IMPLICATVRA, in 18 volumes -- vol. VII

holism: From Grecian ‘holon,’ Latin ‘totum.’ “One of Quine’s dogma of empiricism – the one I and Sir Peter had not the slightest intereset in!” – Grice. Holism is one of a wide variety of theses that in one way or another affirm the equal or greater reality or the explanatory necessity of the whole of some system in relation to its parts. In philosophy, the issues of holism (the word is more reasonably, but less often, spelled ‘wholism’) have appeared Hohenheim, Theophrastus Bombastus von holism 390 4065h-l.qxd 08/02/1999 7:39 AM Page 390 traditionally in the philosophy of biology, of psychology, and especially of the human sciences. In the context of description, holism with respect to some system maintains that the whole has some properties that its parts lack. This doctrine will ordinarily be trivially true unless it is further held, in the thesis of descriptive emergentism, that these properties of the whole cannot be defined by properties of the parts. The view that all properties of the wholes in question can be so defined is descriptive individualism. In the context of explanation, holism with respect to some object or system maintains either (1) that the laws of the more complex cases in it are not deducible by way of any composition laws or laws of coexistence from the laws of the less complex cases (e.g., that the laws of the behavior of people in groups are not deducible by composition laws or laws of coexistence from the laws of solitary behavior), or (2) that all the variables that constitute the system interact with each other. This denial of deducibility is known also as metaphysical or methodological holism, whereas affirming the deducibility is methodological individualism. In a special case of explanatory holism that presupposes descriptive emergentism, holism is sometimes understood as the thesis that with respect to some system the whole has properties that interact “back” with the properties of its parts. In the philosophy of biology, any of these forms of holism may be known as vitalism, while in the philosophy of psychology they have been called Gestalt doctrine. In the philosophy of the social sciences, where ‘holism’ has had its most common use in philosophy, the many issues have often been reduced to that of metaphysical holism versus methodological individualism. This terminology reflected the positivists’ belief that holism was non-empirical in postulating social “wholes” or the reality of society beyond individual persons and their properties and relations (as in Durkheim and other, mostly Continental, thinkers), while individualism was non-metaphysical (i.e., empirical) in relying ultimately only on observable properties in describing and explaining social phenomena. More recently, ‘holism’ has acquired additional uses in philosophy, especially in epistemology and philosophy of language. Doxastic or epistemic holism are theses about the “web of belief,” usually something to the effect that a person’s beliefs are so connected that their change on any topic may affect their content on any other topic or, perhaps, that the beliefs of a rational person are so connected. Semantic or meaning holism have both been used to denote either the thesis that the meanings of all terms (or sentences) in a language are so connected that any change of meaning in one of them may change any other meaning, or the thesis that changes of belief entail changes of meaning. Cited by Grice, “In defense of a dogma” “My defense of the other dogma must be left for another longer day” Duhem, Pierre-Maurice-Marie, physicist who wrote extensively on the history and philosophy of science. Like Georg Helm, Wilhelm Ostwald, and others, he was an energeticist, believing generalized thermodynamics to be the foundation of all of physics and chemistry. Duhem spent his whole scientific life advancing energetics, from his failed dissertation in physics a version of which was accepted as a dissertation in mathematics, published as Le potentiel thermodynamique 6, to his mature treatise, Traité d’énergétique 1. His scientific legacy includes the Gibbs-Duhem and DuhemMargules equations. Possibly because his work was considered threatening by the Parisian scientific establishment or because of his right-wing politics and fervent Catholicism, he never obtained the position he merited in the intellectual world of Paris. He taught at the provincial universities of Lille, Rennes, and, finally, Bordeaux. Duhem’s work in the history and philosophy of science can be viewed as a defense of the aims and methods of energetics; whatever Duhem’s initial motivation, his historical and philosophical work took on a life of its own. Topics of interest to him included the relation between history of science and philosophy of science, the nature of conceptual change, the historical structure of scientific knowledge, and the relation between science and religion. Duhem was an anti-atomist or anti-Cartesian; in the contemporary debates about light and magnetism, Duhem’s anti-atomist stance was also directed against the work of Maxwell. According to Duhem, atomists resolve the bodies perceived by the senses into smaller, imperceptible bodies. The explanation of observable phenomena is then referred to these imperceptible bodies and their motions, suitably combined. Duhem’s rejection of atomism was based on his instrumentalism or fictionalism: physical theories are not explanations but representations; they do not reveal the true nature of matter, but give general rules of which laws are particular cases; theoretical propositions are not true or false, but convenient or inconvenient. An important reason for treating physics as nonexplanatory was Duhem’s claim that there is general consensus in physics and none in metaphysics  thus his insistence on the autonomy of physics from metaphysics. But he also thought that scientific representations become more complete over time until they gain the status of a natural classification. Accordingly, Duhem attacked the use of models by some scientists, e.g. Faraday and Maxwell. Duhem’s rejection of atomism was coupled with a rejection of inductivism, the doctrine that the only physical principles are general laws known through induction, based on observation of facts. Duhem’s rejection forms a series of theses collectively known as the Duhem thesis: experiments in physics are observations of phenomena accompanied by interpretations; physicists therefore do not submit single hypotheses, but whole groups of them, to the control of experiment; thus, experimental evidence alone cannot conclusively falsify hypotheses. For similar reasons, Duhem rejected the possibility of a crucial experiment. In his historical studies, Duhem argued that there were no abrupt discontinuities between medieval and early modern science  the so-called continuity thesis; that religion played a positive role in the development of science in the Latin West; and that the history of physics could be seen as a cumulative whole, defining the direction in which progress could be expected. Duhem’s philosophical works were discussed by the founders of twentieth-century philosophy of science, including Mach, Poincaré, the members of the Vienna Circle, and Popper. A revival of interest in Duhem’s philosophy began with Quine’s reference in 3 to the Duhem thesis also known as the Duhem-Quine thesis. As a result, Duhem’s philosophical works were tr. into English  as The Aim and Structure of Physical Theory 4 and To Save the Phenomena 9. By contrast, few of Duhem’s extensive historical works  Les origines de la statique 2 vols., 608, Études sur Léonard de Vinci 3 vols., 613, and Système du monde 10 vols., 359, e.g.  have been tr., with five volumes of the Système du monde actually remaining in manuscript form until 459. Unlike his philosophical work, Duhem’s historical work was not sympathetically received by his influential contemporaries, notably George Sarton. His supposed main conclusions were rejected by the next generation of historians of science, who presented modern science as discontinuous with that of the Middle Ages. This view was echoed by historically oriented philosophers of science who, from the early 0s, emphasized discontinuities as a recurrent feature of change in science  e.g. Kuhn in The Structure of Scientific Revolutions 2. 

hologram: the image of an object in three dimensions created and reproduced by the use of lasers. Holography is a method for recording and reproducing such images. Holograms are remarkable in that, unlike normal photographs, every part of them contains the complete image but in reduced detail. Thus a small square cut from a hologram can still be laser-illuminated to reveal the whole scene originally holographed, albeit with loss of resolution. This feature made the hologram attractive to proponents of the thesis of distribution of function in the brain, who argued that memories are like holograms, not being located in a single precise engram – as claimed by advocates of localization of function – but distributed across perhaps all of the cortex. Although intriguing, the holographic model of memory storage failed to gain acceptance. Current views favor D. O. Hebb’s “cell assembly” concept, in which memories are stored in the connections between a group of neurons.

homœmerum: an adjective Grice adored, from Grecian homoiomeres, ‘of like parts’). Aristotle: “A lump of bronze differs from a statue in being homoeo-merous. The lump of bronze is divisible into at least two partial lumps of bronze, whereas the statue is not divisible into statues.” Having parts, no matter how small, that share the constitutive properties of the whole. The derivative abstract noun is ‘homœomeria’. The Grecian forms of the adjective and of its corresponding privative ‘anhomoeomerous’ are used by Aristotle to distinguish between (a) non-uniform parts of living things, e.g., limbs and organs, and (b) biological stuffs, e.g., blood, bone, sap. In spite of being composed of the four elements, each biological stuff, when taken individually and without admixtures, is through-and-through F, where F represents the cluster of the constitutive properties of that stuff. Thus, if a certain physical volume qualifies as blood, all its mathematically possible sub-volumes, regardless of size, also qualify as blood. Blood is thus homoeomerous. By contrast, a face or a stomach or a leaf are an-homoeomerous: the parts of a face are not a face, etc. In Aristotle’s system, the homœomeria of the biological stuff is tied to his doctrine of the infinite divisibility of matter. The homœomerum-heterormerum distinction is prefigured in Plato (Protagoras 329d). ‘Homœomerous’ is narrow in its application than ‘homogeneous’ and ‘uniform’. We speak of a homogeneous entity even if the properties at issue are identically present only in samples that fall above a certain size. The colour of the sea can be homogeneously or uniformly blue; but it is heteromerously blue. “homoiomeres” and “homoiomereia” also occur –in the ancient sources for a pre-Aristotelian philosopher, Anaxagoras of Clazomenae, with reference to the constituent things (“chremata”) involved in his scheme of universal mixture. Moreover, homœeomeria plays a significant role outside ancient Grecian (or Griceian) philosophy, notably in twentieth-century accounts of the contrast between mass terms and count terms or sortals, and the discussion was introduced by Grice. ANAXAGORAS' THEORY OF MATTER-I. 17 homoeomerous in Anaxagoras' system falls into one of these three class. (I. 834), for example, says: 'When he ... by FM Cornford - ‎1930. Refs. Grice, “Cornford on Anaxagoras.”

homomorphism: cf. isomorphism -- in Grice’s model theory of conversation, a structure-preserving mapping from one structure to another: thus the demonstratum is isomorph with the implicaturum, since every conversational implicaturum can be arrived via an argumentum. A structure consists of a domain of objects together with a function specifying interpretations, with respect to that domain, of the relation symbols, function symbols, and individual symbols of a given calculus. Relations, functions, and individuals in different structures for a system like System GHP correspond to one another if they are interpretations of the same symbol of GHP. To call a mapping “structure-preserving” is to say, first, that if objects in the first structure bear a certain relation to one another, then their images in the second structure (under the mapping) bear the corresponding relation to one another; second, that the value of a function for a given object (or ntuple of objects) in the first structure has as its image under the mapping the value of the corresponding function for the image of the object (or n-tuple of images) in the second structure; and third, that the image in the second structure of an object in the first is the corresponding object. An isomorphism is a homomorphism that is oneto-one and whose inverse is also a homomorphism.

co-substantia: homoousios. Athanasius -- early Christian father, bishop, and a leading protagonist in the disputes concerning Christ’s relationship to God. Through major works like On the Incarnation, Against the Arians, and Letters on the Holy Spirit, Athanasius contributed greatly to the classical doctrines of the Incarnation and the Trinity. Opposing all forms of Arianism, which denies Christ’s divinity and reduced him to what Grice would call a “creature,” Athanasius teaches, in the language of the Nicene Creed, that Christ the Son, and likewise the Holy Spirit, are of the same being as God the Father, cosubstantialis, “homoousios.” Thus with terminology and concepts drawn from Grecian and Graeco-Roman philosophy, Athanasius helps to forge the distinctly Christian and un-Hellenistic doctrine of the eternal tri-une God (“credo quia absurdum est”) who became enfleshed in time and matter and restored humanity to immortality, forfeited through sin, by involvement in its condition of corruption and decay. Homoousios (Greek, ‘of the same substance’), a concept central to the Christian doctrine of the Trinity, enshrined in the Nicene Creed (Nicaea, “Holy, Holy, Holy”). It attests that God the Son (and by extension the Spirit) is of one and the same being or substance (ousia) as the Father. Reflecting the insistence of Athanasius against Arianism that Christ is God’s eternal, co-equal Son and not a “creature,” as Grice uses the term, the Nicene “homoousios” is also to be differentiated from a rival formula, “homoiousios” (Grecian, ‘of SIMILAR substance’), which affirms merely the Son’s LIKENESS in being to God. Though notoriously and superficially an argument over one Greek iota, the issue was philosophically profound and crucial whether or not Jesus of Nazareth incarnated God’s own being, revealed God’s own truth, and mediated God’s own salvation. If x=x, x is like x. A horse is like a horse. Grice on implicaturum. “There is only an implicaturum to the effect that if a horse is a horse a horse is not like a horse.” “Similarly for Christ and God.” Cicero saw this when he philosophised on ‘idem’ and ‘similis.’

homuncularism -- Grice on the ‘fallacia homunculi’ Grice borrows ‘homunculus’ from St. Augustine, for a miniature ‘homo’ held to inhabit the brain (or some other organ) who perceives all the inputs to the sense organs and initiates all the commands to the muscles. Any theory that posits such an internal agent risks an infinite regress (what Grice, after Augustine, calls the ‘fallacia homunculi’) since we can ask whether there is a little man in the little man’s head, responsible for his perception and action, and so on. Many familiar views of the mind and its activities seem to require a homunculus. E. g. models of visual perception that posit an inner picture as its product apparently require a homunculus to look at the picture, and models of action that treat intentions as commands to the muscles apparently require a homunculus to issue the commands. It is never an easy matter to determine whether a theory is committed to the existence of a homunculus that vitiates the theory, and in some circumstances, a homunculus can be legitimately posited at intermediate levels of theory. As Grice says, a homunculus is, shall we say, a bogey-man (to use a New-World expression) only if he duplicates entire the talents he is rung in to explain. If one can get a relatively ignorant, narrow-minded, blind homunculus to produce the intelligent behaviour of the whole, this is progress. Grice calls a theory (in philosophoical psychology) that posit such a homunculus “homuncular functionalism.” Paracelsus is credited with the first mention of the homunculus in De homunculis (c. 1529–1532), and De natura rerum (1537). Refs.: H. P. Grice, “Paracelsus.”

horkheimer: philosopher, the leading theorist of the first generation of the Frankfurt School of critical theory. Both as director of the Institute for Social Research and in his early philosophical essays published in the Zeitschrift für Sozialforschung, Horkheimer set the agenda for the collaborative work of the Frankfurt School in the social sciences, including analyses of the developments of state capitalism, the family, modern culture, and fascism. His programmatic essays on the relation of philosophy and the social sciences long provided the philosophical basis for Frankfurt School social criticism and research and have profoundly influenced Habermas’s reformulation of Frankfurt School critical theory. In these essays, such as “The Present Situation of Social Philosophy and the Tasks of an Institute for Social Research” (1931), Horkheimer elaborated a cooperative relation between philosophy and the social sciences through an interdisciplinary historical materialism. His “Traditional and Critical Theory” (1937) develops the distinction between “critical” and “traditional” theories in terms of basic goals: critical theories aim at emancipating human beings rather than describing reality as it is now. In the darkest days of World War II Horkheimer began collaborating with Adorno on The Dialectic of Enlightenment (1941), in which they see the origins of modern reason and autonomy in the domination of nature and the inner self. This genealogy of modern reason argues that myth and enlightenment are inseparably “entwined,” a view proposed primarily to explain the catastrophe in which Europe found itself. While Horkheimer thought that a revised notion of Hegelian dialectics might lead beyond this impasse, he never completed this positive project. Instead, he further developed the critique of instrumental reason in such works as Eclipse of Reason (1947), where he argues that modern institutions, including democracy, are under the sway of formal and instrumental rationality and the imperatives of self-preservation. While he did little new work after this period, he turned at the end of his life to a philosophical reinterpretation of religion and the content of religious experience and concepts, developing a negative theology of the “completely Other.” His most enduring influence is his clear formulation of the epistemology of practical and critical social inquiry oriented to human emancipation.

