Philosophy

Arrogance and deep disagreement

ARROGANCE AND DEEP DISAGREEMENT ANDREW ABERDEIN∗ I intend to bring recent work applying virtue theory to the study of argument to bear on a much older problem, that of disagreements that resist rational resolution, sometimes termed "deep disagreements". Just as some virtue epistemologists have lately shifted focus onto epistemic vices, I shall argue that a renewed focus on the vices of argument can help to illuminate deep disagreements. In particular, I address the role of arrogance, both as a factor in the diagnosis of deep disagreements and as an obstacle to their mutually acceptable resolution. Arrogant arguers are likely to make any disagreements to which they are party seem deeper than they really are and arrogance impedes the strategies that we might adopt to resolve deep disagreements. As a case in point, since arrogant or otherwise vicious arguers cannot be trusted not to exploit such strategies for untoward ends, any policy for deep disagreement amelioration must require particularly close attention to the vices of argument, lest they be exploited by the unscrupulous. 1. The Second Highest Mountain Alice: Everyone knows Mount Everest is the world's highest mountain, but what's the second highest? Bob: Isn't it Kanchenjunga? That rings a bell. Alice: I'm not sure-that doesn't sound right. Alice and Bob are in disagreement. Bob thinks Kanchenjunga is the world's second highest mountain; Alice is not sure. Of course, there are easy remedies for disagreements of that sort: Bob: O.K., let's look it up. World's highest mountains. . . here we go, "Everest 29,029 ft, 8,848 m; K2 28,251 ft, 8,611 m; Kanchenjunga 28,169 ft, 8,586 m". So I was wrong-it's not Kanchenjunga, it's K2. Funny name. Disagreement solved! Thank you Google and Wikipedia. But wait... Alice: Hang on, doesn't Everest have two peaks? I'm sure I read that somewhere. Where's the other peak on the list? Bob: I don't see it. Maybe it's much shorter than the main peak? Alice: Let's check. South Summit of Everest. . . "28,704 ft, 8,749 m". That's weird-it's higher than Kanchenjunga or K2! Why's it not on the list? Bob: One peak per mountain maybe? Alice: No, that can't be right! Look at Gasherbrum! It's got four summits in the top twenty. It must be a mistake. More fool me to trust Wikipedia. Bob: No, Wikipedia isn't perfect, but this is the sort of stuff it gets right. We must be overlooking something. Now we have a disagreement that is not so easily remedied, at least with the resources available to Alice and Bob. Perhaps they consult Charley, a mountaineer: Charley: I see the confusion. Everest does have two peaks and they're both higher than K2. But the South Peak doesn't count in lists of highest peaks because ∗School of Arts & Communication, Florida Institute of Technology, Melbourne FL. Date: January 29, 2020. 1 2 ANDREW ABERDEIN it's not prominent enough. Prominence measures how much a mountain sticks up-how far down you would have to climb before you could start climbing anything taller. For K2 that's thousands of feet; but for the South Peak it's only thirty feet or so. It's little more than a pimple off the side of Everest. Indeed the standard route up Everest runs over the top of the South Peak. Lists of highest peaks have prominence thresholds. Even the most inclusive, with millions of included peaks, require a hundred feet or so of prominence, more than three times the prominence of the South Peak. Bob: I get it. The Wikipedia list is right after all! Alice: Not so fast! The South Peak is a peak, however small, and it's higher than everything on Earth except the main peak. It should be in second place, whatever the geographers say! Alice and Bob are now disagreeing more profoundly. They are not just disagreeing over their different beliefs or the sources of those beliefs, they are disagreeing over the process by which those beliefs can be confirmed or falsified. It's not clear what the best way forward at this point may be. This could be an example of what has come to be known as a deep disagreement. 2. Deep Disagreement Deep disagreements have attracted substantial attention recently within both epistemology and informal logic. Michael Lynch proposes the following helpful definition of a deep disagreement, as requiring four conditions: (1) Commonality: The parties to the disagreement share common epistemic goal(s). (2) Competition: If the parties affirm distinct principles with regard to a given domain, those principles (a) pronounce different methods to be the most reliable in a given domain; and (b) these methods are capable of producing incompatible beliefs about that domain. (3) Non-arbitration: There is no further epistemic principle, accepted by both parties, which would settle the disagreement. (4) Mutual Circularity: The epistemic principle(s) in question can be justified only by means of an epistemically circular argument (Lynch, 2010, 265). Returning to Alice and Bob's disagreement, we may see that they satisfy Commonality, at least assuming they are both sincere in their desire to identify the world's second highest mountain. Alice's insistence on absolute height in contrast with Bob's deference to the geographers' prominence threshold criterion may be seen as a difference of principle consistent with Competition. If Alice is not prepared to accept Charley's account (or that of any other such expert), the disagreement would also meet the Non-arbitration criterion. We have not yet seen enough of Alice and Bob's epistemic principles to determine whether they exhibit Mutual Circularity, but things do seem to be headed that way. The literature on deep disagreement begins with Robert Fogelin. Fogelin does not maintain that deep disagreements are common, nor that all tough disagreements must be deep. For Fogelin, a deep disagreement necessarily involves "a clash in underlying principles", "framework propositions", or worldviews (Fogelin, 1985, 5). So epistemic principles satisfying Lynch's Non-arbitration and Mutual Circularity criteria would be grounded in rival worldviews. Fogelin does explicitly invoke what we may identify as argumentational virtues-being "unbiased, free of prejudice, consistent, coherent, precise and rigorous" (Fogelin, 1985, ARROGANCE AND DEEP DISAGREEMENT 3 5). However, he does so to reject the prospect that they may prevent deep disagreements: parties exhibiting such qualities may "still disagree . . . profoundly, not just marginally" (ibid.). Strictly speaking, Fogelin is not committed to there being no relationship between the disputants' characters and deep disagreement, since he leaves open the possibility that argumentational vice could still make deep disagreements worse, even if argumentational virtue would not make them better. But Fogelin is careful to distinguish the depth of a disagreement from its emotional intensity, the strength of feeling with which the disputants maintain their positions. Indeed, deep disagreements can be debated dispassionately, even if they are more often rancourous. John Stuart Mill helps to explain why some such disagreements, at least, are so often linked to strong feelings: So long as an opinion is strongly rooted in the feelings, it gains rather than loses in stability by having a preponderating weight of argument against it. For if it were accepted as a result of argument, the refutation of the argument might shake the solidity of the conviction; but when it rests solely on feeling, the worse it fares in argumentative contest, the more persuaded its adherents are that their feeling must have some deeper ground, which the arguments do not reach: and while the feeling remains, it is always throwing up fresh intrenchments of argument to repair any breach made in the old (Mill, 1977 [1869], 261). Although Fogelin is concerned with cases where disagreement really does proceed from "deeper ground", for Mill the appeal to conflicting worldviews may be illusory or insincere. Nonetheless, intensity of emotion is to be expected in either case. Much more recently, Michael Hannon has argued that many apparent disagreements are illusory, perhaps especially those disagreements most associated with political polarization (Hannon, 2019, 2020). Hannon draws on empirical studies which suggest that polling data usually taken to indicate sharp disagreement may be better understood as "expressive responding", intended primarily to signal the respondents' allegiance (Schaffner and Luks, 2018). As Hannon notes, not only does this suggest that there are fewer disagreements than meet the eye, deep or otherwise, but also that there are fewer agreements: apparent agreements can also be illusory.1 What can we do about deep disagreements? Or, as Fogelin asks, "what rational procedures can be used for their resolution?" (Fogelin, 1985, 5). His answer is pessimistic: "The drift of this discussion leads to the answer: NONE" (ibid.). That does not mean that deep disagreements cannot be resolved but it does suggest that the resolution procedure may not be entirely rational. Fogelin quotes Wittgenstein's On Certainty: "I said I would 'combat' the other man-but wouldn't I give him reasons? Certainly; but how far do they go? At the end of reasons comes persuasion. (Think what happens when missionaries convert natives.)" (Wittgenstein, 1972, ¶612). This is a somewhat sinister analogy for persuasion without reasons. Maybe a resolution could be found if one side succeeded in persuading the other, but such "persuasion" might be a higher price than we wish to pay. More recent authors have not all been so pessimistic. Scott Aikin has compiled this invaluable survey (Aikin, 2019, 421): PESSIMISM: In deep disagreement, argument is impossible. Non-engagement: In deep disagreements, one should not try to engage (Campolo, 2005, 2019). 