we need to buy into it. For on the rival view, on each precisification, only one of the Kilimanjaro candidates falls within the predicate "is a mountain". Hence there is no object in the relevant range which falls under the predicate "is a mountain" on every precisification. But, on the natural treatment of 'Definitely', this means that the following will be false:8 7Note that the semantic hypothesis about the meanings of English words that Lewis explores does not require any objectionable metaphysical thesis about the nature of identity itself. Nor does it mean that we cannot create contexts-such as that of the philosophy classroom-where 'identity' will unambiguously express strict identity. 8What I refer to as the 'standard' treatment of 'Definitely' takes it that for an object to satisfy 'Definitely φ' is for those objects to satisfy φ on each admissible precisification. This is the natural generalization of 'Definitely' as requiring truth on every precisification, as described, for example, in McGee (1997). If one handles 'Definitely' analogously to a modal operator (with 'precisifications' replacing 'worlds' on the model of Lewis (1970)), then the above is simply the extension of the standard semantic treatment of quantification into modal contexts. 5 (4) ∃x Definitely[x is a mountain] This result, if sustained, completely undermines the confusion hypothesis outlined earlier. An immediate problem is that a range of false predictions flowing from the generalized form of the confusion hypothesis: our intuitions about the acceptability of asserting "there are mountains" are supposed to track the truth value of "there are definite mountains". The latter, on this view, is false-but obviously the former is perfectly assertible, contrary to the predictions of the confusion hypothesis. An even more serious consequence of the 'sane' view is that the ability of the confusion hypothesis to explain intuitions about the sorites premiss is undermined. To illustrate this, let us put the explanatory challenge in the following contrastive form. In the original case presented above, where we have a range of emanations from Kilimanjaro to Glastonbury Tor, decreasing in height by millimetres from one to the next, we have strong 'no cut off' intuitions. Consider a new range, consisting only of Kilimanjaro next to Glastonbury Tor. With respect to this scenario, we have strong intuitions that there is a cut-off, a mountain standing next to a non-mountain. We have, that is, contrasting intuitions in the two cases. But the status of (3) is the same in the two cases, for its falsity rests on the non-existence of any definite mountains. The problem, of course, is that the status of (3) is now totally insensitive to the heights of the mountains and hills we have in our range, for its falsity is secured purely by the presence of many mountain-candidates, given the 'sane' resolution of the problem of the many. It remains to be shown that adopting Lewis' 'many mountains' resolution of the problem of the many avoids these problems. Recall that on this view, on every precisification of the language, all the Kilimanjaro candidates will fall under the predicate "mountain". It follows that every Kilimanjaro candidate will be a definite mountain; a fortiori "there is something which is definitely a mountain", will be true; and no false predications about our intuitions concerning "there are mountains" arise. And similarly, whether or not (3) is true or false will depend, as it should, on the height and distribution of the emanations in the range that we are considering. The tension between supervaluationism and the confusion hypothesis can be removed, therefore, by adopting Lewis' proposals. The confusion hypothesis plays a vital theoretical role within supervaluationism: without it we have no good way to explain the seductiveness of the sorites. So we have a strong reason to look favourably on the 'many mountains' proposal. By contrast, what reason have we for rejecting it? At first glance such a view looks ontologically excessive-billions of mountains where ordinary folk say there is just one. But there is no distinguishing the Lewis 'many' resolution and its rival on these grounds. They agree about what there is: billions of mountainy agglomorations of rock. The disagreement is simply about how these entities should be labelled in order to explain our language use. The intuitions of ordinary speakers do speak against the Lewisian resolution. But there is a familiar tactic available: explain away such recalcitrant data pragmatically. 6 The discussion in Lewis (1993), briefly described above, can be taken in this spirit. Given the strong theoretical grounds in favour, and the fragility of the case against, supervaluationists should adopt Lewis' 'many mountains' resolution of the problem of the many. The thing I am climbing is definitely a mountain. So, there are many, many mountains beneath my feet.9 School of Philosophy, University of Leeds, Woodhouse Lane, Leeds, UK. and Arché AHRC Centre for the Philosophy of Logic, Language, Mathematics and Mind. School of Philosophical and Anthropological Studies. University of St Andrews.  References Edgington, D. (1997). 'Vagueness by degrees'. In R. Keefe and P. Smith, editors, Vagueness: A reader. MIT Press, Cambridge, MA. Fine, K. (1975). 'Vagueness, truth and logic'. Synthese, 30, 265-300. Reprinted with corrections in Keefe and Smith (eds) Vagueness: A reader (MIT Press, Cambridge MA: 1997) pp.119-150. Greenough, P. (2003). 'Vagueness: A minimal theory'. Mind, 112(446). Keefe, R. (2000). Theories of Vagueness. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Lewis, D. K. (1970). 'General semantics'. Synthese, 22, 18-67. Reprinted with postscript in Lewis, Philosophical Papers I (Oxford University Press, 1983) 189- 229. Lewis, D. K. (1993). 'Many, but almost one'. In K. Campbell, J. Bacon, and L. Reinhardt, editors, Ontology, Causality and Mind: Essays on the philosophy of D. M. Armstrong. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Reprinted in Lewis, Papers on Metaphysics and Epistemology (Cambridge University Press, 1999) 164-82. 9Versions of this paper were presented to the Arché AHRC Research Centre, to the School of Philosophy at the University of Leeds, and in the Graduate Sessions at the Joint Session of the Mind Association and the Aristotelian Society. I also benefitted from discussions in two electronic forums: the Arché Discussion Boards; and Brian Weatherson's weblog Thoughts, Arguments and Rants () I am grateful to everyone who has discussed this material with me in these and other contexts, for much useful criticism and advice. In preparing this work I have benefitted from an AHRC studentship (doctoral award), and from support by the departments of philosophy at the University of St Andrews. 7 McGee, V. (1997). 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