humanism: Grice distinguishes between a human and a person – so he is more of a personalist than a humanism. “But the distinction is implicatural.” He was especially keen on Italian humanism.  a set of presuppositions that assigns to human beings a special position in the scheme of things. Not just a school of thought or a collection of specific beliefs or doctrines, humanism is rather a general perspective from which the world is viewed. That perspective received a gradual yet persistent articulation during different historical periods and continues to furnish a central leitmotif of Western civilization. It comes into focus when it is compared with two competing positions. On the one hand, it can be contrasted with the emphasis on the supernatural, transcendent domain, which considers humanity to be radically dependent on divine order. On the other hand, it resists the tendency to treat humanity scientifically as part of the natural order, on a par with other living organisms. Occupying the middle position, humanism discerns in human beings unique capacities and abilities, to be cultivated and celebrated for their own sake. The word ‘humanism’ came into general use only in the nineteenth century but was applied to intellectual and cultural developments in previous eras. A teacher of classical languages and literatures in Renaissance Italy was described as umanista (contrasted with legista, teacher of law), and what we today call “the humanities,” in the fifteenth century was called studia humanitatis, which stood for grammar, rhetoric, history, literature, and moral philosophy. The inspiration for these studies came from the rediscovery of ancient Greek and Latin texts; Plato’s complete works were translated for the first time, and Aristotle’s philosophy was studied in more accurate versions than those available during the Middle Ages. The unashamedly humanistic flavor of classical writings had a tremendous impact on Renaissance scholars. Here, one felt no weight of the supernatural pressing on the human mind, demanding homage and allegiance. Humanity – with all its distinct capacities, talents, worries, problems, possibilities – was the center of interest. It has been said that medieval thinkers philosophized on their knees, but, bolstered by the new studies, they dared to stand up and to rise to full stature. Instead of devotional Church Latin, the medium of expression was the people’s own language – Italian, French, German, English. Poetical, lyrical self-expression gained momentum, affecting all areas of life. New paintings showed great interest in human form. Even while depicting religious scenes, Michelangelo celebrated the human body, investing it with instrinsic value and dignity. The details of daily life – food, clothing, musical instruments – as well as nature and landscape – domestic and exotic – were lovingly examined in paintings and poetry. Imagination was stirred by stories brought home by the discoverers of new lands and continents, enlarging the scope of human possibilities as exhibited in the customs and the natural environments of strange, remote peoples. The humanist mode of thinking deepened and widened its tradition with the advent of eighteenth-century thinkers. They included French philosophes like Voltaire, Diderot, and Rousseau, and other European and American figures – Bentham, Hume, Lessing, Kant, Franklin, and Jefferson. Not always agreeing with one another, these thinkers nevertheless formed a family united in support of such values as freedom, equality, tolerance, secularism, and cosmopolitanism. Although they championed untrammeled use of the mind, they also wanted it to be applied in social and political reform, encouraging individual creativity and exalting the active over the contemplative life. They believed in the perfectibility of human nature, the moral sense and responsibility, and the possibility of progress. The optimistic motif of perfectibility endured in the thinking of nineteenth- and twentiethcentury humanists, even though the accelerating pace of industrialization, the growth of urban populations, and the rise in crime, nationalistic squabbles, and ideological strife leading to largescale inhumane warfare often put in question the efficacy of humanistic ideals. But even the depressing run of human experience highlighted the appeal of those ideals, reinforcing the humanistic faith in the values of endurance, nobility, intelligence, moderation, flexibility, sympathy, and love. Humanists attribute crucial importance to education, conceiving of it as an all-around development of personality and individual talents, marrying science to poetry and culture to democracy. They champion freedom of thought and opinion, the use of intelligence and pragmatic research in science and technology, and social and political systems governed by representative institutions. Believing that it is possible to live confidently without metaphysical or religious certainty and that all opinions are open to revision and correction, they see human flourishing as dependent on open communication, discussion, criticism, and unforced consensus. Refs.: H. P. Grice, “Italian humanism, Holofernes’s Mantuan, from Petrarca to Valla.”

human nature – Grice distinguishes very sharply between a human and a person – a human becomes a person via transubstantiation, a metaphysical routine – human nature is a quality or group of qualities, belonging to all and only humans, that explains the kind of being we are. We are all two-footed and featherless, but ‘featherless biped’ does not explain our socially significant characteristics. We are also all both animals and rational beings (at least potentially), and ‘rational animal’ might explain the special features we have that other kinds of beings, such as angels, do not. The belief that there is a human nature is part of the wider thesis that all natural kinds have essences. Acceptance of this position is compatible with many views about the specific qualities that constitute human nature. In addition to rationality and embodiment, philosophers have said that it is part of our nature to be wholly selfinterested, benevolent, envious, sociable, fearful of others, able to speak and to laugh, and desirous of immortality. Philosophers disagree about how we are to discover our nature. Some think metaphysical insight into eternal forms or truths is required, others that we can learn it from observation of biology or of behavior. Most have assumed that only males display human nature fully, and that females, even at their best, are imperfect or incomplete exemplars. Philosophers also disagree on whether human nature determines morality. Some think that by noting our distinctive features we can infer what God wills us to do. Others think that our nature shows at most the limits of what morality can require, since it would plainly be pointless to direct us to ways of living that our nature makes impossible. Some philosophers have argued that human nature is plastic and can be shaped in different ways. Others hold that it is not helpful to think in terms of human nature. They think that although we share features as members of a biological species, our other qualities are socially constructed. If the differences between male and female reflect cultural patterns of child rearing, work, and the distribution of power, our biologically common features do not explain our important characteristics and so do not constitute a nature.

Grice and the humboldts: Born in Potsdam, Wilhelm, with his brother Alexander, was educated by private tutors in the enlightened style thought suitable for a Prussian philosopher.This included Grice’s stuff: philosophy and the two classical languages, with a bit of ancient and modern history. After his university studies in law at Frankfurt an der Oder and Göttingen, Humboldt’s career was divided among assorted posts, philosophising on a broad range of topics, notably his first loves, like Grice’s: philosophy and the classical languages. Humboldt’s broad-ranging works reveal the important influences of Herder in his conception of history and culture, Kant and Fichte in philosophy, and the French “Ideologues” in semiotics. His most enduring work has proved to be the Introduction to his massive study of language. Humboldt maintains that language, as a vital and dynamic “organism,” is the key to understanding both the operations of the soul. A language such as Latin possesses a distinctive inner form that shapes, in a way reminiscent of Kant’s more general categories, the subjective experience, the world-view, and ultimately the institutions of Rome. While all philosophers are indebted to both his empirical studies and his theoretical insights on culture, such philosophers as Dilthey and Cassirer acknowledge him as establishing the Latin language as a central concern for the humanities. H. P. Grice, “Alexander and all the Humboldts.”

hume:– “My unfavourite philosopher” – Grice. “His real name was “Home””. See Grice’s “Humean projection,” or “Humeian projection,” “I like his spread.” Philosopher who may be aptly considered the leading neo-skeptic of the early modern period. Many of Hume’s immediate predecessors (Descartes, Bayle, and Berkeley) had grappled with important elements of skepticism. Hume consciously incorporated many of these same elements into a philosophical system that manages to be both skeptical and constructive. Born and educated in Edinburgh, Hume spent three years (1734–37) in France writing the penultimate draft of A Treatise of Human Nature. In middle life, in addition to writing a wide-ranging set of essays and short treatises and a long History of England, he served briefly as companion to a mad nobleman, then as a military attaché, before becoming librarian of the Advocates Library in Edinburgh. In 1763 he served as private secretary to Lord Hertford, the British ambassador in Paris; in 1765 he became secretary to the embassy there and then served as chargé d’affaires. In 1767–68 he served in London as under-secretary of state for the Northern Department. He retired to Edinburgh in 1769 and died there. Hume’s early care was chiefly in the hands of his widowed mother, who reported that young David was “uncommon wake-minded” (i.e., uncommonly acute, in the local dialect of the period). His earliest surviving letter, written in 1727, indicates that even at sixteen he was engaged in the study that resulted in the publication (1739) of the first two volumes of A Treatise of Human Nature. By the time he left college (c.1726) he had a thorough grounding in classical authors, especially Cicero and the major Latin poets; in natural philosophy (particularly that of Boyle) and mathematics; in logic or theory of knowledge, metaphysics, and moral philosophy; and in history. His early reading included many of the major English and French poets and essayists of the period. He reports that in the three years ending about March 1734, he read “most of the celebrated Books in Latin, French & English,” and also learned Italian. Thus, although Hume’s views are often supposed to result from his engagement with only one or two philosophers (with either Locke and Berkeley, or Hutcheson or Newton), the breadth of his reading suggests that no single writer or philosophical tradition provides the comprehensive key to his thought. Hume’s most often cited works include A Treatise of Human Nature (three volumes, 1739–40); an Abstract (1740) of volumes 1 and 2 of the Treatise; a collection of approximately forty essays (Essays Moral, Political, and Literary, first published, for the most part, between 1741 and 1752); An Enquiry concerning Human Understanding (1748); An Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals (1751); The Natural History of Religion (1757); a six-volume History of England from Roman times to 1688 (1754–62); a brief autobiography, My Own Life (1777); and Dialogues concerning Natural Religion (1778). Hume’s neo-skeptical stance manifests itself in each of these works. He insists that philosophy “cannot go beyond experience; and any hypothesis, that pretends to discover the ultimate original qualities of human nature, ought at first to be rejected as presumptuous and chimerical.” He says of the Treatise that it “is very sceptical, and tends to give us a notion of the imperfections and narrow limits of the human understanding.” But he goes well beyond the conventional recognition of human limitations; from his skeptical starting place he projects an observationally based science of human nature, and produces a comprehensive and constructive account of human nature and experience. Hume begins the Treatise with a discussion of the “elements” of his philosophy. Arguing that it is natural philosophers (scientists) who should explain how sensation works, he focuses on those entities that are the immediate and only objects present to the mind. These he calls “perceptions” and distinguishes into two kinds, “impressions” and “ideas.” Hume initially suggests that impressions (of which there are two kinds: of sensation and of reflection) are more forceful or vivacious than ideas, but some ideas (those of memory, e.g.) do sometimes take on enough force and vivacity to be called impressions, and belief also adds sufficient force and vivacity to ideas to make them practically indistinguishable from impressions. In the end we find that impressions are clearly distinguished from ideas only insofar as ideas are always causally dependent on impressions. Thomas Reid charged that the allegedly representative theory of perception found in Descartes and Locke had served as a philosophical Trojan horse leading directly to skeptical despair. Hume was fully aware of the skeptical implications of this theory. He knew well those sections of Bayle and Locke that reveal the inadequacy of Descartes’s attempts to prove that there is an external world, and also appreciated the force of the objections brought by Bayle and Berkeley against the primary–secondary quality distinction championed by Locke. Hume adopted the view that the immediate objects of the mind are always “perceptions” because he thought it correct, and in spite of the fact that it leads to skepticism about the external world. Satisfied that the battle to establish absolutely reliable links between thought and reality had been fought and lost, Hume made no attempt to explain how our impressions of sensation are linked to their entirely “unknown causes.” He instead focused exclusively on perceptions qua objects of mind: As to those impressions, which arise from the senses, their ultimate cause is, in my opinion, perfectly inexplicable by human reason, and ‘twill always be impossible to decide with certainty, whether they arise immediately from the object, or are produc’d by the creative power of the mind, or are deriv’d from the author of our being. Nor is such a question any way material to our present purpose. We may draw inferences from the coherence of our perceptions, whether they be true or false; whether they represent nature justly, or be mere illusions of the senses. Book I of the Treatise is an effort to show how our perceptions cohere to form certain fundamental notions (those of space and time, causal connection, external and independent existence, and mind) in which, skeptical doubts notwithstanding, we repose belief and on which “life and action entirely depend.” According to Hume, we have no direct impressions of space and time, and yet the ideas of space and time are essential to our existence. This he explains by tracing our idea of space to a “manner of appearance”: by means of two senses, sight and touch, we have impressions that array themselves as so many points on a contrasting background; the imagination transforms these particulars of experience into a “compound impression, which represents extension” or the abstract idea of space itself. Our idea of time is, mutatis mutandis, accounted for in the same way: “As ‘tis from the disposition of visible and tangible objects we receive the idea of space, so from the succession of ideas and impressions we form the idea of time.” The abstract idea of time, like all other abstract ideas, is represented in the imagination by a “particular individual idea of a determinate quantity and quality” joined to a term, ‘time’, that has general reference. Hume is often credited with denying there is physical necessity and that we have any idea of necessary connection. This interpretation significantly distorts his intent. Hume was convinced by the Cartesians, and especially by Malebranche, that neither the senses nor reason can establish that one object (a cause) is connected together with another object (an effect) in such a way that the presence of the one entails the existence of the other. Experience reveals only that objects thought to be causally related are contiguous in time and space, that the cause is prior to the effect, and that similar objects have been constantly associated in this way. These are the defining, perceptible features of the causal relation. And yet there seems to be more to the matter. “There is,” he says, a “NECESSARY CONNECTION to be taken into consideration,” and our belief in that relation must be explained. Despite our demonstrated inability to see or prove that there are necessary causal connections, we continue to think and act as if we had knowledge of them. We act, for example, as though the future will necessarily resemble the past, and “wou’d appear ridiculous” if we were to say “that ‘tis only probable the sun will rise to-morrow, or that all men must dye.” To explain this phenomenon Hume asks us to imagine what life would have been like for Adam, suddenly brought to life in the midst of the world. Adam would have been unable to make even the simplest predictions about the future behavior of objects. He would not have been able to predict that one moving billiard ball, striking a second, would cause the second to move. And yet we, endowed with the same faculties, can not only make, but are unable to resist making, this and countless other such predictions. What is the difference between ourselves and this putative Adam? Experience. We have experienced the constant conjunction (the invariant succession of paired objects or events) of particular causes and effects and, although our experience never includes even a glimpse of a causal connection, it does arouse in us an expectation that a particular event (a “cause”) will be followed by another event (an “effect”) previously and constantly associated with it. Regularities of experience give rise to these feelings, and thus determine the mind to transfer its attention from a present impression to the idea of an absent but associated object. The idea of necessary connection is copied from these feelings. The idea has its foundation in the mind and is projected onto the world, but there is nonetheless such an idea. That there is an objective physical necessity to which this idea corresponds is an untestable hypothesis, nor would demonstrating that such necessary connections had held in the past guarantee that they will hold in the future. Thus, while not denying that there may be physical necessity or that there is an idea of necessary connection, Hume remains a skeptic about causal necessity. Hume’s account of our belief in future effects or absent causes – of the process of mind that enables us to plan effectively – is a part of this same explanation. Such belief involves an idea or conception of the entity believed in, but is clearly different from mere conception without belief. This difference cannot be explained by supposing that some further idea, an idea of belief itself, is present when we believe, but absent when we merely conceive. There is no such idea. Moreover, given the mind’s ability to freely join together any two consistent ideas, if such an idea were available we by an act of will could, contrary to experience, combine the idea of belief with any other idea, and by so doing cause ourselves to believe anything. Consequently, Hume concludes that belief can only be a “different MANNER of conceiving an object”; it is a livelier, firmer, more vivid and intense conception. Belief in certain “matters of fact” – the belief that because some event or object is now being experienced, some other event or object not yet available to experience will in the future be experienced – is brought about by previous experience of the constant conjunction of two impressions. These two impressions have been associated together in such a way that the experience of one of them automatically gives rise to an idea of the other, and has the effect of transferring the force or liveliness of the impression to the associated idea, thereby causing this idea to be believed or to take on the lively character of an impression. Our beliefs in continuing and independently existing objects and in our own continuing selves are, on Hume’s account, beliefs in “fictions,” or in entities entirely beyond all experience. We have impressions that we naturally but mistakenly suppose to be continuing, external objects, but analysis quickly reveals that these impressions are by their very nature fleeting and observer-dependent. Moreover, none of our impressions provides us with a distinctive mark or evidence of an external origin. Similarly, when we focus on our own minds, we experience only a sequence of impressions and ideas, and never encounter the mind or self in which these perceptions are supposed to inhere. To ourselves we appear to be merely “a bundle or collection of different perceptions, which succeed each other with an inconceivable rapidity, and are in a perpetual flux and movement.” How do we, then, come to believe in external objects or our own selves and self-identity? Neither reason nor the senses, working with impressions and ideas, provide anything like compelling proof of the existence of continuing, external objects, or of a continuing, unified self. Indeed, these two faculties cannot so much as account for our belief in objects or selves. If we had only reason and the senses, the faculties championed by, respectively, the rationalists and empiricists, we would be mired in a debilitating and destructive uncertainty. So unfortunate an outcome is avoided only by the operation of an apparently unreliable third faculty, the imagination. It, by means of what appear to be a series of outright mistakes and trivial suggestions, leads us to believe in our own selves and in independently existing objects. The skepticism of the philosophers is in this way both confirmed (we can provide no arguments, e.g., proving the existence of the external world) and shown to be of little practical import. An irrational faculty, the imagination, saves us from the excesses of philosophy: “Philosophy wou’d render us entirely Pyrrhonian,” says Hume, were not nature, in the form of the imagination, too strong for it. Books II and III of the Treatise and the Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals reveal Hume’s concern to explain our moral behavior and judgments in a manner that is consistent with his science of human nature, but which nonetheless recognizes the irreducible moral content of these judgments. Thus he attempted to rescue the passions from the ad hoc explanations and negative assessments of his predecessors. From the time of Plato and the Stoics the passions had often been characterized as irrational and unnatural animal elements that, given their head, would undermine humankind’s true, rational nature. Hume’s most famous remark on the subject of the passions, “Reason is, and ought only to be, the slave of the passions,” will be better understood if read in this context (and if it is remembered that he also claims that reason can and does extinguish some passions). In contrast to the long-standing orthodoxy, Hume assumes that the passions constitute an integral and legitimate part of human nature, a part that can be explained without recourse to physical or metaphysical speculation. The passions can be treated as of a piece with other perceptions: they are secondary impressions (“impressions of reflection”) that derive from prior impressions and ideas. Some passions (pride and humility, love and hatred) may be characterized as indirect; i.e., they arise as the result of a double relation of impressions and ideas that gives them one form of intentional character. These passions have both assignable causes (typically, the qualities of some person or some object belonging to a person) and a kind of indirect object (the person with the qualities or objects just mentioned); the object of pride or humility is always oneself, while the object of love or hatred is always another. The direct passions (desire, aversion, hope, fear, etc.) are feelings caused immediately by pleasure or pain, or the prospect thereof, and take entities or events as their intentional objects. In his account of the will Hume claims that while all human actions are caused, they are nonetheless free. He argues that our ascriptions of causal connection have all the same foundation, namely, the observation of a “uniform and regular conjunction” of one object with another. Given that in the course of human affairs we observe “the same uniformity and regular operation of natural principles” found in the physical world, and that this uniformity results in an expectation of exactly the sort produced by physical regularities, it follows that there is no “negation of necessity and causes,” or no liberty of indifference. The will, that “internal impression we feel and are conscious of when we knowingly give rise to” any action or thought, is an effect always linked (by constant conjunction and the resulting feeling of expectation) to some prior cause. But, insofar as our actions are not forcibly constrained or hindered, we do remain free in another sense: we retain a liberty of spontaneity. Moreover, only freedom in this latter sense is consistent with morality. A liberty of indifference, the possibility of uncaused actions, would undercut moral assessment, for such assessments presuppose that actions are causally linked to motives. Morality is for Hume an entirely human affair founded on human nature and the circumstances of human life (one form of naturalism). We as a species possess several notable dispositions that, over time, have given rise to morality. These include a disposition to form bonded family groups, a disposition (sympathy) to communicate and thus share feelings, a disposition – the moral sense – to feel approbation and disapprobation in response to the actions of others, and a disposition to form general rules. Our disposition to form family groups results in small social units in which a natural generosity operates. The fact that such generosity is possible shows that the egoists are mistaken, and provides a foundation for the distinction between virtue and vice. The fact that the moral sense responds differently to distinctive motivations – we feel approbation in response to well-intended actions, disapprobation in response to ill-intended ones – means that our moral assessments have an affective but nonetheless cognitive foundation. To claim that Nero was vicious is to make a judgment about Nero’s motives or character in consequence of an observation of him that has caused an impartial observer to feel a unique sentiment of disapprobation. That our moral judgments have this affective foundation accounts for the practical and motivational character of morality. Reason is “perfectly inert,” and hence our practical, actionguiding moral distinctions must derive from the sentiments or feelings provided by our moral sense. Hume distinguishes, however, between the “natural virtues” (generosity, benevolence, e.g.) and the “artificial virtues” (justice, allegiance, e.g.). These differ in that the former not only produce good on each occasion of their practice, but are also on every occasion approved. In contrast, any particular instantiation of justice may be “contrary to the public good” and be approved only insofar as it is entailed by “a general scheme or system of action, which is advantageous.” The artificial virtues differ also in being the result of contrivance arising from “the circumstances and necessities of life.” In our original condition we did not need the artificial virtues because our natural dispositions and responses were adequate to maintain the order of small, kinshipbased units. But as human numbers increased, so too did the scarcity of some material goods lead to an increase in the possibility of conflict, particularly over property, between these units. As a consequence, and out of self-interest, our ancestors were gradually led to establish conventions governing property and its exchange. In the early stages of this necessary development our disposition to form general rules was an indispensable component; at later stages, sympathy enables many individuals to pursue the artificial virtues from a combination of self-interest and a concern for others, thus giving the fully developed artificial virtues a foundation in two kinds of motivation. Hume’s Enquiry concerning Human Understanding and his Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals represent his effort to “recast” important aspects of the Treatise into more accessible form. His Essays extend his human-centered philosophical analysis to political institutions, economics, and literary criticism. His best-selling History of England provides, among much else, an extended historical analysis of competing Whig and Tory claims about the origin and nature of the British constitution. Hume’s trenchant critique of religion is found principally in his Enquiry concerning Human Understanding, Natural History of Religion, and Dialogues. In an effort to curb the excesses of religious dogmatism, Hume focuses his attention on miracles, on the argument from design, and on the origin of the idea of monotheism. Miracles are putative facts used to justify a commitment to certain creeds. Such commitments are often maintained with a mind-numbing tenacity and a disruptive intolerance toward contrary views. Hume argues that the widely held view of miracles as violations of a law of nature is incoherent, that the evidence for even the most likely miracle will always be counterbalanced by the evidence establishing the law of nature that the miracle allegedly violates, and that the evidence supporting any given miracle is necessarily suspect. His argument leaves open the possibility that violations of the laws of nature may have occurred, but shows that beliefs about such events lack the force of evidence needed to justify the arrogance and intolerance that characterizes so many of the religious. Hume’s critique of the argument from design has a similar effect. This argument purports to show that our well-ordered universe must be the effect of a supremely intelligent cause, that each aspect of this divine creation is well designed to fulfill some beneficial end, and that these effects show us that the Deity is caring and benevolent. Hume shows that these conclusions go well beyond the available evidence. The pleasant and well-designed features of the world are balanced by a good measure of the unpleasant and the plainly botched. Our knowledge of causal connections depends on the experience of constant conjunctions. Such connections cause the vivacity of a present impression to be transferred to the idea associated with it, and leave us believing in that idea. But in this case the effect to be explained, the universe, is unique, and its cause unknown. Consequently, we cannot possibly have experiential grounds for any kind of inference about this cause. On experiential grounds the most we can say is that there is a massive, mixed effect, and, as we have through experience come to believe that effects have causes commensurate to them, this effect probably does have a commensurately large and mixed cause. Furthermore, as the effect is remotely like the products of human manufacture, we can say “that the cause or causes of order in the universe probably bear some remote analogy to human intelligence.” There is indeed an inference to be drawn from the unique effect in question (the universe) to the cause of that effect, but it is not the “argument” of the theologians nor does it in any way support sectarian pretension or intolerance. The Natural History of Religion focuses on the question of the origin of religion in human nature, and delivers a thoroughly naturalistic answer: the widespread but not universal belief in invisible and intelligent power can be traced to derivative and easily perverted principles of our nature. Primitive peoples found physical nature not an orderly whole produced by a beneficent designer, but arbitrary and fearsome, and they came to understand the activities of nature as the effect of petty powers that could, through propitiating worship, be influenced to ameliorate their lives. Subsequently, the same fears and perceptions transformed polytheism into monotheism, the view that a single, omnipotent being created and still controls the world and all that transpires in it. From this conclusion Hume goes on to argue that monotheism, apparently the more sophisticated position, is morally retrograde. Monotheism tends naturally toward zeal and intolerance, encourages debasing, “monkish virtues,” and proves itself a danger to society: it is a source of violence and a cause of immorality. In contrast, polytheism, which Hume here regards as a form of atheism, is tolerant of diversity and encourages genuine virtues that improve humankind. From a moral point of view, at least this one form of atheism is superior to theism.