1This echoes the "Abilene paradox" of deceptive agreement: in the eponymous example, a family of four talk themselves into a long, unpleasant drive in a Texas summer because each believes the others are in agreement that it is a good idea (Harvey, 1974). 4 ANDREW ABERDEIN Polemical: In deep disagreements, one should use nonargumentative or alternative argumentative techniques (Kraus, 2012; Barris, 2015; Duran, 2016). OPTIMISM: In deep disagreements, argument is possible and can be effective. Prudential: One can discern deep disagreements only if one continues to argue; so one's defaults should be set on arguing (Adams, 2005). Practical: Argument in deep disagreements prevents worse options (Lynch, 2010, 2012; Kappel, 2012; Jønch-Clausen and Kappel, 2015). Arbitrational: Some deep disagreement cases can be resolved by an impartial third party (Memedi, 2007). Supplemental: Argument in deep disagreement can produce or uncover shared reasons (Davson-Galle, 1992; Goodwin, 2005; Godden and Brenner, 2010). Internal: Internal argument is still possible in deep disagreements (Finocchiaro, 2011; Zarefsky, 2012).2 Theoretical: Absolutely deep disagreements are impossible, since insofar as one can identify an other as one with whom one disagrees, one must see that other as one with whom one can argue (Feldman, 2005; Phillips, 2008; Siegel, 2014). As we have seen, Fogelin is inclined to pessimism. I shall also pay most attention to the pessimistic response, although I note an ambiguity in what Aikin terms the polemical position: "alternative argumentative techniques" covers both alternatives to argumentation and alternative forms of argumentation. 3. Prominence and Depth I shall suggest that some of the puzzles presented by deep disagreement can be at least clarified by a diversion into physical geography-specifically, the concept of "prominence", which Charley introduced in §1.3 Here are two more technical (but equivalent) definitions of prominence: (1) The minimum vertical distance one must descend from a point in order to reach a higher point. (2) The difference between the elevation of a point, and the elevation of the lowest contour line that contains it and no higher point (Kirmse and de Ferranti, 2017, 788). As we saw in §1, prominence explains why the world's second highest mountain is K2, not the South Peak of Everest, even though the latter is further above sea level than the former: lists of highest peaks have prominence thresholds.4 Prominence provides a measure of depth: how far down you have to climb before you can start climbing back up. Consider three peaks on an island, as in Fig. 1. The prominence of the highest peak is its height above sea level, since you would have to leave the island to find anything higher. The prominence of the second highest peak is its height above the highest col it shares with the highest peak and 2Finocchiaro defines an internal argument as one "in which one derives a conclusion not acceptable to an opponent from claims acceptable to him" (Finocchiaro, 2011, 32). In other words, it is Lockean ad hominem, or argument ex concessis, to which I will return in §5. 3The following account is based on that presented in (Aberdein, 2020). 4Traditionally, 100, 300, or 2000 ft: worldwide more than seven million peaks meet the first threshold, over 250 times as many as meet the last (Kirmse and de Ferranti, 2017, 800). ARROGANCE AND DEEP DISAGREEMENT 5 the prominence of the lowest peak is its height above the highest col it shares with the second highest peak. Hence the prominence of the lowest peak represents a lower bound on how far down individuals on the two lower peaks would need to climb in order to be on the same level. It is only a lower bound because the peaks may differ significantly in height. More generally, we might define the relative prominence of one peak with respect to some higher peak as its prominence ignoring all peaks of intermediate height. Thus, for any pair of peaks, the relative prominence of the lower peak is a lower bound on how far down individuals on each peak would need to climb to attain the same level. 17/2/2018 21:36Prominence definition Page 1 of 1file:///Users/aberdein/Documents/Prominence+.svg Figure 1. An island with three peaks: the vertical lines indicate the prominence of each peak; the horizontal lines the lowest contour line encircling it but no higher summit. (Adapted from .) In order to draw an analogy with deep disagreement, we need an analogue for disagreement depth in terms of physical height. Some superficially plausible analogues for height ay be ruled out. For example, it can't just be a measure of emotional intensity: as we have seen, deep disagreements are often heated, but not necessarily so. Nor can it be a measure on revision of belief sets: the proportion of each disputant's beliefs that would need to be suspended or revised in order for common ground to be reached. Although deeply disagreeing parties may disagree about many things, the scope of their disagreement need not be all that great. (Notoriously so, in some cases: the "narcissism of minor differences" (Freud, 1961, 68).) A more plausible candidate would be a measure on how deeply entrenched are the points of contention (or the principles upon which they depend) within each disputant's belief set (see Gärdenfors, 1988, 86 ff.). Only disagreements that reach the worldview of at least one of the disputants will count as deep. So, just as lists of peaks have prominence thresholds, we may now reserve "deep" for disagreements that exceed this threshold. To summarize this topographic analogy, two disputants who at least suspend (dis)belief on the matters at issue for the duration of their argument are on shared level ground. Insofar as they sincerely disagree, either or both disputants stand on a summit from which they would need to climb down to reach level ground. For most disagreements, that is easy to do; but for deep disagreements, the descent will be an arduous endeavour, requiring substantial (and risky) restructuring of worldviews to accommodate revised epistemic principles. The contours of the terrain represent objective features of the disagreement. However, the disputants (or any other observer) may be mistaken as to where they stand: some 6 ANDREW ABERDEIN cols are not as deep as they seem; others much deeper. Many disputants arrive at their summits by chance, others by choice. Notably, Mill's emotive arguers, whose disagreement "rests solely on feeling", purposefully avoid the level ground on which honest debate may take place by racing up (what they take to be) the highest available peak and refusing to descend. 4. Arguing Virtuously or Viciously For the last decade or so, I have been one of several people making the case for a virtue theory of argumentation. Virtue theories and argumentation are as old as philosophy itself, perhaps older, but the explicit application of the former to the latter is a much more recent development. Most philosophical studies of argument emphasize technical aspects of argument success or failure, but they pay much less attention to the broader context of arguing, and generally ignore how the character of the people who take part in arguments bears on that success or failure. Virtue theories of argument seek to redress the balance, shifting the perspective away from arguments as products and onto arguers as people. One way to explore the character of arguers is to look at their virtues and vices. Many instances of the traditional fallacies that logicians and argumentation theorists have been discussing since Aristotle can be analysed in terms of the vices of the arguer who employs them or the audience that falls for them (Aberdein, 2016). But arguers can exhibit other vices that lead arguments to malfunction in other ways. Some of these vices may correspond pretty closely to those familiar from ethical contexts: we may be cowardly in not defending a position we believe to be right, contemptuous of our opponent, or unfair in how we present an opposing position. Other vices may be unique to argumentation, such as unwillingness to revise our own position or unwillingness to engage in argument in the first place. A fuller inventory of the vices of argument promises to help explain how even the arguments that succeed by traditional lights can seem so unsatisfactory. Conversely, cultivation of the corresponding virtues of argument should improve the conduct and outcome of our arguments. In virtue epistemology, a standard distinction is drawn between reliabilist (broadly externalist) and responsibilist (broadly internalist) conceptions of virtue (Axtell, 1997, 3). Heather Battaly helpfully reframes this as a distinction between virtues as requiring good ends and virtues as requiring good motives respectively (Battaly, 2015, 9). Of course, ideally, we would want virtuous activity both to be well-motivated and to bring about a good end. But we don't always get what we want: so Battaly argues that we should accept as virtues dispositions which only regularly meet one of these criteria. As an apposite example, consider the virtue of being willing to listen to others. An arguer might act in this way for ulterior motives, perhaps to receive a good grade in a speech class, or because their interlocutor told some good jokes. Nonetheless, their attentive listening might inadvertently lead them to contribute to a virtuous argument. Conversely, a wellmotivated arguer could be unselfishly willing to listen to others, but consistently unlucky in their choice of interlocutors, none of whom ever put forward an argument worth listening to, such that no good end ever came from the arguer's good motives. Obviously we hope to get both good ends and good motives, but we need to consider the cases where only one of these is to be had. Daniel Cohen has been making the case for a virtue theory of argumentation as long as anyone. He proposes a set of negative exemplars: the deaf dogmatist, who won't listen to the arguments of others; the concessionaire, who loses arguments by being too ready to modify their own position, conceding things ARROGANCE AND DEEP DISAGREEMENT 7 that weren't actually at issue; the eager believer, a forthright advocate for whatever position they heard last; the unassuring assurer, who seeks to reassure other parties who would not otherwise need reassurance-the "Not involved in human trafficking" T-shirt wearer of argumentation (Ginn, 2013); and the argument provocateur, who launches into arguments at the slightest opportunity, with or without regard to circumstances (Cohen, 2005, 61 ff.). Cohen characterizes some of these figures as tragic heroes rather than exemplars of vice: they are heroic, since there are important things they get right, but tragic, since their arguments seldom work out for the best. For example, the argument provocateur is at least willing to argue, even on sensitive matters where many others are unhelpfully reticent; the problem is that he is always willing to argue. What I will term Cohen's cardinal virtues of argument may be seen as means, each situated between a pair of negative exemplars that represent the corresponding vices of excess and deficiency. He distinguishes four such virtues: willingness to listen to others, willingness to modify your own position, willingness to question the obvious, and willingness to engage in serious argument. It is possible, but unnecessary for present purposes, to subdivide each of his cardinal virtues and their corresponding vices to include many other intellectual virtues and vices relevant to argumentation (for details, see Aberdein, 2016, 415 f.). 5. Arrogance I now wish to turn to the vice of arrogance, that I will maintain is particularly relevant to a discussion of deep disagreement. Alessandra Tanesini draws a useful distinction "between haughtiness and arrogance. The first is manifested as disrespect toward other speakers; the second is an unwillingness to submit oneself to the norms governing ordinary conversation and rational debate" (Tanesini, 2016, 85). While these two attitudes are often found together, they are conceptually distinct, and it is arrogance that is the more revealing object of study. Tanesini proposes the following account of arrogance: "The speaker does not wish to imply that his mere saying so makes the content of the assertion true, but he is convinced that the mere fact that the assertion is his somehow secures its correctness" (Tanesini, 2016, 84). The idea is that the arrogant person treats his views as requiring a special sort of deference. There may be circumstances in which this makes sense-Tanesini suggests the umpire whose decisions are binding in a game (ibid.). Such an attitude is fine in that context, but few arguers are in that context. In general, anyone adopting this attitude will be disposed to insulate many (all?) of his beliefs from revision-a comprehensive failure of willingness to modify. Elsewhere Tanesini draws explicit implications for argumentation, or at least debate, from her account of intellectual arrogance (Tanesini, 2018, 222 ff.). The arrogant participant disregards the expected norms for the conduct of debate. Specifically, the arrogant arguer makes claims that lack the expected level of justification and ignores or dismisses calls to back up such claims; conversely an arrogant respondent may treat the arguer's claims as requiring an exceptional level of justification or dismiss them out of hand. I wish to connect Tanesini's account of the arrogant arguer to two related approaches to arrogance. Firstly, Maura Priest has proposed an anti-asshole account of humility; she's defined humility as not being an asshole, which has an attractively blunt simplicity to it. She builds on Aaron James's definition: "a person counts as an asshole when, and only when, he systematically allows himself to enjoy special advantages in interpersonal relations out of an entrenched sense of entitlement that immunizes him against the complaints of other people" (James, 8 ANDREW ABERDEIN 2012, 4 f.). This has clear affinities with Tanesini's account of arrogance. Priest's intellectually humble person is thus someone who doesn't do that; someone who • Respects the intellect of others as his own, and so rarely feels immune to their complaints and criticisms. • Systematically declines intellectual advantages in interpersonal relations because he feels no sense of entitlement (Priest, 2017, 469). She goes on to link arrogance to disregard for intellectual autonomy. This makes the arrogant person someone who cannot be trusted to use persuasion wisely: "Behaviors commonly associated with this disregard include deception and manipulation" (Priest, 2017, 474). Such actions undermine intellectual autonomy by manipulating persons into holding beliefs regardless of evidence or their own intellectual process. Secondly, Nancy Potter, in defending a virtue account of trustworthiness, stresses the virtue of uptake: To give uptake rightly, then, it is not enough simply to receive another's speech act with the conventional understanding. One must appreciate and respond to the spirit in which something is expressed, and one must take seriously what the speaker is trying to say and the speaker's reasons for saying it. One must have the appropriate emotional and intellectual responses, engaging one's whole heart. Furthermore, one must recognize the responsibility attending social and political privilege. Indeed, giving uptake properly is partly constitutive of the kind of person one is-it requires cultivation of a certain kind of character (Potter, 2002, 152). Ultimately this idea is drawn from J. L. Austin, although it has mutated a fair bit en route (Austin, 1962, 116): unlike Austin, Potter characterizes uptake itself as a virtue. As such, uptake coincides closely with what Cohen and I call willingness to listen to others. It requires a suitable level of appreciative listening (cf. Rice, 2011). This seems like an antithesis of arrogance and, I suggest, the sort of virtue that is required in order to safely deploy tactics of persuasion that may resolve deep disagreements. How does all this connect to deep disagreement? Firstly, any disagreement with an arrogant individual is more than likely to feel like deep disagreement, even in cases where there is an easily accessible resolution. The phenomenology of disagreeing with an arrogant person and of being in deep disagreement may be similarly frustrating, even though their ultimate cause is quite different. The origin of the arrogant arguer's unwillingness to back down and indifference to the assertions of others lies in his character, not in the subject matter of the dispute. Chris Campolo has expressed the worry that attempting to reason one's way out of a deep disagreement may do more harm than good (Campolo, 2019, 721). It can give rise to a misleading sense of common ground. In terms of my topographical analogy, such disagreements are concealed crevasses: the disputants believe that they are addressing their differences when they are really ignoring them. Any apparent resolution that may follow is likely to give way unexpectedly. Disagreements with arrogant arguers can present a converse problem: what may initially present as depth may be no more than intransigence. In topographical terms, this may be thought of as an invisible bridge: despite outward appearances, there is a safe path to common ground (even if some parties will be strongly resistant to using it). ARROGANCE AND DEEP DISAGREEMENT 9 Secondly, but perhaps more seriously, the arrogant individual is a risk factor for some of the most promising strategies for resolution of deep disagreements. Specifically, it is precisely the behaviour of the arrogant arguer that gives rise to Wittgenstein's worries about the