Tooke Ἒπεα πτερόεντα 

husserl: philosopher and founder of phenomenology. Born in Prossnits (now Proste v jov in the Czech Republic), he studied science and philosophy at Leipzig, mathematics and philosophy at Berlin, and philosophy and psychology at Vienna and Halle. He taught at Halle, Göttingen, and Freiburg (1916–28). Husserl and Frege were the founders of the two major twentiethcentury trends. Through his work and his influence on Russell, Wittgenstein, and others, Frege inspired the movement known as analytic philosophy, while Husserl, through his work and his influence on Heidegger, Sartre, Merleau-Ponty, and others, established the movement known as phenomenology. Husserl began his academic life as a mathematician. He studied at Berlin with Kronecker and Weierstrass and wrote a dissertation in mathematics at Vienna. There, influenced by Brentano, his interests turned toward philosohumors Husserl, Edmund 403 4065h-l.qxd 08/02/1999 7:39 AM Page 403 phy and psychology but remained related to mathematics. His habilitation, written at Halle, was a psychological-philosophical study of the concept of number and led to his first book, The Philosophy of Arithmetic (1891). Husserl distinguishes between numbers given intuitively and those symbolically intended. The former are given as the objective correlates of acts of counting; when we count things set out before us, we constitute groups, and these groups can be compared with each other as more and less. In this way the first few numbers in the number series can be intuitively presented. Although most numbers are only symbolically intended, their sense as numbers is derived from those that are intuitively given. During 1890–1900 Husserl expanded his philosophical concerns from mathematics to logic and the general theory of knowledge, and his reflections culminated in his Logical Investigations (1900–01). The work is made up of six investigations preceded by a volume of prolegomena. The prolegomena are a sustained and effective critique of psychologism, the doctrine that reduces logical entities, such as propositions, universals, and numbers, to mental states or mental activities. Husserl insists on the objectivity of such targets of consciousness and shows the incoherence of reducing them to the activities of mind. The rest of the work examines signs and words, abstraction, parts and wholes, logical grammar, the notion of presentation, and truth and evidence. His earlier distinction between intuitive presentation and symbolic intention is now expanded from our awareness of numbers to the awareness of all sorts of objects of consciousness. The contrast between empty intention and fulfillment or intuition is applied to perceptual objects, and it is also applied to what he calls categorial objects: states of affairs, relationships, causal connections, and the like. Husserl claims that we can have an intellectual intuition of such things and he describes this intuition; it occurs when we articulate an object as having certain features or relationships. The formal structure of categorial objects is elegantly related to the grammatical parts of language. As regards simple material objects, Husserl observes that we can intend them either emptily or intuitively, but even when they are intuitively given, they retain sides that are absent and only cointended by us, so perception itself is a mixture of empty and filled intentions. The term ‘intentionality’ refers to both empty and filled, or signitive and intuitive, intentions. It names the relationship consciousness has toward things, whether those things are directly given or meant only in their absence. Husserl also shows that the identity of things is given to us when we see that the object we once intended emptily is the same as what is actually given to us now. Such identities are given even in perceptual experience, as the various sides and aspects of things continue to present one and the same object, but identities are given even more explicitly in categorial intuition, when we recognize the partial identity between a thing and its features, or when we directly focus on the identity a thing has with itself. These phenomena are described under the general rubric of identitysynthesis. A weakness in the first edition of Logical Investigations was the fact that Husserl remained somewhat Kantian in it and distinguished sharply between the thing as it is given to us and the thing-in-itself; he claimed that in his phenomenology he described only the thing as it is given to us. In the decade 1900–10, through deeper reflection on our experience of time, on memory, and on the nature of philosophical thinking, he overcame this Kantian distinction and claimed that the thing-in-itself can be intuitively given to us as the identity presented in a manifold of appearances. His new position was expressed in Ideas Pertaining to a Pure Phenomenology and Phenomenological Philosophy (1913). The book was misinterpreted by many as adopting a traditional idealism, and many thinkers who admired Husserl’s earlier work distanced themselves from what he now taught. Husserl published three more books. Formal and Transcendental Logic (1929) was written right after his retirement; Cartesian Meditations (1931), which appeared in French translation, was an elaboration of some lectures he gave in Paris. In addition, some earlier manuscripts on the experience of time were assembled by Edith Stein and edited by Heidegger in 1928 as Lectures on the Phenomenology of Inner Time-Consciousness. Thus, Husserl published only six books, but he amassed a huge amount of manuscripts, lecture notes, and working papers. He always retained the spirit of a scientist and did his philosophical work in the manner of tentative experiments. Many of his books can be seen as compilations of such experiments rather than as systematic treatises. Because of its exploratory and developmental character, his thinking does not lend itself to doctrinal summary. Husserl was of Jewish ancestry, and after his death his papers were in danger from the Nazi regime; they were covertly taken out of Germany by a Belgian scholar, Herman Husserl, Edmund Husserl, Edmund 404 4065h-l.qxd 08/02/1999 7:39 AM Page 404 Leo Van Breda, who, after World War II, established the Husserl Archives at Louvain. This institution, with centers at Cologne, Freiburg, Paris, and New York, has since supervised the critical edition of many volumes of Husserl’s writings in the series Husserliana. Husserl believes that things are presented to us in various ways, and that philosophy should be engaged in precise description of these appearances. It should avoid constructing large-scale theories and defending ideologies. It should analyze, e.g., how visual objects are perceived and how they depend on our cognitive activity of seeing, focusing, moving about, on the correlation of seeing with touching and grasping, and so on. Philosophy should describe the different ways in which such “regions of being” as material objects, living things, other persons, and cultural objects are given, how the past and the present are intended, how speech, numbers, time and space, and our own bodies are given to us, and so on. Husserl carries out many such analyses himself and in all of them distinguishes between the object given and the subjective conscious activity we must perform to let it be given. The phenomenological description of the object is called noematic analysis and that of the subjective intentions is called noetic analysis. The noema is the object as described phenomenologically, the noesis is the corresponding mental activity, also as described by phenomenology. The objective and the subjective are correlative but never reducible to one another. In working out such descriptions we must get to the essential structures of things. We do so not by just generalizing over instances we have experienced, but by a process he calls “free variation” or “imaginative variation.” We attempt in our imagination to remove various features from the target of our analysis; the removal of some features would leave the object intact, but the removal of other features would destroy the object; hence, when we come upon the latter we know we have hit on something essential to the thing. The method of imaginative variation thus leads to eidetic intuition, the insight that this or that feature belongs to the eidos, the essence, of the thing in question. Eidetic intuition is directed not only toward objects but also toward the various forms of intentionality, as we try to determine the essence of perception, memory, judging, and the like. Husserl thinks that the eidetic analysis of intentionality and its objects yields apodictic truths, truths that can be seen to be necessary. Examples might be that human beings could not be without a past and future, and that each material perceptual object has sides and aspects other than those presented at any moment. Husserl admits that the objects of perceptual experience, material things, are not given apodictically to perception because they contain parts that are only emptily intended, but he insists that the phenomenological reflection on perceptual experience, the reflection that yields the statement that perception involves a mixture of empty and filled intentions, can be apodictic: we know apodictically that perception must have a mixture of empty and filled intentions. Husserl did admit in the 1920s that although phenomenological experience and statements could be apodictic, they would never be adequate to what they describe, i.e., further clarifications of what they signify could always be carried out. This would mean, e.g., that we can be apodictically sure that human beings could not be what they are if they did not have a sense of past and future, but what it is to have a past and future always needs deeper clarification. Husserl has much to say about philosophical thinking. He distinguishes between the “natural attitude,” our straightforward involvement with things and the world, and the “phenomenological attitude,” the reflective point of view from which we carry out philosophical analysis of the intentions exercised in the natural attitude and the objective correlates of these intentions. When we enter the phenomenological attitude, we put out of action or suspend all the intentions and convictions of the natural attitude; this does not mean that we doubt or negate them, only that we take a distance from them and contemplate their structure. Husserl calls this suspension the phenomenological epoché. In our human life we begin, of course, in the natural attitude, and the name for the processs by which we move to the phenomenological attitude is called the phenomenological reduction, a “leading back” from natural beliefs to the reflective consideration of intentions and their objects. In the phenomenological attitude we look at the intentions that we normally look through, those that function anonymously in our straightforward involvement with the world. Throughout his career, Husserl essayed various “ways to reduction” or arguments to establish philosophy. At times he tried to model the argument on Descartes’s methodical doubt; at times he tried to show that the world-directed sciences need the further supplement of phenomenological reflection if they are to be truly scientific. One of the special features of the natural attitude is that it simply accepts the world as a background or horizon for all our more particular experiences and beliefs. The world is not a large thing nor is it the sum total of things; it is the horizon or matrix for all particular things and states of affairs. The world as noema is correlated to our world-belief or world-doxa as noesis. In the phenomenological attitude we take a distance even toward our natural being in the world and we describe what it is to have a world. Husserl thinks that this sort of radical reflection and radical questioning is necessary for beginning philosophy and entering into what he calls pure or transcendental phenomenology; so long as we fail to question our world-belief and the world as such, we fail to reach philosophical purity and our analyses will in fact become parts of worldly sciences (such as psychology) and will not be philosophical. Husserl distinguishes between the apophantic and the ontological domains. The apophantic is the domain of senses and propositions, while the ontological is the domain of things, states of affairs, relations, and the like. Husserl calls “apophantic analytics” the science that examines the formal, logical structures of the apophantic domain and “formal ontology” the science that examines the formal structures of the ontological domain. The movement between focusing on the ontological domain and focusing on the apophantic domain occurs within the natural attitude, but it is described from the phenomenological attitude. This movement establishes the difference between propositions and states of affairs, and it permits scientific verification; science is established in the zigzag motion between focusing on things and focusing on propositions, which are then verified or falsified when they are confirmed or disconfirmed by the way things appear. Evidence is the activity of either having a thing in its direct presence or experiencing the conformity or disconformity between an empty intention and the intuition that is to fulfill it. There are degrees of evidence; things can be given more or less fully and more or less distinctly. Adequation occurs when an intuition fully satisfies an empty intention. Husserl also makes a helpful distinction between the passive, thoughtless repetition of words and the activity of explicit judging, in which we distinctly make judgments on our own. Explicit thinking can itself fall back into passivity or become “sedimented” as people take it for granted and go on to build further thinking upon it. Such sedimented thought must be reactivated and its meanings revived. Passive thinking may harbor contradictions and incoherences; the application of formal logic presumes judgments that are distinctly executed. In our reflective phenomenological analyses we describe various intentional acts, but we also discover the ego as the owner or agent behind these acts. Husserl distinguishes between the psychological ego, the ego taken as a part of the world, and the transcendental ego, the ego taken as that which has a world and is engaged in truth, and hence to some extent transcends the world. He often comments on the remarkable ambiguity of the ego, which is both a part of the world (as a human being) and yet transcends the world (as a cognitive center that possesses or intends the world). The transcendental ego is not separable from individuals; it is a dimension of every human being. We each have a transcendental ego, since we are all intentional and rational beings. Husserl also devoted much effort to analyzing intersubjectivity and tried to show how other egos and other minds, other centers of conscious and rational awareness, can be presented and intended. The role of the body, the role of speech and other modes of communication, and the fact that we all share things and a world in common are important elements in these analyses. The transcendental ego, the source of all intentional acts, is constituted through time: it has its own identity, which is different from that of the identity of things or states of affairs. The identity of the ego is built up through the flow of experiences and through memory and anticipation. One of Husserl’s major contributions is his analysis of time-consciousness and its relation to the identity of the self, a topic to which he often returns. He distinguishes among the objective time of the world, the inner time of the flow of our experiences (such as acts of perception, judgments, and memories), and a third, still deeper level that he calls “the consciousness of inner time.” It is this third, deepest level, the consciousness of inner time, that permits even our mental acts to be experienced as temporal. This deepest level also provides the ultimate context in which the identity of the ego is constituted. In one way, we achieve our conscious identity through the memories that we store and recall, but these memories themselves have to be stitched together by the deepest level of temporality in order to be recoverable as belonging to one and the same self. Husserl observes that on this deepest level of the consciousness of inner time, we never have a simple atomic present: what we come to as ultimate is a moving form Husserl, Edmund Husserl, Edmund 406 4065h-l.qxd 08/02/1999 7:39 AM Page 406 that has a retention of the immediate past, a protention of that which is coming, and a central core. This form of inner time-consciousness, the form of what Husserl calls “the living present,” is prior even to the ego and is a kind of apex reached by his philosophical analysis. One of the important themes that Husserl developed in the last decade of his work is that of the life-world or Lebenswelt. He claims that scientific and mathematical abstraction has roots in the prescientific world, the world in which we live. This world has its own structures of appearance, identification, evidence, and truth, and the scientific world is established on its basis. One of the tasks of phenomenology is to show how the idealized entities of science draw their sense from the life-world. Husserl claims, e.g., that geometrical forms have their roots in the activity of measuring and in the idealization of the volumes, surfaces, edges, and intersections we experience in the life-world. The sense of the scientific world and its entities should not be placed in opposition to the life-world, but should be shown, by phenomenological analysis, to be a development of appearances found in it. In addition, the structures and evidences of the lifeworld itself must be philosophically described. Husserl’s influence in philosophy has been very great during the entire twentieth century, especially in Continental Europe. His concept of intentionality is understood as a way of overcoming the Cartesian dualism between mind and world, and his study of signs, formal systems, and parts and wholes has been valuable in structuralism and literary theory. His concept of the life-world has been used as a way of integrating science with wider forms of human activity, and his concepts of time and personal identity have been useful in psychoanalytic theory and existentialism. He has inspired work in the social sciences and recently his ideas have proved helpful to scholars in cognitive science and artificial intelligence.