missionaries and the natives. Strategies that might find some way forward out of deep disagreement will, at the very least, go up to the edge of what counts as rational argument. Such strategies require particular care and attention. They are analogous to operating dangerous equipment with all the safety protocols turned off: the operator needs to be constantly vigilant about the associated risks. The arrogant person is entirely indifferent to those risks, at least so far as they impact others. Hence he will be the sort of person who gives persuasion a bad name, because, in so far as he has these techniques at his disposal, he will use them to twist others to his view. Conversely, the operation of the same techniques in conjunction with virtues that mitigate against these risks, such as willingness to listen to others, potentially represents a moral and practical way forward from deep disagreement. As an example of a risky persuasion strategy consider "moral reframing". Recent social psychological research finds that "moral messages framed in a manner consistent with the moral values of those already supporting the political stance were less persuasive than moral arguments reframed to appeal to the values of the intended audience-those who typically oppose the political position that the messenger is arguing in favor of" (Feinberg and Willer, 2015, 1676). The empirical research suggests that if you present an argument from your own moral frame of reference then people who don't share that frame of reference may be unpersuaded, whereas if you reframe it in terms of your interlocutor's frame of reference then there is a greater chance of success. Of course, the empirical research is only concerned with determining if moral reframing is a successful technique, not whether it is a virtuous technique. One concern about moral reframing is that it is ad hominem, albeit in the least malign sense: Lockean ad hominem, or arguing from the concessions of the other party; "internal argument" as it was termed in §2. Even so, as Gary Jason observes of such arguments, "If I try to convince you of C by citing P where you believe P, but I don't, I am being illogical. I am persuading you, not by sound argument, but by what I believe to be unsound argument" (Jason, 1984, 185). I would not be arguing unsoundly if, instead of arguing for C on the basis of P, I were to argue for "If P then C", which I believe to be true, and leave you to infer C from your (mistaken, by my lights) belief that P. Nonetheless, I would still be reconciling myself to your coming to believe C on the basis of what I take to be an unsound argument. This may seem a somewhat recondite concern, but if you judge your opponents' values to be intrinsically reprehensible, then employing them in argument, however hypothetically, would be inconsistent with your own values. For example, Sherman Clark considers a critic of a new subway line, whose own opposition is grounded in economic arguments, but who is tempted to persuade others with "a subtle appeal to race-based fear-perhaps by hinting at or subtly evoking visions of 'thugs' from the other side of town having easier access to good neighborhoods" (Clark, 2011, 852). As Clark observes "you might also quite sensibly realize that by making that sort of argument, even and perhaps especially if you did so indirectly and subtly, you would not just be appealing to but also helping to construct and reinforce fear and prejudice" (ibid.). So that sort of moral reframing would be not only vicious, but a cause of vice in others. Nonetheless, Clark is not denouncing moral reframing; on the contrary, he elsewhere states that "if we hope to be persuasive, we have no choice but to navigate the worldviews of those we hope to persuade", but he also proposes that if we "truly engage with those we hope to reach, we might 10 ANDREW ABERDEIN find that many people would respond as well or better to nobler appeals" (Clark, 2003, 73 f.). Used judiciously, moral reframing has the potential to be a constructive strategy for dealing with deep disagreement. But its associated risks show the importance of close attention to argumentative virtues in its deployment. 6. Conclusion The dialogue in §1 may end in more than one way. Alice and Bob could continue to sketch out competing worldviews without getting any closer together: a classic deep disagreement. Alternatively, it might become clear that one of them is refusing to back down from arrogance, not epistemic principle. In that case, the disagreement need not be deep, although it may prove just as hard to resolve. Or, in either of these cases, Alice or Bob may succeed in persuading the other. Such persuasion may involve techniques that go beyond argumentation, at least as narrowly defined. If either of them succumbs to arrogance, such persuasion may be no more than browbeating. Winning the argument on these terms provides no reason to think the winner is in the right epistemically (and good reason to think they're in the wrong ethically). But, if such persuasion is conducted with humility, and the other attendant virtues of argument, it may lead the other party to a sincere shift of worldview. 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Harvey, Jerry B. 1974. The Abilene paradox: The management of agreement. Organizational Dynamics 3(1): 63-80. James, Aaron. 2012. Assholes: A Theory. New York, NY: Doubleday. Jason, Gary James. 1984. Is there a case for ad hominem arguments? Australasian Journal of Philosophy 62(2): 182-185. Jønch-Clausen, Karin and Klemens Kappel. 2015. Social epistemic liberalism and the problem of deep epistemic disagreements. Ethical Theory and Moral Practice 18: 371-384. Kappel, Klemens. 2012. The problem of deep disagreement. Discipline Filosofiche 22(2): 7-25. Kirmse, Andrew and Jonathan de Ferranti. 2017. Calculating the prominence and isolation of every mountain in the world. Progress in Physical Geography 41(6): 788-802. Kraus, Manfred. 2012. Cultural diversity, cognitive breaks, and deep disagreement: Polemic argument. In Topical Themes in Argumentation Theory, eds. Frans H. van Eemeren and Bart Garssen, 91-107. Dordrecht: Springer. Lynch, Michael P. 2010. Epistemic circularity and epistemic incommensurability. In Social Epistemology, eds. A. Haddock, A. Millar, and D. Pritchard, 262-277. 12 ANDREW ABERDEIN Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lynch, Michael P. 2012. In Praise of Reason: Why Rationality Matters for Democracy. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Memedi, Vesel. 2007. Resolving deep disagreement. In Dissensus and the Search for Common Ground, ed. Hans V. Hansen. Windsor, ON: OSSA. Mill, John Stuart. 1977 [1869]. The subjection of women. In Collected Works of John Stuart Mill, ed. J. M. Robson, vol. 21, 259-340. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Phillips, Dana. 2008. Investigating the shared background required for argument: A critique of Fogelin's thesis on deep disagreement. Informal Logic 28(2): 86- 101. Potter, Nancy Nyquist. 2002. How Can I Be Trusted? A Virtue Theory of Trustworthiness. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Priest, Maura. 2017. Intellectual humility: An interpersonal theory. Ergo 4(16): 463-480. Rice, Suzanne. 2011. Toward an Aristotelian conception of good listening. Educational Theory 61(2): 141-153. Schaffner, Brian F and Samantha Luks. 2018. Misinformation or expressive responding? What an inauguration crowd can tell us about the source of political misinformation in surveys. Public Opinion Quarterly 82(1): 135-147. Siegel, Harvey. 2014. Argumentation and the epistemology of disagreement. In Virtues of Argumentation: Proceedings of the 10th International Conference of the Ontario Society for the Study of Argumentation (OSSA), May 22-25, 2013, eds. Dima Mohammed and Marcin Lewiński. Windsor, ON: OSSA. Tanesini, Alessandra. 2016. "Calm down, dear": Intellectual arrogance, silencing and ignorance. Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society Supp. Vol. 90: 71-92. Tanesini, Alessandra. 2018. Arrogance, anger and debate. Symposion 5(2): 213- 227. Wittgenstein, Ludwig. 1972. On Certainty. New York, NY: Harper & Row. Zarefsky, David. 2012. The appeal for transcendence: A possible response to cases of deep disagreement. In Topical Themes in Argumentation Theory, eds. Frans H. van Eemeren and Bart Garssen, 77-89. Dordrecht: Springer.


In this paper, I discuss the influential view that depiction, like language, depends on arbitrary conventions. I argue that this view, however it is elaborated, is false. Any adequate account of depiction must be consistent with the distinctive features of depiction. One such feature is depictive generativity. I argue that, to be consistent with depictive generativity, conventionalism must hold that depiction depends on conventions for the depiction of basic properties of a picture’s object. I then argue that two considerations jointly preclude depiction from being governed by such conventions. Firstly, conventions must be salient to those who employ them. Secondly, those parts of pictures that depict basic properties of objects are not salient to the makers and interpreters of pictures.

Philosophy

Against Depictive Conventionalism

Against Depictive Conventionalism Catharine Abell (Published in The American Philosophical Quarterly, 42(3), pp.185-197) Abstract In this paper, I discuss the influential view that depiction, like language, depends on arbitrary conventions. I argue that this view, however it is elaborated, is false. Any adequate account of depiction must be consistent with the distinctive features of depiction. One such feature is depictive generativity. I argue that, to be consistent with depictive generativity, conventionalism must hold that depiction depends on conventions for the depiction of basic properties of a picture's object. I then argue that two considerations jointly preclude depiction from being governed by such conventions. Firstly, conventions must be salient to those who employ them. Secondly, those parts of pictures that depict basic properties of objects are not salient to the makers and interpreters of pictures. I Introduction Language and depiction are the two paradigmatic forms of non-mental representation. Descriptions represent linguistically, and pictures depictively. Depiction distinguishes figurative from abstract paintings. Both abstract and figurative paintings can represent: a slash of red paint may represent sin and a painting of a lamb may represent Christ. However, all and only figurative representations depict. I will use the term "picture" to refer exclusively to representations that depict. A picture represents Christ in virtue of depicting a 2 lamb. The scope of this paper is limited to depiction and to pictures. The main task of an adequate philosophical account of depiction is to offer an explanation of what it is for a picture to depict a certain object. This explanation must be consistent with pictures having those features which are taken, pretheoretically, to be distinctive of depiction.1 Attempts to identify the relation a picture must bear to an object in order to depict that object appeal to such diverse notions as resemblance, perceptual resources, make-believe, information, experience, and convention. According to conventionalism, the only representationally relevant relations between pictures and their objects are conventional. In this respect, then, they are like words. Nelson Goodman, the most influential proponent of conventionalism, is explicit about the similarity between language and depiction. He writes: Descriptions are distinguished from depictions not through being more arbitrary but through belonging to articulate rather than to dense schemes; and words are more conventional than pictures only if conventionality is construed in terms of differentiation rather than of artificiality. Nothing here depends upon the internal structure of a symbol; for what describes in some systems may depict in others.2 Conventionalism has been enormously influential in both philosophy and art history. Convinced by Goodman's arguments, many art historians have maintained that depiction is conventional.3 3 Criticisms of conventionalism abound. The vast majority of these, however, attack particular conceptions of the conventional relations between pictures and their objects, rather than the general claim that depiction is conventional.4 Moreover, none of those arguments that attacks conventionalism in general is conclusive.5 Philosophers usually take depictive conventionalism to be a live, if unpalatable, option. My aim in this paper is to demonstrate that it is not. I argue that, because conventionalism must be consistent with the distinguishing features of depiction, it must construe depictive conventions as conventions for the depiction of basic colour, shape and textural properties. I then argue that two considerations jointly preclude such conventions from governing depiction. Firstly, I argue that, to be conventional, relations between pictures and their objects must be salient to the makers and interpreters of pictures. Secondly, I argue that those parts of pictures that depict basic properties are not salient to them. I conclude that conventionalism is false because it cannot accommodate one of depiction's distinguishing features. I proceed as follows. In Section II, I examine what a convention is. To this end, I outline David Lewis's account of convention. In Section III, I examine the claim that depiction involves language-like conventions, and distinguish it from two other forms of depictive conventionalism. In Section IV, I describe a distinguishing feature of depiction, depictive generativity. To show that it is not easily accommodated by the view that depiction involves language-like conventions, I distinguish it from the generativity of language. In Section V, I 4 examine how this view could accommodate depictive generativity. I identify some constraints which it must meet in order to do so. In Section VI, I argue that the view cannot meet these constraints. I elucidate the reasons for which it cannot do so and refute some counterarguments. II What Conventions Are Conventionalism holds that depiction depends on language-like conventions. To understand this claim, we need an account of convention. Such an account must make sense of our conviction that language is conventional. Not all philosophical accounts of convention are adequate to this task. For example, some accounts construe convention as involving explicit agreement.6 Because putative linguistic conventions can arise through either tacit or explicit agreement, these accounts preclude us from understanding language as conventional. However, David Lewis's theory of convention is intended specifically to explain the sense in which language is conventional. Since his is the most influential and widely-accepted such theory, I will use it to provide a better understanding of conventionalism. According to Lewis, a convention is a widely adopted solution to a recurrent coordination problem.7 This account comprises six requirements for conventionality. Lewis identifies three requirements that must be met for something to be a coordination problem. These are: 1. interdependence: two or more agents must be involved in a situation of interdependent decision making. That is, the decision each agent makes 5 must depend on what decision he or she believes the other agent(s) will make. 2. shared interest: the interests of all agents must coincide in that situation. That is, the decision each agent makes must be such as to serve the other agents' interests as well as his or her own. 3. choice: the situation must admit of two or more proper coordination equilibria. That is, there must be at least two combinations of all agents' actions such that, given the other agents' actions, each agent prefers that combination of actions to any other combination he or she could have achieved alone. Lewis then identifies two further requirements that must be met for a coordination problem to have a conventional solution: 4. recurrence: the coordination problem must recur. 5. wide adoption: a particular solution to the coordination problem must be widely adopted. That is, a single solution to the coordination problem must be adopted on many of the occasions on which that problem arises. For this requirement to be met, there must be some classification of the solutions that are adopted under which many of them are the same. 6 However, one can classify any set of solutions so as to construe those solutions, and no others, as the same.8 This threatens to trivialise the requirement that a single solution be widely adopted. For a solution to be widely adopted, in a nontrivial sense, the sameness of a set of solutions must depend on the conceptions of them as solutions that are salient to those who adopt them. A certain conception of something as a solution to a coordination problem is salient if it stands out as being unique "in a preeminently conspicuous respect".9 If the same such conception is salient to many who adopt solutions to a given coordination problem, then the solutions they adopt will be the same in the required sense. This yields a further requirement for conventionality: 5.1 salience: for many solutions to a coordination problem, a single conception of them as solutions must be salient to those who adopt them.10 This requirement reflects the fact that one can only employ a convention if one knows (explicitly or tacitly) what it is. Imagine that I only ever drive my car to work in the morning and back home at night. I always drive on one side of the road in the morning because, at a certain spot, one gets a beautiful view out to sea. Coming home, I drive on the other side, because I cannot see the view from this direction and don't want to impede the view of those driving in the opposite direction. I happen to act in the same way as those who adopt the convention of driving on the left-hand side of the road. However, I do not adopt that convention myself, since the conception of my solution that is salient to me is not one 7 according to which I always drive on the left-hand side of the road. III What Conventionalism Is If depiction is conventional, pictures must comprise widely-adopted solutions to recurrent coordination problems. The problem of depicting particular objects or object types is the best candidate for the relevant coordination problem. It involves interdependent decision making with a coincidence of agents' interests. The makers and interpreters of pictures seek to exchange information about the (actual or counterfactual) appearances of objects. They succeed only when the information the interpreter derives from the picture matches that which its maker intended to convey. Consequently, they act so as to fulfill one other's interests in effective communication. In addition, there are a number of different ways in which any object can be depicted. This suggests that there are many different combinations of agents' actions in which each agent will prefer to have interpreted a mark as she has, given the way in which the other agents interpret that mark. Moreover, the problem of depicting particular objects or object types recurs. Depiction therefore meets Lewis's first four requirements for conventionality. Whether or not it is conventional, therefore, depends on whether it also meets his fifth requirement, and the salience requirement that this entails. Whether or not these requirements are met depends on how pictures solve the coordination problem just described. There are three ways in which they could do so, each of which supports a different form of conventionalism. Before proceeding, therefore, I will distinguish the three forms of conventionalism and 8 identify which is at issue in the question of whether depiction exhibits languagelike conventionality. Pictures may bear some non-conventional relation to their objects. For example, they may either resemble the objects they depict, be experienced as doing so, or engage the same recognitional capacities as those objects. So long as it constrains depiction independently of any recurrent coordination problem, this relation will not itself be conventional. Nevertheless, if at least two different arrangements of marks could exhibit the relevant relation to some object and thus comprise solutions to the problem of depicting it, Lewis's third requirement for conventionality would be met and the wide adoption of one such arrangement would be conventional. Since more than one arrangement of marks can resemble an object, or be experienced as doing so, etc., particular ways of depicting an object may be conventional even if depiction involves nonconventional relations. If depiction is partly distinguished by non-conventional relations, there will be two ways in which an arrangement of marks could solve the problem of depicting some object. It could do so solely in virtue of bearing the relevant nonconventional relation to the object, or it could do so both by doing so and by comprising a widely-adopted solution to that problem. In the former case, whether or not an arrangement of marks comprises a picture will depend entirely on whether it bears the non-conventional relation to the object. It may happen that it both does so and is widely-adopted as a means of depicting some object. 