hutcheson: philosopher who was the chief exponent of the early modern moral sense theory and of a similar theory postulating a sense of beauty. He was born in Drumalig, Ireland, and completed his theological training in 1717 at the University of Glasgow, where he later taught moral philosophy. He was a Presbyterian minister and founded an academy for Presbyterian youth in Dublin. Sparked by Hobbes’s thesis, in Leviathan (1651), that human beings always act out of selfinterest, moral debate in the eighteenth century was preoccupied with the possibility of a genuine benevolence. Hutcheson characterized his first work, An Inquiry into the Original of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue (1725), as a defense of the nonegoistic moral sense theory of his more immediate predecessor, Shaftesbury, against the egoism of Bernard Mandeville (1670–1733). His second work, An Essay on the Nature and Conduct of the Passions and Affections with Illustrations on the Moral Sense (1728), explores the psychology of human action, apparently influenced by Butler’s classification of the passions (in his Sermons, 1726). Hutcheson asserts the existence of several “internal” senses – i.e., capacities for perceptual responses to concepts (such as one’s idea of Nero’s character), as opposed to perceptions of physical objects. Among these internal senses are those of honor, sympathy, morality, and beauty. Only the latter two, however, are discussed in detail by Hutcheson, who develops his account of each within the framework of Locke’s empiricist epistemology. For Hutcheson, the idea of beauty is produced in us when we experience pleasure upon thinking of certain natural objects or artifacts, just as our idea of moral goodness is occasioned by the approval we feel toward an agent when we think of her actions, even if they in no way benefit us. Beauty and goodness (and their opposites) are analogous to Lockean secondary qualities, such as colors, tastes, smells, and sounds, in that their existence depends somehow on the minds of perceivers. The quality the sense of beauty consistently finds pleasurable is a pattern of “uniformity amidst variety,” while the quality the moral sense invariably approves is benevolence. A principal reason for thinking we possess a moral sense, according to Hutcheson, is that we approve of many actions unrelated or even contrary to our interests – a fact that suggests not all approval is reason-based. Further, he argues that attempts to explain our feelings of approval or disapproval without referring to a moral sense are futile: our reasons are ultimately grounded in the fact that we simply are constituted to care about others and take pleasure in benevolence (the quality of being concerned about others for their own sakes). For instance, we approve of temperance because overindulgence signifies selfishness, and selfishness is contrary to benevolence. Hutcheson also finds that the ends promoted by the benevolent person have a tendency to produce the greatest happiness for the greatest number. Thus, since he regards being motivated by benevolence as what makes actions morally good, Hutcheson’s theory is a version of motive utilitarianism. On Hutcheson’s moral psychology, we are motivated, ultimately, not by reason alone, but by desires that arise in us at the prospect of our own or others’ pleasure. Hutcheson formulates several quantitative maxims that purport to relate the strength of motivating desires to the degrees of good, or benefit, projected for different actions – an analysis that anticipates Bentham’s hedonic calculus. Hutcheson was also one of the first philosophers to recognize and make use of the distinction between exciting, or motivating, reasons and justifying reasons. Exciting reasons are affections, or desires, ascribed to an agent as motives that explain particular actions. Justifying reasons derive from the approval of the moral sense and serve to indicate why a certain action is morally good. The connection between these two kinds of reasons has been a source of considerable debate. Contemporary critics included John Balguy (1686–1748), who charged that Hutcheson’s moral theory renders virtue arbitrary, since it depends on whatever human nature God happened to give us, which could just as well have been such as to make us delight in malice. Hutcheson discussed his views in correspondence with Hume, who later sent Hutcheson the unpublished manuscript of his own account of moral sentiment (Book III of A Treatise of Human Nature). As a teacher of Adam Smith, Hutcheson helped shape Smith’s widely influential economic and moral theories. Hutcheson’s major works also include A Short Introduction to Moral Philosophy (originally published in Latin in 1742) and A System of Moral Philosophy (1755).

huygens: c., physicist and astronomer who ranked among the leading experimental scientists of his time and influenced many other thinkers, including Leibniz. He wrote on physics and astronomy in Latin (Horologium Oscillatorium, 1673; De Vi Centrifuga, 1703) and in French for the Journal des Scavans. He became a founding member of the French Academy of Sciences. Huygens ground lenses, built telescopes, discovered the rings of Saturn, and invented the pendulum clock. His most popular composition, Cosmotheoros (1699), inspired by Fontenelle, praises a divine architect and conjectures the possible existence of rational beings on other planets.

materia: One of Grice’s twelve labours is against Materialism -- Cicero’s translation of hyle, ancient Greek term for matter. Aristotle brought the word into use in philosophy by contrast with the term for form, and as designating one of the four causes. By hyle Aristotle usually means ‘that out of which something has been made’, but he can also mean by it ‘that which has form’. In Aristotelian philosophy hyle is sometimes also identified with potentiality and with substrate. Neoplatonists identified hyle with the receptacle of Plato.

forma: Grice always found ‘logical form’ redundant (“Surely we are not into ‘matter’ – that would be cheap!”) – “‘materia-forma’ is the unity, as the Grecians well knew.”- hylomorphism, the doctrine, first taught by Aristotle, that concrete substance consists of form in matter (hyle). The details of this theory are explored in the central books of Aristotle’s Metaphysics (Zeta, Eta, and Theta).

hylozoism: from Greek hyle, ‘matter’, and zoe, ‘life’), the doctrine that matter is intrinsically alive, or that all bodies, from the world as a whole down to the smallest corpuscle, have some degree or some kind of life. It differs from panpsychism though the distinction is sometimes blurred – in upholding the universal presence of life per se, rather than of soul or of psychic attributes. Inasmuch as it may also hold that there are no living entities not constituted of matter, hylozoism is often criticized by theistic philosophers as a form of atheism. The term was introduced polemically by Ralph Cudworth, the seventeenth-century Cambridge Platonist, to help define a position that is significantly in contrast to soul–body dualism (Pythagoras, Plato, Descartes), reductive materialism (Democritus, Hobbes), and Aristotelian hylomorphism. So understood, hylozoism had many advocates in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, among both scientists and naturalistically minded philosophers. In the twentieth century, the term has come to be used, rather unhelpfully, to characterize the animistic and naive-vitalist views of the early Greek philosophers, especially Thales, Anaximenes, Heraclitus, and Empedocles – who could hardly count as hylozoists in Cudworth’s sophisticated sense.

substantia – hypostasis, the process of regarding a concept or abstraction as an independent or real entity. The verb forms ‘hypostatize’ and ‘reify’ designate the acts of positing objects of a certain sort for the purposes of one’s theory. It is sometimes implied that a fallacy is involved in so describing these processes or acts, as in ‘Plato was guilty of the reification of universals’. The issue turns largely on criteria of ontological commitment.

Hypostasis: Arianism, diverse but related teachings in early Christianity that subordinated the Son to God the Father. In reaction the church developed its doctrine of the Trinity, whereby the Son and Holy Spirit, though distinct persons hypostases, share with the Father, as his ontological equals, the one being or substance ousia of God. Arius taught in Alexandria, where, on the hierarchical model of Middle Platonism, he sharply distinguished Scripture’s transcendent God from the Logos or Son incarnate in Jesus. The latter, subject to suffering and humanly obedient to God, is inferior to the immutable Creator, the object of that obedience. God alone is eternal and ungenerated; the Son, divine not by nature but by God’s choosing, is generated, with a beginning: the unique creature, through whom all else is made. The Council of Nicea, in 325, condemned Arius and favored his enemy Athanasius, affirming the Son’s creatorhood and full deity, having the same being or substance homoousios as the Father. Arianism still flourished, evolving into the extreme view that the Son’s being was neither the same as the Father’s nor like it homoiousios, but unlike it anomoios. This too was anathematized, by the Council of 381 at Constantinople, which, ratifying what is commonly called the Nicene Creed, sealed orthodox Trinitarianism and the equality of the three persons against Arian subordinationism. 

suppositum – Cicero for ‘hypothesis’, as in ‘hypothetico-deductive’ – a hypothetico-deductive method, a method of testing hypotheses. Thought to be preferable to the method of enumerative induction, whose limitations had been decisively demonstrated by Hume, the hypothetico-deductive (H-D) method has been viewed by many as the ideal scientific method. It is applied by introducing an explanatory hypothesis resulting from earlier inductions, a guess, or an act of creative imagination. The hypothesis is logically conjoined with a statement of initial conditions. The purely deductive consequences of this conjunction are derived as predictions, and the statements asserting them are subjected to experimental or observational test. More formally, given (H • A) P O, H is the hypothesis, A a statement of initial conditions, and O one of the testable consequences of (H • A). If the hypothesis is ‘all lead is malleable’, and ‘this piece of lead is now being hammered’ states the initial conditions, it follows deductively that ‘this piece of lead will change shape’. In deductive logic the schema is formally invalid, committing the logical fallacy of affirming the consequent. But repeated occurrences of O can be said to confirm the conjunction of H and A, or to render it more probable. On the other hand, the schema is deductively valid (the argument form modus tollens). For this reason, Karl Popper and his followers think that the H-D method is best employed in seeking falsifications of theoretical hypotheses. Criticisms of the method point out that infinitely many hypotheses can explain, in the H-D mode, a given body of data, so that successful predictions are not probative, and that (following Duhem) it is impossible to test isolated singular hypotheses because they are always contained in complex theories any one of whose parts is eliminable in the face of negative evidence.