9 However, its being widely-adopted would be irrelevant to the fact that it depicts that object. In this case, then, the conventionality of a solution to the problem of depicting some object is representationally irrelevant. Let us call the view that pictures exhibit this form of conventionality non-representational conventionalism. Non-representational conventionalism is not at issue in the debate concerning whether depiction exhibits language-like conventionality. For depiction to do so, depictive conventions would have to be representationally relevant, and nonrepresentational conventionalism denies that they are. If an arrangement of marks depicts by both bearing some non-conventional relation to an object and being widely-adopted as a solution to the problem of depicting that object, its conventionality will be representationally relevant. Which of several marks that bear the relevant non-conventional relation depicts the object will depend on which of them instantiates the relevant object-depiction convention. This view holds that depiction involves both non-conventional and conventional relations. Because it maintains that the possible conventional solutions to the problem of depicting some object are constrained by the requirement that they bear some non-conventional relation to that object, it holds that depictive conventions are non-arbitrary. Consequently, let us call it nonarbitrary representational conventionalism. Non-arbitrary representational conventionalism is not at issue in the debate over whether depiction depends on language-like conventions. Linguistic 10 representations are widely held to lack any representationally relevant nonconventional relation to their objects. The plausibility of non-arbitrary representational conventionalism thus lies beyond the scope of this paper. A final form of conventionalism holds that the only representationally relevant relations between pictures and their objects are conventional. This is the form of conventionalism at issue in this paper. It claims that there are no representationally relevant non-conventional relations between pictures and their objects. This does not mean that there are no non-conventional constraints on depiction. If we are to use them, all systems of signs must meet those non-conventional constraints that are imposed by the limitations to human interpretative capabilities, and by our representational requirements. These constraints preclude us from forming a word from thousands of letters or pictures of different objects from marks indistinguishable to the human eye. They also require us to choose systems of signs that are sufficiently complex for the representational tasks we set for them. These constraints are not representationally relevant because they do not affect what any particular sign in a system represents. This view holds that, like language, depiction is an arbitrary form of representation. There are two senses in which language is arbitrary. Firstly, among those systems of signs that meet the non-conventional constraints described above, any could be used for linguistic representation. Secondly, there 11 are no constraints on which of the signs in a linguistic system can be used to represent what object.11 Let us call the view that holds that depiction is arbitrary in these two ways arbitrary representational conventionalism. In what follows, I will assess arbitrary representational conventionalism (from now on, simply conventionalism). IV Depictive Generativity An account of depiction must accommodate its various distinguishing features. One such feature is depictive generativity.12 Roughly characterised, it consists in the fact that the ability to interpret some pictures gives one the ability to go on to interpret other pictures without any instruction about what they depict, so long as one can recognise their objects visually.13 Furthermore, even if one has acquired this latter ability, one will be unable to interpret a picture unless one is able visually to recognise its object.14 Let us call the ability to interpret novel pictures without any instruction as to their content general pictorial competence. Depictive generativity involves both a necessary and a sufficient condition: 1. General pictorial competence and the ability visually to recognise an object suffice for the ability to interpret a picture of that object. 2. General pictorial competence and the ability visually to recognise an object are necessary for the ability to interpret a picture of that object. 12 However, some qualifications are needed. Firstly, the ability to interpret some line drawings may not give one the ability to interpret any cubist paintings, even if it gives one the ability to interpret other line drawings. General pictorial competence may not operate across pictorial systems, but may instead be relativised to particular such systems. Secondly, the inability visually to recognise an object under a particular conception need not result in the inability to interpret a picture of that object. Even if I am not able visually to recognise a medieval Greek coin when I see one, I may still be able to recognise coins, and thus partially to interpret a picture depicting such a coin. Depictive generativity holds across all consistent conceptions of a picture's object, whether these conceptions are of the object as a particular, or as type of object. Language exhibits a feature that is apparently analogous to depictive generativity. Like that of pictures, the interpretation of sentences is generative. This is a consequence of the fact that they have a combinatorial semantics: their content is determined, systematically, by the contents of their parts. As Jerry Fodor argues, this means that the the ability to produce and understand some of the sentences in a language is intrinsically connected to the ability to produce and understand others, such that one wouldn't attribute true understanding of English to someone who understands what the sentence "Bob hates Bill" means, but not what "Bill hates Bob" means.15 Understanding an English sentence in a way that exhibits a true understanding of English entails understanding the semantic rules governing the meanings of its constituent words and understanding the syntactic rules of English, such that one can understand novel 13 grammatical sentences formed using those words. If we construe general linguistic competence as involving knowledge of the syntactic rules of a language, we get the following characterisation of linguistic generativity: 1. General competence in a language and knowledge of the semantic rules governing the words of a sentence in that language suffice for the ability to interpret that sentence. 2. General competence in a language and knowledge of the semantic rules governing the words of a sentence in that language are necessary for the ability to interpret that sentence. Language provides the model for the form of conventionality that concerns us here. Consequently, the fact that it exhibits something like depictive generativity might seem to show that conventionalism could readily accommodate depictive generativity. However, there are two important differences between depictive and linguistic generativity. To accommodate depictive generativity, conventionalism must accommodate both differences. Firstly, the ability visually to recognise an object plays no role in linguistic generativity. Even if I am a competent user of English, I will not be able to interpret the English words for every object I can recognise visually. While I can visually recognise hedgehogs, I may not be able to interpret the word "ilspile". This case is very different to that of the picture of the medieval Greek coin. 14 Whereas I am able to interpret that picture under some conception, I cannot get any purchase on what the word "ilspile" represents. Visual recognitional ability plays no role in linguistic generativity because the arrangement of letters that is used to represent one object is not related systematically to those used to represent others. The autonomy of the various conventions governing language means that grasping what some arrangements of letters represent will not confer the ability to grasp what others do, irrespective of whether one can recognise visually the objects they represent. Contrarily, so long as we have pictorial competence, we only need the ability visually to recognise an object under some conception in order to interpret a picture of that object. This distinction seems difficult to accommodate on the assumption that depiction, like language, is governed by a set of unrelated representational conventions. Secondly, pictorial competence is much more readily acquired than linguistic competence. In order to learn the syntactic rules governing a language, and thus to acquire linguistic competence, we require extensive exposure to the relevant language. Contrarily, while it is unclear exactly how much exposure to pictures we need in order to acquire pictorial competence, it is clearly comparatively little.16 Again, it is not clear how one might accommodate this difference while holding that depiction, like language, is governed by unrelated representational conventions. I will now consider how conventionalism might accommodate these two distinctive features of depictive generativity. V Property Conventionalism 15 A conventionalist account might succeed in accommodating depictive generativity if it holds that depiction is governed by conventions for the depiction of properties, rather than conventions for the depiction of objects. On such a view, a picture depicts a certain object in virtue of employing conventions for the depiction of various of that object's properties, rather than employing conventions for the depiction of that object, or of that object as instantiating those properties. Because a wide range of objects may share some properties, pictures of quite different objects could employ some of the same conventions. Consequently, the ability to interpret a picture of one object could confer the ability to interpret a picture of some other object, so long as the two pictures employed the same conventions. While individual depictive conventions would operate independently, the conventions governing a particular picture would not be independent of those governing others. To accommodate depictive generativity, such an account would need to accommodate the fact that the ability visually to recognise something is required to interpret a picture of that thing. It could explain this fact as it applies to properties by holding that the ability to recognise instantiations of the properties a picture depicts is a prerequisite for understanding the representational conventions that govern depiction of those properties. As Robert Hopkins points out, if the conventions governing depiction are limited to conventions for the depiction of colour, shape and textural properties, the ability to recognise instantiations of those properties will indeed be necessary for the ability to understand the relevant conventions.17 As he argues, in order to understand 16 representations of colour, shape and textural properties, we need to deploy observation concepts, which are so