I: particularis dedicativa.. See Grice, “Circling the Square of Opposition.

ichthyological necessity: topic-neutral: Originally, Ryle’s term for logical constants, such as “of ” “not,” “every.” They are not endowed with special meanings, and are applicable to discourse about any subject-matter. They do not refer to any external object but function to organize meaningful discourse. J. J. C. Smart calls a term topic-neutral if it is noncommittal about designating something mental or something physical. Instead, it simply describes an event without judging the question of its intrinsic nature. In his central-state theory of mind, Smart develops a topic-neutral analysis of mental expressions and argues that it is possible to account for the situations described by mental concepts in purely physical and topic-neutral terms. “In this respect, statements like ‘I am thinking now’ are, as J. J. C. Smart puts it, topic-neutral. They say that something is going on within us, something apt for the causing of certain sorts of behaviour, but they say nothing of the nature of this process.” D. Armstrong, A Materialist Theory of the Mind

icon -- Would Ciero prefer the spelling ‘eiconicus’ or ‘iconicus’? We know Pliny preferred ‘icon.’īcon , ŏnis, f., = εἰκών,I.an image, figure: “fictae ceră icones,” Plin. 8, 54, 80, § 215.Iconicity -- depiction, pictorial representation, also sometimes called “iconic representation.” Linguistic representation is conventional: it is only by virtue of a convention that the word ‘cats’ refers to cats. A picture of a cat, however, seems to refer to cats by other than conventional means; for viewers can correctly interpret pictures without special training, whereas people need special training to learn languages. Though some philosophers, such as Goodman Languages of Art, deny that depiction involves a non-conventional element, most are concerned to give an account of what this non-conventional element consists in. Some hold that it consists in resemblance: pictures refer to their objects partly by resembling them. Objections to this are that anything resembles anything else to some degree; and that resemblance is a symmetric and reflexive relation, whereas depiction is not. Other philosophers avoid direct appeal to resemblance: Richard Wollheim Painting as an Art argues that depiction holds by virtue of the intentional deployment of the natural human capacity to see objects in marked surfaces; and dependence, causal depiction Kendall Walton Mimesis as Make-Believe argues that depiction holds by virtue of objects serving as props in reasonably rich and vivid visual games of make-believe. 

forma: ideatum – Cicero was a bit at a loss when trying to translate the Greek eidos or idea. For ‘eidos’ he had forma, but the Romans seemed to have liked the sound of ‘idea,’ and Martianus Capella even coined ‘ideal,’ which Kant and Grice later used. idea, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, whatever is immediately before the mind when one thinks. The notion of thinking was taken in a very broad sense; it included perception, memory, and imagination, in addition to thinking narrowly construed. In connection with perception, ideas were often (though not always – Berkeley is the exception) held to be representational images, i.e., images of something. In other contexts, ideas were taken to be concepts, such as the concept of a horse or of an infinite quantity, though concepts of these sorts certainly do not appear to be images. An innate idea was either a concept or a general truth, such as ‘Equals added to equals yield equals’, that was allegedly not learned but was in some sense always in the mind. Sometimes, as in Descartes, innate ideas were taken to be cognitive capacities rather than concepts or general truths, but these capacities, too, were held to be inborn. An adventitious idea, either an image or a concept, was an idea accompanied by a judgment concerning the non-mental cause of that idea. So, a visual image was an adventitious idea provided one judged of that idea that it was caused by something outside one’s mind, presumably by the object being seen. From Idea Alston coined ‘ideationalism’ to refer to Grice’s theory. “Grice’s is an ideationalist theory of meaning, drawn from Locke.”Alston calls Grice an ideationalist, and Grice takes it as a term of abuse. Grice would occasionally use ‘mental.’ Short and Lewis have "mens.” “terra corpus est, at mentis ignis est;” so too, “istic est de sole sumptus; isque totus mentis est;”  f. from the root ‘men,’ whence ‘memini,’  and ‘comminiscor.’ Lewis and Short render ‘mens’ as ‘the mind, disposition; the heart, soul.’ Lewis and Short have ‘commĭniscor,’ originally conminiscor ), mentus, from ‘miniscor,’ whence also ‘reminiscor,’ stem ‘men,’ whence ‘mens’ and ‘memini,’  cf. Varro, Lingua Latina 6, § 44. Lewis and Short render the verb as, literally, ‘to ponder carefully, to reflect upon;’ ‘hence, as a result of reflection; cf. 1. commentor, II.), to devise something by careful thought, to contrive, invent, feign. Myro is perhaps unaware of the implicatura of ‘mental’ when he qualifies his -ism with ‘modest.’ Grice would seldom use mind (Grecian nous) or mental (Grecian noetikos vs. æsthetikos). His sympathies go for more over-arching Grecian terms like the very Aristotelian soul, the anima, i. e. the psyche and the psychological. Grice discusses G. Myro’s essay, ‘In defence of a modal mentalism,’ with attending commentary by R. Albritton and S. Cavell. Grice himself would hardly use mental, mentalist, or mentalism himself, but perhaps psychologism. Grice would use mental, on occasion, but his Grecianism was deeply rooted, unlike Myro’s. At Clifton and under Hardie (let us recall he came up to Oxford under a classics scholarship to enrol in the Lit. Hum.) he knows that mental translates mentalis translates nous, only ONE part, one third, actually, of the soul, and even then it may not include the ‘practical rational’ one! Cf. below on ‘telementational.’

formalism: Cicero’s translation for ‘idealism,’ or ideism -- the philosophical doctrine that reality is somehow mind-correlative or mind-coordinated – that the real objects constituting the “external world” are not independent of cognizing minds, but exist only as in some way correlative to mental operations. The doctrine centers on the conception that reality as we understand it reflects the workings of mind. Perhaps its most radical version is the ancient Oriental spiritualistic or panpsychistic idea, renewed in Christian Science, that minds and their thoughts are all there is – that reality is simply the sum total of the visions (or dreams?) of one or more minds. A dispute has long raged within the idealist camp over whether “the mind” at issue in such idealistic formulas was a mind emplaced outside of or behind nature (absolute idealism), or a nature-pervasive power of rationality of some sort (cosmic idealism), or the collective impersonal social mind of people in general (social idealism), or simply the distributive collection of individual minds (personal idealism). Over the years, the less grandiose versions of the theory came increasingly to the fore, and in recent times virtually all idealists have construed “the minds” at issue in their theory as separate individual minds equipped with socially engendered resources. There are certainly versions of idealism short of the spiritualistic position of an ontological idealism that (as Kant puts it at Prolegomena, section 13, n. 2) holds that “there are none but thinking beings.” Idealism need certainly not go so far as to affirm that mind makes or constitutes matter; it is quite enough to maintain (e.g.) that all of the characterizing properties of physical existents resemble phenomenal sensory properties in representing dispositions to affect mind-endowed creatures in a certain sort of way, so that these properties have no standing without reference to minds. Weaker still is an explanatory idealism which merely holds that an adequate explanation of the real always requires some recourse to the operations of mind. Historically, positions of the generally idealistic type have been espoused by numerous thinkers. For example, Berkeley maintained that “to be [real] is to be perceived” (esse est percipi). And while this does not seem particularly plausible because of its inherent commitment to omniscience, it seems more sensible to adopt “to be is to be perceivable” (esse est percipile esse). For Berkeley, of course, this was a distinction without a difference: if something is perceivable at all, then God perceives it. But if we forgo philosophical reliance on God, the matter looks different, and pivots on the question of what is perceivable for perceivers who are physically realizable in “the real world,” so that physical existence could be seen – not so implausibly – as tantamount to observability-in-principle. The three positions to the effect that real things just exactly are things as philosophy or as science or as “common sense” takes them to be – positions generally designated as Scholastic, scientific, and naive realism, respectively – are in fact versions of epistemic idealism exactly because they see reals as inherently knowable and do not contemplate mind-transcendence for the real. Thus, the thesis of naive (“commonsense”) realism that ‘External things exist exactly as we know them’ sounds realistic or idealistic according as one stresses the first three words of the dictum or the last four. Any theory of natural teleology that regards the real as explicable in terms of value could to this extent be counted as idealistic, in that valuing is by nature a mental process. To be sure, the good of a creature or species of creatures (e.g., their well-being or survival) need not be something mind-represented. But nevertheless, goods count as such precisely because if the creatures at issue could think about it, they would adopt them as purposes. It is this circumstance that renders any sort of teleological explanation at least conceptually idealistic in nature. Doctrines of this sort have been the stock-in-trade of philosophy from the days of Plato (think of the Socrates of the Phaedo) to those of Leibniz, with his insistence that the real world must be the best possible. And this line of thought has recently surfaced once more in the controversial “anthropic principle” espoused by some theoretical physicists. Then too it is possible to contemplate a position along the lines envisioned in Fichte’s Wissenschaftslehre (The Science of Knowledge), which sees the ideal as providing the determining factor for the real. On such a view, the real is not characterized by the science we actually have but by the ideal science that is the telos of our scientific efforts. On this approach, which Wilhelm Wundt characterized as “ideal-realism” (Idealrealismus; see his Logik, vol. 1, 2d ed., 1895), the knowledge that achieves adequation to the real idea, clear and distinct idealism (adaequatio ad rem) by adequately characterizing the true facts in scientific matters is not the knowledge actually afforded by present-day science, but only that of an ideal or perfected science. Over the years, many objections to idealism have been advanced. Samuel Johnson thought to refute Berkeley’s phenomenalism by kicking a stone. He conveniently forgot that Berkeley goes to great lengths to provide for stones – even to the point of invoking the aid of God on their behalf. Moore pointed to the human hand as an undeniably mind-external material object. He overlooked that, gesticulate as he would, he would do no more than induce people to accept the presence of a hand on the basis of the handorientation of their experience. Peirce’s “Harvard Experiment” of letting go of a stone held aloft was supposed to establish Scholastic realism because his audience could not control their expectation of the stone’s falling to earth. But an uncontrollable expectation is still an expectation, and the realism at issue is no more than a realistic thought-exposure. Kant’s famous “Refutation of Idealism” argues that our conception of ourselves as mindendowed beings presupposes material objects because we view our mind-endowed selves as existing in an objective temporal order, and such an order requires the existence of periodic physical processes (clocks, pendula, planetary regularities) for its establishment. At most, however, this argument succeeds in showing that such physical processes have to be assumed by minds, the issue of their actual mind-independent existence remaining unaddressed. (Kantian realism is an intraexperiential “empirical” realism.) It is sometimes said that idealism confuses objects with our knowledge of them and conflates the real with our thought about it. But this charge misses the point. The only reality with which we inquirers can have any cognitive commerce is reality as we conceive it to be. Our only information about reality is via the operation of mind – our only cognitive access to reality is through the mediation of mind-devised models of it. Perhaps the most common objection to idealism turns on the supposed mind-independence of the real: “Surely things in nature would remain substantially unchanged if there were no minds.” This is perfectly plausible in one sense, namely the causal one – which is why causal idealism has its problems. But it is certainly not true conceptually. The objector has to specify just exactly what would remain the same. “Surely roses would smell just as sweet in a minddenuded world!” Well . . . yes and no. To be sure, the absence of minds would not change roses. But roses and rose fragrance and sweetness – and even the size of roses – are all factors whose determination hinges on such mental operations as smelling, scanning, measuring, and the like. Mind-requiring processes are needed for something in the world to be discriminated as a rose and determined to bear certain features. Identification, classification, property attribution are all required and by their very nature are all mental operations. To be sure, the role of mind is here hypothetical. (“If certain interactions with duly constituted observers took place, then certain outcomes would be noted.”) But the fact remains that nothing could be discriminated or characterized as a rose in a context where the prospect of performing suitable mental operations (measuring, smelling, etc.) is not presupposed. Perhaps the strongest argument favoring idealism is that any characterization of the real that we can devise is bound to be a mind-constructed one: our only access to information about what the real is is through the mediation of mind. What seems right about idealism is inherent in the fact that in investigating the real we are clearly constrained to use our own concepts to address our own issues – that we can learn about the real only in our own terms of reference. But what seems right about realism is that the answers to the questions we put to the real are provided by reality itself – whatever the answers may be, they are substantially what they are because it is reality itself that determines them to be that way. -- idealism, Critical.

ordinary language – opposed to ‘ideal’ language -- ideal language, a system of notation that would correct perceived deficiencies of ordinary language by requiring the structure of expressions to mirror the structure of that which they represent. The notion that conceptual errors can be corrected and philosophical problems solved (or dissolved) by properly representing them in some such system figured prominently in the writings of Leibniz, Carnap, Russell, Wittgenstein, and Frege, among others. For Russell, the ideal, or “logically perfect,” language is one in which grammatical form coincides with logical form, there are no vague or ambiguous expres sions, and no proper names that fail to denote. Frege’s Begriffsschrift is perhaps the most thorough and successful execution of the ideal language project. Deductions represented within this system (or its modern descendants) can be effectively checked for correctness.

Oxford idealism: Grice is a member of “The F. H. Bradley Society,” at Mansfield. -- ideal market, a hypothetical market, used as a tool of economic analysis, in which all relevant agents are perfectly informed of the price of the good in question and the cost of its production, and all economic transactions can be undertaken with no cost. A specific case is a market exemplifying perfect competition. The term is sometimes extended to apply to an entire economy consisting of ideal markets for every good.  -- ideal observer, a hypothetical being, possessed of various qualities and traits, whose moral reactions (judgments or attitudes) to actions, persons, and states of affairs figure centrally in certain theories of ethics. There are two main versions of ideal observer theory: (a) those that take the reactions of ideal observers as a standard of the correctness of moral judgments, and (b) those that analyze the meanings of moral judgments in terms of the reactions of ideal observers. Theories of the first sort – ideal observer theories of correctness – hold, e.g., that judgments like ‘John’s lying to Brenda about her father’s death was wrong (bad)’ are correct provided any ideal observer would have a negative attitude toward John’s action. Similarly, ‘Alison’s refusal to divulge confidential information about her patient was right (good)’ is correct provided any ideal observer would have a positive attitude toward that action. This version of the theory can be traced to Adam Smith, who is usually credited with introducing the concept of an ideal observer into philosophy, though he used the expression ‘impartial spectator’ to refer to the concept. Regarding the correctness of moral judgments, Smith wrote: “That precise and distinct measure can be found nowhere but in the sympathetic feelings of the impartial and well-informed spectator” (A Theory of Moral Sentiments, 1759). Theories of a second sort – ideal observer theories of meaning – take the concept of an ideal observer as part of the very meaning of ordinary moral judgments. Thus, according to Roderick Firth (“Ethical Absolutism and the Ideal Observer,” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 1952), moral judgments of the form ‘x is good (bad)’, on this view, mean ‘All ideal observers would feel moral approval (disapproval) toward x’, and similarly for other moral judgments (where such approvals and disapprovals are characterized as felt desires having a “demand quality”). Different conceptions of an ideal observer result from variously specifying those qualities and traits that characterize such beings. Smith’s characterization includes being well informed and impartial. However, according to Firth, an ideal observer must be omniscient; omnipercipient, i.e., having the ability to imagine vividly any possible events or states of affairs, including the experiences and subjective states of others; disinterested, i.e., having no interests or desires that involve essential reference to any particular individuals or things; dispassionate; consistent; and otherwise a “normal” human being. Both versions of the theory face a dilemma: on the one hand, if ideal observers are richly characterized as impartial, disinterested, and normal, then since these terms appear to be moral-evaluative terms, appeal to the reactions of ideal observers (either as a standard of correctness or as an analysis of meaning) is circular. On the other hand, if ideal observers receive an impoverished characterization in purely non-evaluative terms, then since there is no reason to suppose that such ideal observers will often all agree in their reactions to actions, people, and states of affairs, most moral judgments will turn out to be incorrect. Grice: “We have to distinguish between idealism and hegelianism; but the English being as they are, they don’t! And being English, I shouldn’t, either!” – “There is so-called ‘idealist’ logic; if so, there is so called ‘idealist implicaturum’” “My favourite idealist philosopher is Bosanquet.” “I like Bradley because Russell was once a Bradleyian, when it was fashionable to be so! But surely Russell lacked the spirit to understand, even, Bradley! It is so much easier to mock him!” --. Refs.: H. P. Grice, “Pre-war Oxford philosophy.” The reference to mentalism in the essay on ‘modest mentalism,’ after Myro, in The H. P. Grice Papers, BANC.

ideatum. Quite used by Grice. Cf. Conceptum. Sub-perceptual. Cognate with ‘eidos,’ that Grice translates as ‘forma.’ Why is an ‘eidos’ an ‘idea’ and in what sense is an idea a ‘form’? These are deep questions!

idem: a key philosophical notion that encompasses linguistic, logic, and metaphysical issues, and also epistemology. Possibly the central question in philosophy. Vide the principle of ‘identity.’ amicus est tamquam alter idem,” a second self, Identicum. Grecian ‘tautotes.’ late L. identitās (Martianus Capella, c425), peculiarly formed from ident(i)-, for L. idem ‘same’ + -tās, -tātem: see -ty.  Various suggestions have been offered as to the formation. Need was evidently felt of a noun of condition or quality from idem to express the notion of ‘sameness’, side by side with those of ‘likeness’ and ‘oneness’ expressed by similitās and ūnitās: hence the form of the suffix.  But idem had no combining stem.  Some have thought that ident(i)- was taken from the L. adv. "identidem" ‘over and over again, repeatedly’, connexion with which appears to be suggested by Du Cange's explanation of identitās as ‘quævis actio repetita’. Meyer-Lübke suggests that in the formation there was present some association between idem and id ens ‘that being’, whence "identitās" like "entitās." But assimilation to "entitās" may have been merely to avoid the solecism of *idemitās or *idemtās. sameness. However originated, "ident(i)-" (either from adverb "identidem" or an assimilation of "id ens," "id ens," that being, "id entitas" "that entity") became the combining stem of idem, and the series ūnitās, ūnicus, ūnificus, ūnificāre, was paralleled by identitās, identicus, identificus, identificāre: see identic, identific, identify above.] to  OED 3rd: identity, n. Pronunciation:  Brit./ʌɪˈdɛntᵻti/ , U.S. /aɪˈdɛn(t)ədi/ Forms:  15 idemptitie, 15 ydemptyte, 15–16 identitie, 15– identity, 16 idemptity.  Etymology: < Middle French identité, ydemtité, ydemptité, ydentité (French identité) quality or condition of being the same (a1310; 1756 in sense ‘individuality, personality’, 1801 in sense ‘distinct impression of a single person or thing presented to or perceived by others’) and its etymon post-classical Latin identitat-, identitas quality of being the same (4th cent.), condition or fact that a person or thing is itself and not something else (8th cent. in a British source), fact of being the same (from 12th cent. in British sources), continual sameness, lack of variety, monotony (from 12th cent. in British sources; 14th cent. in a continental source) < classical Latin idem same (see idem n.) + -tās (see -ty suffix1) [sameness], after post-classical Latin essentitas ‘being’ (4th cent.).The Latin word was formed to provide a translation equivalent for ancient Greek ταὐτότης (tautotes) identity. identity: identity was a key concept for Grice. Under identity, he views both identity simpliciter and personal identity. Grice advocates psychological or soul criterianism. Psychological or soul criterianism has been advocated, in one form or another, by philosophers such as Locke, Butler, Duncan-Jones, Berkeley, Gallie, Grice, Flew, Haugeland, Jones, Perry, Shoemaker and Parfit, and Quinton. What all of these theories have in common is the idea that, even if it is the case that some kind of physical states are necessary for being a person, it is the unity of consciousness which is of decisive importance for personal identity over time. In this sense, person is a term which picks out a psychological, or mental, "thing". In claiming this, all Psychological Criterianists entail the view that personal identity consists in the continuity of psychological features. It is interesting that Flew has an earlier "Selves," earlier than his essay on Locke on personal identity. The first, for Mind, criticising Jones, "The self in sensory cognition"; the second for Philosophy. Surely under the tutelage of Grice. Cf. Jones, Selves: A reply to Flew, Philosophy.  The stronger thesis asserts that there is no conceivable situation in which bodily identity would be necessary, some other conditions being always both necessary and sufficient. Grice takes it that Locke’s theory (II, 27) is an example of this latter type. To say "Grice remembers that he heard a noise", without irony or inverted commas, is to imply that Grice did hear a noise. In this respect remember is like, know, a factive. It does not follow from this, nor is it true, that each claim to remember, any more than each claim to know, is alethic or veridical; or, not everything one seems to remember is something one really remembers. So much is obvious, although Locke -- although admittedly referring only to the memory of actions, section 13 -- is forced to invoke the providence of God to deny the latter. These points have been emphasised by Flew in his discussion of Locke’s views on personal identity. In formulating Locke’ thesis, however, Flew makes a mistake; for he offers Lockes thesis in the form if Grice can remember Hardies doing such-and-such, Grice and Hardie are the same person. But this obviously will not do, even for Locke, for we constantly say things like I remember my brother Derek joining the army without implying that I and my brother are the same person. So if we are to formulate such a criterion, it looks as though we have to say something like the following. If Derek Grice remembers joining my, he is the person who did that thing. But since remembers doing means remembers himself doing, this is trivially tautologous, and moreover lends colour to Butlers famous objection that memory, so far from constituting personal identity, presupposes it.  As Butler puts it, one should really think it self-evident that consciousness of personal identity presupposes, and therefore cannot constitute, personal identity; any more than knowledge, in any other case, can constitute truth, which it presupposes. Butler then asserts that Locke’s misstep stems from his methodology. This wonderful mistake may possibly have arisen from hence; that to be endued with consciousness is inseparable from the idea of a person, or intelligent being. For this might be expressed inaccurately thus, that consciousness makes personality: and from hence it might be concluded to make personal identity. One of the points that Locke emphasizes—that persistence conditions are determined via defining kind terms—is what, according to Butler, leads Locke astray.  Butler additionally makes the point that memory is not required for personal persistence. But though present consciousness of what we at present do and feel is necessary to our being the persons we now are; yet present consciousness of past actions or feelings is not necessary to our being the same persons who performed those actions, or had those feelings. This is a point that others develop when they assert that Lockes view results in contradiction. Hence the criterion should rather run as follows. If Derek Grice claims to remember joining the army. We must then ask how such a criterion might be used.  Grices example is: I remember I smelled a smell. He needs two experiences to use same. I heard a noise and I smelled a smell.The singular defines the hearing of a noise is the object of some consciousness. The pair defines, "The hearing of a noise and the smelling of a smell are objects of the same -- cognate with self as in I hurt me self, -- consciousness. The standard form of an identity question is Is this x the same x as that x which E and in the simpler situation we are at least presented with just the materials for constructing such a question; but in the more complicated situation we are baffled even in asking the question, since both the transformed persons are equally good candidates for being its Subjects, and the question Are these two xs the same (x?) as the x which E is not a recognizable form of identity question. Thus, it might be argued, the fact that we could not speak of identity in the latter situation is no kind of proof that we could not do so in the former. Certainly it is not a proof, as Strawson points out to Grice. This is not to say that they are identical at all. The only case in which identity and exact similarity could be distinguished, as we have just seen, is that of the body, same body and exactly similar body really do mark a difference. Thus one may claim that the omission of the body takes away all content from the idea of personal identity, as Pears pointed out to Grice. Leaving aside memory, which only partially applies to the case, character and attainments are quite clearly general things. Joness character is, in a sense, a particular; just because Jones’s character refers to the instantiation of certain properties by a particular (and bodily) man, as Strawson points out to Grice (Particular and general). If in ‘Negation and privation,’ Grice tackles Aristotle, he now tackles Locke. Indeed, seeing that Grice went years later to the topic as motivated by, of all people, Haugeland, rather than perhaps the more academic milieu that Perry offers, Grice became obsessed with Hume’s sceptical doubts! Hume writes in the Appendix that when he turns his reflection on himself, Hume never can perceive this self without some one or more perceptions. Nor can Hume ever perceive any thing but the perceptions. It is the composition of these, therefore, which forms the self, Hume thinks. Hume grants that one can conceive a thinking being to have either many or few perceptions. Suppose, says Hume, the mind to be reduced even below the life of an oyster. Suppose the oyster to have only one perception, as of thirst or hunger. Consider the oyster in that situation. Does the oyster conceive any thing but merely that perception? Has the oyster any notion of, to use Gallies pretentious Aristotelian jargon, self or substance? If not, the addition of this or other perception can never give the oyster that notion. The annihilation, which this or that philosopher, including Grices first post-war tutee, Flew, supposes to  follow upon death, and which entirely destroys  the oysters self, is nothing but an extinction  of all particular perceptions; love and hatred,  pain and pleasure, thought and sensation. These therefore must be the same with self; since the one cannot survive the other. Is self the same with substance? If it be, how can that question have place, concerning the subsistence of self, under a change of substance? If they be distinct, what is the difference betwixt them? For his part, Hume claims, he has a notion of neither, when conceived distinct from this or that particular perception. However extraordinary Hume’s conclusion may seem,   it need not surprise us. Most philosophers, such as Locke, seems inclined to think, that personal identity arises from consciousness. But consciousness is nothing but a reflected thought or perception, Hume suggests. This is Grices quandary about personal identity and its implicatura. Some philosophers have taken Grice as trying to provide an exegesis of Locke. However, their approaches surely differ. What works for Grice may not work for Locke. For Grice it is analytically true that it is not the case that Person₁ and Person may have the same experience. Grice explicitly states that he thinks that his logical-construction theory is a modification of Locke’s theory. Grice does not seem terribly interested to find why it may not, even if the York-based Locke Society might! Rather than introjecting into Lockes shoes, Grices strategy seems to dismiss Locke, shoes and all. Specifically, it not clear to Grice what Lockes answer in the Essay would be to Grices question about this or that I utterance that he sets his analysis with. Admittedly, Grice does quote, albeit briefly, directly from Lockes Essay. As far as any intelligent being can repeat the idea of any past action with the same consciousness it had of it at first, and with the same consciousness it has of any present action, Locke claims, so far the being is the same personal self. Grice tackles Lockes claim with four objections. These are important to consider since Grice sees as improving on Locke. A first objection concerns icircularity, with which Grice easily disposes by following Hume and appealing to the experience of memory or introspection. A second objection is Reid’s alleged counterexample about the long-term memory of the admiral who cannot remember that he was flogged as a boy. Grice dismisses this as involving too long-term of a memory. A third objection concerns Locke’s vagueness about the aboutness of consciousness, a point made by Hume in the Appendix. A fourth objection concerns again circularity, this time in Locke’s use of same in the definiens ‒ cf. Wiggins, Sameness and substance. It’s extraordinary that Wiggins is philosophising on anything Griceian. Grice is concerned with the implicaturum involved in the use of the first person singular. I will be fighting soon. Grice means in body and soul. The utterance also indicates that this is Grices pre-war days at Oxford. No wonder his choice of an example. What else could he have in his soul? The topic of personal identity, which label Hume and Austin found pretentious, and preferred to talk about the illocutionary force of I, has a special Oxonian pedigree, perhaps as motivated by Humes challenge, that Grice has occasion to study and explore for his M. A. Lit. Hum. with Locke’s Essay as mandatory reading. Locke, a philosopher with whom Oxford identifies most, infamously defends this memory-based account of I. Up in Scotland, Reid reads it and concocts this alleged counter-example. Hume, or Home, if you must, enjoys it. In fact, while in the Mind essay he is not too specific about Hume, Grice will, due mainly to his joint investigations with Haugeland, approach, introjecting into the shoes of Hume ‒ who is idolised in The New World ‒ in ways he does not introject into Lockes. But Grices quandary is Hume’s quandary, too. In his own approach to I, the Cartesian ego, made transcendental and apperceptive by Kant, Grice updates the time-honoured empiricist mnemonic analysis by Locke. The first update is in style. Grice embraces, as he does with negation, a logical construction, alla Russell, via Broad, of this or that “I” (first-person) utterance, ending up with an analysis of a “someone,” third-person, less informative, utterance. Grices immediate source is Gallie’s essay on self and substance in Mind. Mind is still a review of psychology and philosophy, so poor Grice has not much choice. In fact, Grice is being heterodoxical or heretic enough to use Broad’s taxonomy, straight from the other place of I utterances. The logical-construction theory is a third proposal, next to the Bradleyian idealist pure-ego theory and the misleading covert-description theory. Grice deals with the Reids alleged counterexample of the brave officer. Suppose, Reid says, and Grice quotes verbatim, a brave officer to have been flogged when a boy at school, for robbing an orchard, to have taken a standard from the enemy in his first campaign, and to have been made a general in advanced life. Suppose also, which must be admitted to be possible, that when he₂ took the standard, he₂ was conscious of his having been flogged at school, and that, when made a general, he₃ was conscious of his₂ taking the standard, but had absolutely lost the consciousness of his1 flogging. These things being supposed, it follows, from Lockes doctrine, that he1 who is flogged at school is the same person as him₂ who later takes the standard, and that he₂ who later takes the standard is the same person as him₃ who is still later made a general. When it follows, if there be any truth in logic, that the general is the same person with him₁ who is flogged at school. But the general’s consciousness does emphatically not reach so far back as his1 flogging. Therefore, according to Locke’s doctrine, he₃ is emphatically not the same person as him1 who is flogged. Therefore, we can say about the general that he₃ is, and at the same time, that he₃ is not the same person as him₁ who was flogged at school. Grice, wholl later add a temporal suffix to =t yielding, by transitivity. The flogged boy =_t1 the brave officer. And the brave officer =_t2 the admiral. But the admiral ≠_t3 the flogged boy. In Mind, Grice tackles the basic analysans, and comes up with a rather elaborate analysans for a simple I or Someone statement. Grice just turns to a generic affirmative variant of the utterance he had used in Negation. It is now someone, viz. I, who hears that the bell tolls. It is the affirmative counterpart of the focus of his earlier essay on negation, I do not hear that the bell tolls. Grice dismisses what, in the other place, was referred to as privileged-access, and the indexicality of I, an approach that will be made popular by Perry, who however reprints Grices essay in his influential collection for the University of California Press. By allowing for someone, viz. I, Grice seems to be relying on a piece of reasoning which hell later, in his first Locke lecture, refer to as too good. I hear that the bell tolls; therefore, someone hears that the bell tolls. Grice attempts to reduce this or that I utterance (Someone, viz. I, hears that the bell tolls) is in terms of a chain or sequence of mnemonic states. It poses a few quandaries itself. While quoting from this or that recent philosopher such as Gallie and Broad, it is a good thing that Grice has occasion to go back to, or revisit, Locke and contest this or that infamous and alleged counterexample presented by Reid and Hume. Grice adds a methodological note to his proposed logical-construction theory of personal identity. There is some intricacy of his reductive analysis, indeed logical construction, for an apparently simple and harmless utterance (cf. his earlier essay on I do not hear that the bell tolls). But this intricacy does not prove the analysis wrong. Only that Grice is too subtle. If the reductive analysis of not is in terms of each state which I am experiencing is incompatible with phi), that should not be a minus, or drawback, but a plus, and an advantage in terms of philosophical progress. The same holds here in terms of the concept of a temporary state. Much later, Grice reconsiders, or revisits, indeed, Broads remark and re-titles his approach as the (or a) logical-construction theory of personal identity. And, with Haugeland, Grice re-considers Humes own vagaries, or quandary, with personal identity. Unlike the more conservative Locke that Grice favours in the pages of Mind, eliminationist Hume sees ‘I’ as a conceptual muddle, indeed a metaphysical chimæra. Hume presses the point for an empiricist verificationist account of I. For, as Russell would rhetorically ask, ‘What can be more direct that the experience of myself?’ The Hume Society should take notice of Grices simplification of Hume’s implicaturum on I, if The Locke Society won’t. As a matter of fact, Grice calls one of his metaphysical construction routines the Humeian projection, so it is not too adventurous to think that Grice considers I  as an intuitive concept that needs to be metaphysically re-constructed and be given a legitimate Fregeian sense. Why that label for a construction routine? Grice calls this metaphysical construction routine Humeian projection, since the mind (or soul) as it were, spreads over its objects. But, by mind, Hume does not necessarily mean the I. Cf. The minds I. Grice is especially concerned with the poverty and weaknesses of Humes criticism to Lockes account of personal identity. Grice opts to revisit the Lockeian memory-based of this or that someone, viz. I utterance that Hume rather regards as vague, and confusing. Unlike Humes, neither Lockes nor Grices reductive analysis of personal identity is reductionist and eliminationist. The reductive-reductionist distinction Grice draws in Retrospective epilogue as he responds to Rountree-Jack on this or that alleged wrong on meaning that. It is only natural that Grice would be sympathetic to Locke. Grice explores these issues with Haugeland mainly at seminars. One may wonder why Grice spends so much time in a philosopher such as Hume, with whom he agreed almost on nothing! The answer is Humes influence in the Third World that forced Grice to focus on this or that philosopher. Surely Locke is less popular in the New World than Hume is. One supposes Grice is trying to save Hume at the implicaturum level, at least. The phrase or term of art, logical construction is Russells and Broads, but Grice loved it. Rational reconstruction is not too dissimilar. Grice prefers Russells and Broads more conservative label. This is more than a terminological point. If Hume is right and there is NO intuitive concept behind I, one cannot strictly re-construct it, only construct it. Ultimately, Grice shows that, if only at the implicaturum level, we are able to provide an analysandum for this or that someone, viz. I utterance without using I, by implicating only this or that mnemonic concept, which belongs, naturally, as his theory of negation does, in a theory of philosophical psychology, and again a lower branch of it, dealing with memory. The topic of personal identity unites various interests of Grice. The first is identity “=” simpliciter. Instead of talking of the meaning of I, as, say, Anscombe would, Grice sticks to the traditional category, or keyword, for this, i. e. the theory-laden, personal identity, or even personal sameness. Personal identity is a type of identity, but personal adds something to it. Surely Hume was stretching person a bit when using the example of a soul with a life lower than an oyster. Since Grice follows Aristotles De Anima, he enjoys Hume’s choice, though. It may be argued that personal adds Locke’s consciousness, and rational agency. Grice plays with the body-soul distinction. I, viz someone or somebody, fell from the stairs, perhaps differs from I will be fighting soon. This or that someone, viz. I utterance may be purely bodily. Grice would think that the idea that his soul fell from the stairs sounds, as it would to Berkeley, harsh. But then theres this or that one may be mixed utterance. Someone, viz. I, plays cricket, where surely your bodily mechanisms require some sort of control by the soul. Finally, this or that may be purely souly ‒ the one Grice ends up analysing, Someone, viz. I, hear that the bell tolls. At the time of his Mind essay, Grice may have been unaware of the complications that the concept of a person may bring as attached in adjective form to identity. Ayer did, and Strawson and Wiggins will, and Grice learns much from Strawson. Since Parfit, this has become a common-place topic for analysis at Oxford. A person as a complexum of a body-soul spatio-temporal continuant substance. Ultimately, Grice finds a theoretical counterpart here. A P may become a human, which Grice understands physiologically. That is not enough. A P must aspire, via meteousis, to become a person. Thus, person becomes a technical term in Grices grand metaphysical scheme of things. Someone, viz. I, hear that the bell is tolls is analysed as  ≡df, or if and only if, a hearing that the bell tolls is a part of a total temporary t_n souly state S₁ which is one in a s. such that any state S_n,  given this or that condition, contains as a part a memory M_n of the experience of hearing that the bell tolls, which is a component in some pre-sequent t₁n item, or contains an experience of hearing that the bell tolls a memory M of which would, given this or that condition, occur as a component in some sub-sequent t₂>t_n item, there being no sub-set of items which is independent of the rest. Grice simplifies the reductive analysans. Someone, viz. I, hears that the bell tolls iff a hearing that the bell tolls is a component in an item of an interlocking s. with emphasis on lock, s. of this or that memorable and memorative total temporary t_n state S₁. Is Grice’s Personal identity ever referred to in the Oxonian philosophical literature? Indeeed. Parfit mentions, which makes it especially memorable and memorative. P. Edwards includes a reference to Grices Mind essay in the entry for Personal identity, as a reference to Grice et al on Met. , is referenced in Edwardss encyclopædia entry for metaphysics. Grice does not attribute privileged access or incorrigibility to I or the first person. He always hastens to add that I can always be substituted, salva veritate (if baffling your addressee A) by someone or other, if not some-body or other, a colloquialism Grice especially detested. Grices agency-based approach requires that. I am rational provided thou art, too. If, by explicitly saying he is a Lockeian, Grice surely does not wish us to see him as trying to be original, or the first to consider this or that problem about I; i.e. someone. Still, Grice is the philosopher who explores most deeply the reductive analysis of I, i.e. someone. Grice needs the reductive analysis because human agency (philosophically, rather than psychologically interpreted) is key for his approach to things. By uttering The bell tolls, U means that someone, viz. himself, hears that the bell tolls, or even, by uttering I, hear, viz. someone hears, that the bell tolls, U means that the experience of a hearing that the bell tolls is a component in a total temporary state which is a member of a s. such that each member would, given certain conditions, contain as an component one memory of an experience which is a component in a pre-sequent member, or contains as a component some experience a memory of which would, given certain conditions, occur as a component in a post-sequent member; there being no sub-set of members which is independent of the rest. Thanks, the addressee might reply. I didnt know that! The reductive bit to Grices analysis needs to be emphasised. For Grice, a person, and consequently, a someone, viz. I utterance, is, simpliciter, a logical construction out of this or that Humeian experience. Whereas in Russell, as Broad notes, a logical construction of this or that philosophical concept, in this case personal identity, or cf. Grices earlier reductive analysis of not, is thought of as an improved, rationally reconstructed conception. Neither Russell nor Broad need maintain that the logical construction preserves the original meaning of the analysandum someone, viz. I, hears that the bell tolls, or I do not hear that the bell tolls ‒ hence their paradox of reductionist analysis. This change of Subjects does not apply to Grice. Grice emphatically intends to be make explicit, if rationally reconstructed (if that is not an improvement) through reductive (if not reductionist) analysis, the concept Grice already claims to have. One particular development to consider is within Grices play group, that of Quinton. Grice and Quinton seem to have been the only two philosophers in Austins play group who showed any interest on someone, viz. I. Or not. The fact that Quinton entitles his thing “The soul” did not help. Note that Woozley was at the time editing Reid on “Identity,” Cf. Duncan-Jones on mans mortality. Note that Quintons immediate trigger is Shoemaker. Grice writes that he is not “merely a series of perceptions,” for he is “conscious of a permanent self, an I who experiences these perceptions and who is now identical with the I who experienced perceptions yesterday.” So, leaving aside that he is using I with the third person verb, but surely this is no use-mention fallacy, it is this puzzle that provoked his thoughts on temporal-relative “=” later on. As Grice notes, Butler argued that consciousness of experience can contribute to identity but not define it. Grice will use Butler in his elaboration of conversational benevolence versus conversational self-interest. Better than Quinton, it is better to consider Flew in Philosophy, 96, on Locke and the problem of personal identity, obviously suggested as a term paper by Grice! Wiggins cites Flew. Flew actually notes that Berkeley saw Lockes problem earlier than Reid, which concerns the transitiveness of =. Recall that Wigginss tutor at Oxford was a tutee by Grice, Ackrill. identity, the relation each thing bears just to itself. Formally, a % b Q EF(Fa P Fb); informally, the identity of a and b implies and is implied by their sharing of all their properties. Read from left to right, this biconditional asserts the indiscernibility of identicals; from right to left, the identity of indiscernibles. The indiscernibility of identicals is not to be confused with a metalinguistic principle to the effect that if a and b are names of the same object, then each may be substituted for the other in a sentence without change of truth-value: that may be false, depending on the semantics of the language under discussion. Similarly, the identity of indiscernibles is not the claim that if a and b can be exchanged in all sentential contexts without affecting truth-value, then they name the same object. For such intersubstitutability may arise when the language in question simply lacks predicates that could discriminate between the referents of a and b. In short, the identity of things is not a relation among names. Identity proper is numerical identity, to be distinguished from exact similarity (qualitative identity). Intuitively, two exactly similar objects are “copies” of each other; still they are two, hence not identical. One way to express this is via the notions of extrinsic and intrinsic properties: exactly similar objects differ in respect of the former only. But we can best explain ‘instrinsic property’ by saying that a thing’s intrinsic properties are those it shares with its copies. These notions appear virtually interdefinable. (Note that the concept of an extrinsic property must be relativized to a class or kind of things. Not being in San Francisco is an extrinsic property of persons but arguably an intrinsic property of cities.) While qualitative identity is a familiar notion, its theoretical utility is unclear. The absolute notion of qualitative identity should, however, be distinguished from an unproblematic relative notion: if some list of salient properties is fixed in a given context (say, in mechanics or normative ethics), then the exactly similar things, relative to that context, are those that agree on the properties listed. Both the identity of indiscernibles and (less frequently) the indiscernibility of identicals are sometimes called Leibniz’s law. Neither attribution is apt. Although Leibniz would have accepted the former principle, his distinctive claim was the impossibility of exactly similar objects: numerically distinct individuals cannot even share all intrinsic properties. Moreover, this was not, for him, simply a law of identity but rather an application of his principle of sufficient reason. And the indiscernibility of identicals is part of a universal understanding of identity. What distinguishes Leibniz is the prominence of identity statements in his metaphysics and logical theory. Although identity remains a clear and basic logical notion, identity questions about problematic kinds of objects raise difficulties. One example is the identification of properties, particularly in contexts involving reduction. Although we know what identity is, the notion of a property is unclear enough to pose systematic obstacles to the evaluation of theoretically significant identity statements involving properties. Other difficulties involve personal identity or the possible identification of numbers and sets in the foundations of mathematics. In these cases, the identity questions simply inherit – and provide vivid ways of formulating – the difficulties pertaining to such concepts as person, property, or number; no rethinking of the identity concept itself is indicated. But puzzles about the relation of an ordinary material body to its constituent matter may suggest that the logician’s analysis of identity does not cleanly capture our everyday notion(s). Consider a bronze statue. Although the statue may seem to be nothing besides its matter, reflection on change over time suggests a distinction. The statue may be melted down, hence destroyed, while the bronze persists, perhaps simply as a mass or perhaps as a new statue formed from the same bronze. Alternatively, the statue may persist even as some of its bronze is dissolved in acid. So the statue seems to be one thing and the bronze another. Yet what is the bronze besides a statue? Surely we do not have two statues (or statuelike objects) in one place? Some authors feel that variants of the identity relation may permit a perspicuous description of the relation of statue and bronze: (1) tensed identity: Assume a class of timebound properties – roughly, properties an object can have at a time regardless of what properties it has at other times. (E.g., a statue’s shape, location, or elegance.) Then a % t b provided a and b share all timebound properties at time t. Thus, the statue and the bronze may be identical at time t 1 but not at t 2. (2) relative identity: a and b may be identical relative to one concept (or predicate) but not to another. Thus, the statue may be held to be the same lump of matter as the bronze but not the same object of art. identity identity 415 4065h-l.qxd 08/02/1999 7:39 AM Page 415 In each case, only detailed study will show whether the variant notion can at once offer a natural description of change and qualify as a viable identity concept. (Strong doubts arise about (2).) But it seems likely that our everyday talk of identity has a richness and ambiguity that escapes formal characterization.  identity, ‘is’ of. See IS. identity, psychophysical. See PHYSICALISM. identity, theoretical. See PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. identity of indiscernibles, any of a family of principles, important members of which include the following: (1) If objects a and b have all properties in common, then a and b are identical. (2) If objects a and b have all their qualitative properties in common, then a and b are identical. (3) If objects a and b have all their non-relational qualitative properties in common, then a and b are identical. Two questions regarding these principles are raised: Which, if any, are true? If any are true, are they necessarily true? Discussions of the identity of indiscernibles typically restrict the scope of the principle to concrete objects. Although the notions of qualitative and non-relational properties play a prominent role in these discussions, they are notoriously difficult to define. Intuitively, a qualitative property is one that can be instantiated by more than one object and does not involve being related to another particular object. It does not follow that all qualitative properties are non-relational, since some relational properties, such as being on top of a brown desk, do not involve being related to some particular object. (1) is generally regarded as necessarily true but trivial, since if a and b have all properties in common then a has the property of being identical with b and b has the property of being identical with a. Hence, most discussions focus on (2) and (3). (3) is generally regarded as, at best, a contingent truth since it appears possible to conceive of two distinct red balls of the same size, shade of color, and composition. Some have argued that elementary scientific particles, such as electrons, are counterexamples to even the contingent truth of (3). (2) appears defensible as a contingent truth since, in the actual world, objects such as the red balls and the electrons differ in their relational qualitative properties. It has been argued, however, that (2) is not a necessary truth since it is possible to conceive of a world consisting of only the two red balls. In such a world, any qualitative relational property possessed by one ball is also possessed by the other. Defenders of the necessary truth of (2) have argued that a careful examination of such counterexamples reveals hidden qualitative properties that differentiate the objects. Grice learned about idem, ipsum and simile via his High Church maternal grandfather. “What an iota can do!” -- Refs.: The main references covering identity simpliciter are in “Vacuous Names,” and his joint work on metaphysics with G. Myro. The main references relating to the second group, of personal identity, are his “Mind” essay, an essay on ‘the logical-construction theory of personal identity,’ and a second set of essays on Hume’s quandary, The H. P. Grice Papers, BANC.