called because the ability to recognise instances of the properties in question is necessary for possession of those concepts. Such a view can explain why the ability visually to recognise an object is required to interpret a picture of that object because it holds that the depiction of any object involves the depiction of various of its basic properties. To interpret a picture depicting some combination of basic properties as a picture of a certain object, it is thus necessary to be able visually to recognise the object in question from those of its basic properties that are depicted in order to interpret the picture as depicting that object rather than any other. This view can accommodate the fact that pictorial competence is acquired on the basis of comparatively little exposure to pictures. To do so, it need not maintain that any picture employs every depictive convention, or that all such conventions can be learnt from exposure to a single picture. It need only claim that the conventions governing depiction can be learnt through exposure to a limited number of pictures. So long as the conventions governing depiction are restricted to conventions for the depiction of basic, widely-shared properties of objects, this seems plausible. Basic colour, shape and textural properties can be shared by quite disparate objects. Consequently, pictures of very different objects may employ some of the same conventions. It should thus be possible to learn the conventions necessary to interpret a picture of one object from exposure to 17 pictures of quite different objects. Moreover, so long as depiction is governed only by conventions for the depiction of basic colour, shape and textural properties, it is plausible that the total number of such conventions should be sufficiently limited to be learned, and pictorial competence acquired, after exposure to relatively few pictures. The form of conventionalism just outlined holds that the depiction of objects depends on conventions governing the depiction of their basic colour, shape and textural properties, rather than that of the objects themselves. Let us call this view property conventionalism. It is the only form of conventionalism that might accommodate depictive generativity. If property conventionalism fails, so too will conventionalism as a whole. I will now argue that it does fail. VI Why Property Conventionalism Is False According to property conventionalism, depiction is conventional because certain parts of pictures comprise widely-adopted solutions to the problem of depicting colour, shape and textural properties. For the reasons outlined at the beginning of Section III, this problem is a recurrent coordination problem. However, as I will now argue, it is not a problem that admits of a widely-adopted solution. Property conventionalism fails because it cannot meet the requirement that depictive conventions be widely adopted. It cannot do so because it cannot meet Lewis's salience requirement for wide adoption. Property conventionalism claims that particular parts of a picture are related by 18 convention to the basic colour, shape and textural properties they depict. For this to be the case, for every relation between a part of a picture and its depictive content, the same conception of that relation must be salient to the makers and interpreters of pictures. That is, there must be unique conceptions both of the part of the picture that is related to depictive content, and of the depictive content to which it is related, under which that part stands out to them as bearing the depiction relation to that content. I will now argue that it is impossible if the relevant depictive content comprises basic colour, shape or textural properties. Many pictures have parts that are interpretable as depicting things when considered in isolation from the rest of the picture. For example, those parts of a picture of a crowd that depict individual faces may be interpretable in isolation as depicting faces. Let us call such parts pictorial parts. Because they are independently interpretable, pictorial parts of a picture are themselves pictures. The property conventionalist cannot claim that depictive conventions attach to pictorial parts. Because they are themselves pictures, they must exhibit the features common to all pictures. One such feature is that pictures cannot depict properties without depicting some object (be it a particular or merely an object type) as instantiating those properties. For example, a picture cannot depict the property of being a chair without depicting either a particular chair or a type of chair as instantiating that property. Likewise, a picture cannot depict the property of being red without depicting some surface or volume as instantiating that property. The bare depiction of properties is impossible. Consequently, pictorial 19 parts could only be governed by conventions for the depiction of objects as instantiating properties. However, as I argued above, the property conventionalist must hold that depiction is governed by conventions just for the depiction of basic colour, shape and textural properties if she is to explain depictive generativity. Only then could pictures of quite different objects employ the same conventions. Not all picture parts are pictorial parts, however. Some are not interpretable as depicting anything when considered in isolation, but are interpretable as depicting something when considered in the context of a picture as a whole. For example, in a rudimentary picture of a face, the eye may be represented by a dot. The dot alone, however, is not interpretable as depicting an eye. It is only interpretable in the context of the picture as a whole. Just as the dot contributes to what the picture can be interpreted as depicting, namely a face with eyes, so too the picture contributes to what the dot depicts. Let us call those parts of pictures that are not interpretable in isolation, but are interpretable as depicting something in the context of other picture parts sub-pictorial parts.18 In addition to pictorial and sub-pictorial parts, pictures have non-pictorial parts. These are parts that are not interpretable as depicting anything either in isolation or in the context of other picture parts. For example, the individual brushmarks I see when I look very closely at the surface of a painting may not depict anything, considered either in isolation or in the context of the rest of the picture. They provide information only about the picture surface, and not about what the picture depicts. Consequently, depictive conventions cannot attach to non-pictorial parts. 20 They must therefore attach to sub-pictorial parts.19 However, a picture's sub-pictorial parts cannot in fact be governed by meaning conventions. As I argued above, the requirement that any convention be salient to its users means that there must be unique conceptions both of the part of the picture that is related to depictive content, and of the depictive content to which it is related, under which that part stands out in some "pre-eminently conspicuous respect" to pictures' makers and interpreters as bearing the depiction relation to that content. However, sub-pictorial parts do not stand out as depicting their contents, because they are not interpretable in isolation. One might object to this that some words are not interpretable in isolation, even though their meanings are clearly convention-governed. Two types of words exhibit such interpretative context-dependence: indexicals and ambiguous words. However, they do not show that convention-governed representations can be independently uninterpretable. Moreover, the context-dependence of the meanings of a picture's sub-pictorial parts is not analogous to that of either indexicals or ambiguous words. In his account of the meaning of indexicals, David Kaplan distinguishes between their character: their linguistic meaning, and their content: what they contribute to the propositions that sentences containing them can be used to express in a given context.20 While indexicals' characters are independently interpretable, their contents are not. Their contents depend both on their characters and on the 21 contexts in which they are used. The character of 'you' is something like 'the person to whom this utterance is addressed'. Its content in a given context is whoever it refers to in that context. Linguistic conventions govern the independently interpretable character of indexicals, rather than their contextdependent content. The context-dependence of the content of indexicals is therefore not a counter-example to the claim that the conventionality of a representation requires its independent interpretability. Moreover, the property conventionalist cannot construe the context-dependence of sub-pictorial parts as analogous to that of indexicals, and therefore cannot explain it in the same way. An indexical has an indefinite number of possible contents. While its character tells us what features of context are relevant to determining its content, it does not tell us what its possible contents are. For example, the character of 'you' tells us to look at the person to whom it is addressed in a given context to determine its content in that context, but it does not constrain to whom it could be addressed. If property conventionalism is to accommodate depictive generativity, it cannot allow sub-pictorial parts to have an indefinite number of possible contents. It requires constraints on what each subpictorial part can depict to apply across all possible contexts of interpretation. Otherwise, the ability to interpret such parts in the context of some pictures could not yield the ability to interpret them in the context of novel pictures. Ambiguous words have at least two different characters. In any disambiguating context, the content of such a word will be identical to one of its characters. 22 Knowledge of the different conventions governing these characters therefore enables us to tell what the possible contents of an ambiguous word are in any given context. For example, knowledge of the conventions governing 'bank' tells us that its characters are 'financial institution' and 'the ground alongside a river'. The word is independently interpretable as having both characters, and therefore as having two possible contents. Unlike indexicals, therefore, the characters of ambiguous words constrain their possible contents. One might think the property conventionalist could accommodate depictive generativity by construing the context-dependence of sub-pictorial parts as analogous to that of ambiguous words. If a sub-pictorial part had a limited number of possible contents, one could learn each of those contents after exposure to a limited number of pictures, and thereby acquire the ability to interpret that part in the context of other picture parts. However, this suggestion ignores the independent interpretability requirement. As with indexicals, the fact that linguistic conventions govern characters rather than contents means that the context-dependence of the contents of ambiguous words is no threat to this requirement. Consequently, if sub-pictorial parts were analogous to ambiguous words, their different characters, and consequently their possible contents, should be independently interpretable. Some picture parts, such as those depicting Necker cubes, are independently interpretable as having different possible contents. However, because they are independently interpretable, they are pictorial parts and therefore cannot depict basic properties as required by property conventionalism. 23 One might also object that since, as a matter of fact, we can interpret colourreversed pictures, my claim that conventions cannot govern the depiction of properties must be false. It is true that, so long as we know which colours stand for what other colours, we can interpret a picture of a red object as representing an object that is, say, green. However, we can only do this because we can apply representational conventions to pictures on the basis of their depictive content. That is, we can stipulate that pictorial parts that depict objects of one colour represent objects of some other colour. To interpret pictures using such conventions, we must have prior knowledge of what they depict. Colourreversed systems of representation are not depictive and therefore do not show that the depiction of properties can be convention-governed. Finally, one might argue that my argument contradicts psychologists' claims that the interpretation of line drawings involves the application of interpretative rules. John Willats argues that, just as the marks on a page of writing represent letters, so too depictive marks represent "picture primitives".21 As letters form words that represent aspects of an object, picture primitives represent specific aspects of visible scenes called "scene primitives". As words combine to form descriptions of objects, these primitives then combine to represent whole objects. This account may seem to vindicate conventionalism. However, two considerations show that it does not. Firstly, according to Willats, the interpretation of any picture primitive is context-dependent, since it depends on the other picture primitives with which it is combined.22 Secondly, Willats denies that the representational 24 content of pictures is arbitrary. Instead, he claims that pictures bear a nonconventional relation to their objects: they depict them by exploiting the human visual system's mechanisms for detecting features of those objects from the light they reflect.23 Property conventionalism is false. To be true, the depictive conventions it posits would have to attach to either pictorial or sub-pictorial parts. They cannot attach to pictorial parts since such parts cannot depict basic colour, shape or textural properties alone, but instead must depict some object as instantiating those properties. Moreover, although sub-pictorial parts can depict basic colour, shape and textural properties, depictive conventions cannot govern such parts since they are not independently interpretable. They are therefore not salient to pictures' makers and interpreters as bearing the depiction relation to such properties. VII Conclusion An adequate account of depiction must be consistent with pictures having those features that are distinctive of depiction. One such feature is depictive generativity. Conventionalism could accommodate depictive generativity only by holding that pictures are governed by conventions for the depiction of basic colour, shape and textural properties. However, pictures cannot be governed by such conventions. For depictive conventions to meet Lewis's salience requirement, the picture parts to which they attach must be independently interpretable. Any independently interpretable part of a picture is itself a picture. 25 Therefore, it cannot simply depict colour, shape or textural properties, but must always depict some object as instantiating those properties.24 1 See Hopkins, R. (1995). "Explaining Depiction." Philosophical Review 104: 425-455.He argues that an account of depiction must explain why pictures have these features. I agree, but will retain the weaker consistency requirement for current purposes. 2 Goodman, N. (1976). Languages of Art. Indianapolis, Hackett Publishing Company. pp230-31. 3 See, for example, Bryson, N. (1983). Vision and Painting: The Logic of the Gaze. New Haven, Yale University Press. Although some philosophers deny that Goodman is in fact a conventionalist (see, for example, Lopes, D. (1996). Understanding Pictures. Oxford, Clarendon Press. p65), his commitment to the arbitrariness of depiction makes it clear that he is. Goodman himself denies conventionalism regarding both depiction and language because he believes it entails the claim that they are rule-governed. He argues that "(t)he way pictures and descriptions are thus classified into kinds [according to what they represent], like most habitual ways of classifying, is far from sharp or stable, and resists codification" (Goodman, op. cit. p23. The text in square brackets is mine). He also writes that understanding a picture "is not a matter of bringing to bear universal rules that determine the identification and manipulation of its component symbols" (Goodman, N. and C. Z. Elgin (1988). Reconceptions in Philosophy and Other Arts and Sciences. London, Routledge. p110). However, the claim that depiction is conventional does not entail the claim that it is rule governed. I am interested to determine whether depiction is conventional in the way that language is. Goodman's claims about the arbitrariness of depiction suffice to show that he thinks it is. 4 For example, the following criticise Goodman's characterisation of depictive conventions, rather than his claim that depiction is conventional: Wollheim, R. (1970). "Nelson Goodman's Languages of Art." Journal of Philosophy LXVII(16): 531-539, Savile, A. (1971). "Nelson Goodman's 'Languages of Art': A Study." British Journal of Aesthetics 11: 3-27, Walton, K. (1974). "Are Representations Symbols?" Monist 58: 236254, Robinson, J. (1979). "Some Remarks on Goodman's Language Theory of Pictures." British Journal of Aesthetics 19: 63-75. 5 See, for example, Hopkins, R. (2003). "Perspective, Convention and Compromise." Looking Into Pictures. H. Hecht, M. Atherton and R. Schwartz. Cambridge, Massachusetts, MIT Press: 145-164. 26 Hopkins argues against the conventionality of depiction. However, he assumes that depiction depends on non-conventional relations between picture and object (on the preservation of "visible figure"). He therefore fails to address the claim that depiction, like language, depends on arbitrary conventions. Crispin Sartwell construes the fact that pictures are generative (see Section III) as an argument against conventionalism (Sartwell, C. (1991). "Natural Generativity and Imitation." British Journal of Aesthetics 31: 58-67. p63). However, as I will argue, the generativity of depiction does not automatically preclude its conventionality. Gregory Currie rejects the conventionalism of film (See Chapter 4 of Currie, G. (1995). Image and Mind: Film, Philosophy and Cognitive Science. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press). However, as I argue in Note 19, his argument fails for both film and depiction. 6 See, for example, Quine, W.V.O. (1936). "Truth by Convention" in Philosophical Essays for A.N. Whitehead, edited by O.H. Lee. New York, Longmans. pp90-124. 7 Lewis, D. (1969). Convention. Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press. 8 For example, each may be classified as a solution that has been adopted to the relevant coordination problem. 9 Lewis, D. (1969). Convention. Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press. p38 10 Neither the salience requirement, nor any of Lewis's other requirements entails that conventions are rule governed in the sense to which Goodman objects. He accepts that depiction and language involve habitual plans of correlation according to which referents are ascribed to descriptions and depictions. There need be no rule, independent of the plans of correlation to which individual agents adhere, that determines what solution is adopted. For a solution to a recurrent coordination problem to be conventional, it is sufficient for there to be habitual practices according to which the different agents involved in a decision-making situation always knowingly adopt the same solution to the problem. Since Goodman maintains that depiction is governed by such practices, or "plans of correlation", he is a conventionalist in Lewis's sense (Goodman, N. op. cit. p39-40). 11 We may find it expedient to use certain words within a language to refer to certain objects. For example, it might be useful to choose shorter words for common objects. However, there is no reason why a language could not, in principle, use long words for common objects. 12 The definitive discussion of this feature is in Schier, F. (1986). Deeper Into Pictures. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. pp 43-55. 27 13 I use the term 'interpret' to refer solely to the process of determining what a picture depicts. 14 It follows from the centrality of the ability visually to recognise objects to picture interpretation that only visible objects can be depicted. This feature is noted in Hopkins, R. (1995) op. cit. 15 Fodor, J. A. (1987). Psychosemantics. Cambridge, Massachusetts, The MIT Press. p149. 16 See Hochberg, J. and V. Brooks (1962). "Pictorial Recognition as an Unlearned Ability: A Study of One Child's Performance." American Journal of Psychology 75: 624-628. This study found that a nineteen month old child whose access to pictures had been severely restricted, and who had never received any instruction in interpreting pictures was nonetheless able spontaneously to interpret pictures of a wide range of objects. 17 Hopkins, R. (1997). "El Greco's Eyesight: Interpreting Pictures and the Psychology of Vision." Philosophical Quarterly 47: 441-458. p450. 18 The distinction between pictorial and non-pictorial parts is based on Schier's distinction between iconic and sub-iconic parts. See Schier, F. op. cit. p70. 19 Failure to recognise the distinction between pictorial, sub-pictorial and non-pictorial picture parts undermines one argument against conventionality. Gregory Currie denies that film is conventional on the basis that, unlike language, it is not comprised of independent, meaningful parts (see Chapter 4 of Currie, G. (1995). Image and Mind: Film, Philosophy and Cognitive Science. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press). Because it has no such parts, he argues, there can be no rules of composition enabling the representationally relevant parts of a film to be combined to form further meaningful parts in the way that words are combined to form sentences. He argues that film has no independent, meaningful parts because every temporal and spatial part of a film image is meaningful "to the limits of visual discriminability" (Ibid. p 130). He holds that this is true even of parts of an image that lack a discriminable internal structure, since they represent their objects as uniform. Currie's argument is applicable to both film and depiction. However, it fails in both cases. All pictures are ultimately comprised of parts that have no meaning at all: their non-pictorial parts. Consequently, they are not meaningful in the way he claims. The smallest meaningful parts of any picture are its sub-pictorial parts. While such parts do not have meaning when instantiated in isolation, they nonetheless have a meaning that is independent of that of the picture's other parts. Currie provides no reason why sub-pictorial parts could not be governed by meaning conventions, and be combined using rules of composition to form 28 independently meaningful pictorial parts. 20 Kaplan, D. (1989) "Demonstratives", in J. Almog et. al. (eds) Themes from Kaplan. Oxford. Oxford University Press. 21 Willats, J. (1997). Art and Representation: New Principles in the Analysis of Pictures. Princeton, Princeton University Press. 22 Ibid. p112-119. 23 Ibid. p146. 24 I am extremely grateful to Tim Bayne for discussion of these issues and for his comments on earlier versions of this material. I am also grateful to Jordi Fernandez and to the anonymous referees of this journal for their comments and criticisms.