Griceian ideology: a term used by Ernest Gellner to refer to Grice’s Clifton/Corpus Christi background. generally a disparaging term used to describe someone else’s political views which one regards as unsound. This use derives from Marx’s employment of the term to signify a false consciousness shared by the members of a particular social class. For example, according to Marx, members of the capitalist class share the ideology that the laws of the competitive market are natural and impersonal, that workers in a competitive market are paid all that they can be paid, and that the institutions of private property in the means of production are natural and justified.

ideo-motor action, a theory of the will according to which “every representation of a movement awakens in some degree the actual movement which is its object” (William James). Proposed by physiologist W. B. Carpenter, and taught by Lotze and Renouvier, ideo-motor action was developed by James. He rejected the regnant analysis of voluntary behavior, which held that will operates by reinstating “feelings of innervation” (Wundt) in the efferent nerves. Deploying introspection and physiology, James showed that feelings of innervation do not exist. James advanced ideo-motor action as the psychological basis of volition: actions tend to occur automatically when thought, unless inhibited by a contrary idea. Will consists in fixing attention on a desired idea until it dominates consciousness, the execution of movement following automatically. James also rejected Bain’s associationist thesis that pleasure or pain is the necessary spring of action, since according to ideo-motor theory thought of an action by itself produces it. James’s analysis became dogma, but was effectively attacked by psychologist E. L. Thorndike (1874– 1949), who proposed in its place the behavioristic doctrine that ideas have no power to cause behavior, and argued that belief in ideo-motor action amounted to belief in sympathetic magic. Thus did will leave the vocabulary of psychology.

macaulay: Grice: “Unlike Whitehead, I care for style; so when  it comes to ‘if,’ we have to please Macaulay – the verbs change, for each mode – and sub-mode!” -- Grice: A curious phenomenon comes to light. I began by assuming (or stipulating) that the verbs 'judge' and 'will' (acceptance-verbs) are to be 'completed' by radicals (phrastics). Yet when the machinery developed above has been applied, we find that the verb 'accept' (or 'think') is to be completed by something of the form 'Op + p', that is, by a sentence. Perhaps we might tolerate this syntactical ambivalence; but if we cannot, the remedy is not clear. It would, for example, not be satisfactory to suppose that 'that', when placed before a sentence, acts as a 'radicalizer' (is a functor expressing a function which takes that sentence on to its radical); for that way we should lose the differentiations effected by varying mode-markers, and this would be fatal to the scheme. This phenomenon certainly suggests that the attempt to distinguish radicals from sentences may be misguided; that if radicals are to be admitted at all, they should be identified with indicative sentences. The operator '⊢' would then be a 'semantically vanishing' operator. But this does not wholly satisfy me; for, if '⊢' is semantically vacuous, what happens to the subordinate distinction made by 'A' and 'B' markers, which seems genuine enough? We might find these markers 'hanging in the air', like two smiles left behind by the Cheshire Cat. Whatever the outcome of this debate, however, I feel fairly confident that I could accommodate the formulation of my discussion to it. Fuller Exposition of the 'Initial Idea' First, some preliminary points. To provide at least a modicum of intelligibility for my discourse, I shall pronounce the judicative end p.72 operator '⊢' as 'it is the case that', and the volitive operator '!' as 'let it be that'; and I shall pronounce the sequence 'φ, ψ' as 'given that φ, ψ'. These vocal mannerisms will result in the production of some pretty barbarous 'English sentences'; but we must remember that what I shall be trying to do, in uttering such sentences, will be to represent supposedly underlying structure; if that is one's aim, one can hardly expect that one's speech-forms will be such as to excite the approval of, let us say, Jane Austen or Lord Macaulay. In any case, less horrendous, though (for my purposes) less perspicuous, alternatives will, I think, be available. Further, I am going to be almost exclusively concerned with alethic and practical arguments, the proximate conclusions of which will be, respectively, of the forms 'Acc (⊢ p)' and 'Acc (! p)'; for example, 'acceptable (it is the case that it snows)' and 'acceptable (let it be that I go home)'. There will be two possible ways of reading the latter sentence. We might regard 'acceptable' as a sentential adverb (modifier) like 'demonstrably'; in that case to say or think 'acceptable (let it be that I go home)' will be to say or think 'let it be that I go home', together with the qualification that what I say or think is acceptable; as one might say, 'acceptably, let it be that I go home'. To adopt this reading would seem to commit us to the impossibility of incontinence; for since 'accept that let it be that I go home' is to be my rewrite for 'Vaccept (will) that I go home', anyone x who concluded, by practical argument, that 'acceptable let it be that x go home' would ipso facto will to go home. Similarly (though less paradoxically) any one who concluded, by alethic argument, 'acceptable it is the case that it snows', would ipso facto judge that it snows. So an alternative reading 'it is acceptable that let it be that I go home', which does not commit the speaker or thinker to 'let it be that I go home', seems preferable. We can, of course, retain the distinct form 'acceptably, let it be that (it is the case that) p' for renderings of 'desirably' and 'probably'. Let us now tackle the judicative cases. I start with the assumption that arguments of the form 'A, so probably B' are sometimes (informally) valid; 'he has an exceptionally red face, so probably he has high blood pressure' might be informally valid, whereas 'he has an exceptionally red face, so probably he has musical talent' is unlikely to be allowed informal validity. end p.73 We might re-express this assumption by saying that it is sometimes the case that A informally yields-with-probability that B (where 'yields' is the converse of 'is inferable from'). If we wish to construct a form of argument the acceptability of which does not depend on choice of substituends for 'A' and 'B', we may, so to speak, allow into the object-language forms of sentence which correspond to metastatements of the form: 'A yields-with-probability that B'; we may allow ourselves, for example, such a sentence as "it is probable, given that he has a very red face, that he has high blood pressure". This will provide us with the argument-patterns: “Probable, given A, that B A So, probably, B” or “Probable, given A, that B A So probably that B” To take the second pattern, the legitimacy of such an inferential transition will not depend on the identity of 'A' or of 'B', though it will depend (as was stated in the previous chapter) on a licence from a suitably formulated 'Principle of Total Evidence'. The proposal which I am considering (in pursuit of the 'initial idea') would (roughly) involve rewriting the second pattern of argument so that it reads: It is acceptable, given that it is the case that A, that it is the case that B. It is the case that A. To apply this schema to a particular case, we generated the particular argument: It is acceptable, given that it is the case that Snodgrass has a red face, that it is the case that Snodgrass has high blood pressure. It is the case that Snodgrass has a red face. So, it is acceptable that it is the case that Snodgrass has high blood pressure. end p.74 If we make the further assumption that the singular 'conditional' acceptability statement which is the first premiss of the above argument may be (and perhaps has to be) reached by an analogue of the rule of universal instantiation from a general acceptability statement, we make room for such general acceptability sentences as: It is acceptable, given that it is the case that x has a red face, that it is the case that x has high blood pressure. which are of the form "It is acceptable, given that it is the case that Fx, that it is the case that Gx'; 'x' here is, you will note, an unbound variable; and the form might also (loosely) be read (pronounced) as: "It is acceptable, given that it is the case that one (something) is F, that it is the case that one (it) is G." All of this is (I think) pretty platitudinous; which is just as well, since it is to serve as a model for the treatment of practical argument. To turn from the alethic to the practical dimension. Here (the proposal goes) we may proceed, in a fashion almost exactly parallel to that adopted on the alethic side, through the following sequence of stages: (1) Arguments (in thought or speech) of the form: Let it be that A It is the case that B so, with some degree of desirability, let it be that C are sometimes (and sometimes not) informally valid (or acceptable). (2) Arguments of the form: It is desirable, given that let it be that A and that it is the case that B, that let it be that C Let it be that A It is the case that B so, it is desirable that let it be that C should, therefore, be allowed to be formally acceptable, subject to licence from a Principle of Total Evidence. (3) In accordance with our proposal such arguments will be rewritten: end p.75 It is acceptable, given that let it be A and that it is the case that B, that let it be that C Let it be that A It is the case that B so, it is desirable that let it be that C (4) The first premisses of such arguments may be (and perhaps have to be) reached by instantiation from general acceptability statements of the form: "It is acceptable, given that let one be E and that it is the case that one is F, that let it be that one is G." We may note that sentences like "it is snowing" can be trivially recast so as (in effect) to appear as third premisses in such arguments (with 'open' counterparts inside the acceptability sentence; they can be rewritten as, for example, "Snodgrass is such that it is snowing"). We are now in possession of such exciting general acceptability sentences as: "It is acceptable, given that let it be that one keeps dry and that it is the case that one is such that it is raining, that let one take with one one's umbrella." (5) A special subclass of general acceptability sentences (and of practical arguments) can be generated by 'trivializing' the predicate in the judicative premiss (making it a 'universal predicate'). If, for example, I take 'x is F' to represent 'x is identical with x' the judicative subclause may be omitted from the general acceptability sentence, with a corresponding 'reduction' in the shape of the related practical argument. We have therefore such argument sequences as the following: (P i ) It is acceptable, given that let it be that one survives, that let it be that one eats So (by U i ) It is acceptable, given that let it be that Snodgrass survives, that let it be that Snodgrass eats (P 2 ) Let it be that Snodgrass survives So (by Det) It is acceptable that let it be that Snodgrass eats. We should also, at some point, consider further transitions to: (a) Acceptably, let it be that Snodgrass eats, and to: (b) Let it be that Snodgrass eats. end p.76 And we may also note that, as a more colloquial substitute for "Let it be that one (Snodgrass) survives (eats)" the form "one (Snodgrass) is to survive (eat)" is available; we thus obtain prettier inhabitants of antecedent clauses, for example, "given that Snodgrass is to survive". We must now pay some attention to the varieties of acceptability statement to be found within each of the alethic and practical dimensions; it will, of course, be essential to the large-scale success of the proposal which I am exploring that one should be able to show that for every such variant within one dimension there is a corresponding variant within the other. Within the area of defeasible generalizations, there is another variant which, in my view, extends across the board in the way just indicated, namely, the unweighted acceptability generalization (with associated singular conditionals), or, as I shall also call it, the ceteris paribus generalization. Such generalization I take to be of the form "It is acceptable (ceteris paribus), given that φX, that ψX" and I think we find both practical and alethic examples of the form; for example, "It is ceteris paribus acceptable, given that it is the case that one likes a person, that it is the case that one wants his company", which is not incompatible with "It is ceteris paribus acceptable, given that it is the case that one likes a person and that one is feeling ill, that one does not want his company". We also find "It is ceteris paribus acceptable, given that let it be that one leaves the country and given that it is the case that one is an alien, that let it be that one obtains a sailing permit from Internal Revenue", which is compatible with "It is ceteris paribus acceptable, given that let it be that one leaves the country and given that it is the case that one is an alien and that one is a close friend of the President, that let it be that one does not obtain a sailing permit, and that one arranges to travel in Air Force I". I discussed this kind of generalization, or 'law', briefly in "Method in Philosophical Psychology"1 and shall not dilate on its features here. I will just remark that it can be adapted to handle 'functional laws' (in the way suggested in that address), and that end p.77 it is different from the closely related use of universal generalizations in 'artificially closed systems', where some relevant parameter is deliberately ignored, to be taken care of by an extension to the system; for in that case, when the extension is made, the original law has to be modified or corrected, whereas my ceteris paribus generalization can survive in an extended system; and I regard this as a particular advantage to philosophical psychology. In addition to these two defeasible types of acceptability generalization (each with alethic and practical sub-types), we have non-defeasible acceptability generalizations, with associated singular conditionals, exemplifying what I might call 'unqualified', 'unreserved', or 'full' acceptability claims. To express these I shall employ the (constructed) modal 'it is fully acceptable that . . .'; and again there will be occasion for its use in the representation both of alethic and of practical discourse. We have, in all, then, three varieties of acceptability statement (each with alethic and practical sub-types), associated with the modals "It is fully acceptable that . . . " (non-defeasible), 'it is ceteris paribus acceptable that . . . ', and 'it is to such-and-such a degree acceptable that . . . ', both of the latter pair being subject to defeasibility. (I should re-emphasize that, on the practical side, I am so far concerned to represent only statements which are analogous with Kant's Technical Imperatives ('Rules of Skill').)

“if” – Grice: “Whitehead lists ‘and,’ ‘or,’ and ‘if,’ but had he known some classical languages, he would have noted, as J. C. Wilson does, that ‘if’ is totally subordinating, and thus totally non-commutative!” -- German “ob,” Latin, “si,” Grecian, “ei” -- conditional, a compound sentence, such as ‘if Abe calls, then Ben answers,’ in which one sentence, the antecedent, is connected to a second, the consequent, by the connective ‘if . . . then’. Propositions statements, etc. expressed by conditionals are called conditional propositions statements, etc. and, by ellipsis, simply conditionals. The ambiguity of the expression ‘if . . . then’ gives rise to a semantic classification of conditionals into material conditionals, causal conditionals, counterfactual conditionals, and so on. In traditional logic, conditionals are called hypotheticals, and in some areas of mathematical logic conditionals are called implications. Faithful analysis of the meanings of conditionals continues to be investigated and intensely disputed.  conditional proof. 1 The argument form ‘B follows from A; therefore, if A then B’ and arguments of this form. 2 The rule of inference that permits one to infer a conditional given a derivation of its consequent from its antecedent. This is also known as the rule of conditional proof or /- introduction. conditioning, a form of associative learning that occurs when changes in thought or behavior are produced by temporal relations among events. It is common to distinguish between two types of conditioning; one, classical or Pavlovian, in which behavior change results from events that occur before behavior; the other, operant or instrumental, in which behavior change occurs because of events after behavior. Roughly, classically and operantly conditioned behavior correspond to the everyday, folk-psychological distinction between involuntary and voluntary or goaldirected behavior. In classical conditioning, stimuli or events elicit a response e.g., salivation; neutral stimuli e.g., a dinner bell gain control over behavior when paired with stimuli that already elicit behavior e.g., the appearance of dinner. The behavior is involuntary. In operant conditioning, stimuli or events reinforce behavior after behavior occurs; neutral stimuli gain power to reinforce by being paired with actual reinforcers. Here, occasions in which behavior is reinforced serve as discriminative stimuli-evoking behavior. Operant behavior is goal-directed, if not consciously or deliberately, then through the bond between behavior and reinforcement. Thus, the arrangement of condiments at dinner may serve as the discriminative stimulus evoking the request “Please pass the salt,” whereas saying “Thank you” may reinforce the behavior of passing the salt. It is not easy to integrate conditioning phenomena into a unified theory of conditioning. Some theorists contend that operant conditioning is really classical conditioning veiled by subtle temporal relations among events. Other theorists contend that operant conditioning requires mental representations of reinforcers and discriminative stimuli. B. F. Skinner 4 90 argued in Walden Two 8 that astute, benevolent behavioral engineers can and should use conditioning to create a social utopia.  conditio sine qua non Latin, ‘a condition without which not’, a necessary condition; something without which something else could not be or could not occur. For example, being a plane figure is a conditio sine qua non for being a triangle. Sometimes the phrase is used emphatically as a synonym for an unconditioned presupposition, be it for an action to start or an argument to get going. I.Bo. Condorcet, Marquis de, title of Marie-JeanAntoine-Nicolas de Caritat 174394,  philosopher and political theorist who contributed to the Encyclopedia and pioneered the mathematical analysis of social institutions. Although prominent in the Revolutionary government, he was denounced for his political views and died in prison. Condorcet discovered the voting paradox, which shows that majoritarian voting can produce cyclical group preferences. Suppose, for instance, that voters A, B, and C rank proposals x, y, and z as follows: A: xyz, B: yzx, and C: zxy. Then in majoritarian voting x beats y and y beats z, but z in turn beats x. So the resulting group preferences are cyclical. The discovery of this problem helped initiate social choice theory, which evaluates voting systems. Condorcet argued that any satisfactory voting system must guarantee selection of a proposal that beats all rivals in majoritarian competition. Such a proposal is called a Condorcet winner. His jury theorem says that if voters register their opinions about some matter, such as whether a defendant is guilty, and the probabilities that individual voters are right are greater than ½, equal, and independent, then the majority vote is more likely to be correct than any individual’s or minority’s vote. Condorcet’s main works are Essai sur l’application de l’analyse à la probabilité des décisions rendues à la pluralité des voix Essay on the Application of Analysis to the Probability of Decisions Reached by a Majority of Votes, 1785; and a posthumous treatise on social issues, Esquisse d’un tableau historique des progrès de l’esprit humain Sketch for a Historical Picture of the Progress of the Human Mind, 1795.  “if” corresponding conditional of a given argument, any conditional whose antecedent is a logical conjunction of all of the premises of the argument and whose consequent is the conclusion. The two conditionals, ‘if Abe is Ben and Ben is wise, then Abe is wise’ and ‘if Ben is wise and Abe is Ben, then Abe is wise’, are the two corresponding conditionals of the argument whose premises are ‘Abe is Ben’ and ‘Ben is wise’ and whose conclusion is ‘Abe is wise’. For a one-premise argument, the corresponding conditional is the conditional whose antecedent is the premise and whose consequent is the conclusion. The limiting cases of the empty and infinite premise sets are treated in different ways by different logicians; one simple treatment considers such arguments as lacking corresponding conditionals. The principle of corresponding conditionals is that in order for an argument to be valid it is necessary and sufficient for all its corresponding conditionals to be tautological. The commonly used expression ‘the corresponding conditional of an argument’ is also used when two further stipulations are in force: first, that an argument is construed as having an ordered sequence of premises rather than an unordered set of premises; second, that conjunction is construed as a polyadic operation that produces in a unique way a single premise from a sequence of premises rather than as a dyadic operation that combines premises two by two. Under these stipulations the principle of the corresponding conditional is that in order for an argument to be valid it is necessary and sufficient for its corresponding conditional to be valid. These principles are closely related to modus ponens, to conditional proof, and to the so-called deduction theorem.  “if” counterfactuals, also called contrary-to-fact conditionals, subjunctive conditionals that presupcorner quotes counterfactuals pose the falsity of their antecedents, such as ‘If Hitler had invaded England, G.y would have won’ and ‘If I were you, I’d run’. Conditionals or hypothetical statements are compound statements of the form ‘If p, then q’, or equivalently ‘q if p’. Component p is described as the antecedent protasis and q as the consequent apodosis. A conditional like ‘If Oswald did not kill Kennedy, then someone else did’ is called indicative, because both the antecedent and consequent are in the indicative mood. One like ‘If Oswald had not killed Kennedy, then someone else would have’ is subjunctive. Many subjunctive and all indicative conditionals are open, presupposing nothing about the antecedent. Unlike ‘If Bob had won, he’d be rich’, neither ‘If Bob should have won, he would be rich’ nor ‘If Bob won, he is rich’ implies that Bob did not win. Counterfactuals presuppose, rather than assert, the falsity of their antecedents. ‘If Reagan had been president, he would have been famous’ seems inappropriate and out of place, but not false, given that Reagan was president. The difference between counterfactual and open subjunctives is less important logically than that between subjunctives and indicatives. Whereas the indicative conditional about Kennedy is true, the subjunctive is probably false. Replace ‘someone’ with ‘no one’ and the truth-values reverse. The most interesting logical feature of counterfactuals is that they are not truth-functional. A truth-functional compound is one whose truth-value is completely determined in every possible case by the truth-values of its components. For example, the falsity of ‘The President is a grandmother’ and ‘The President is childless’ logically entails the falsity of ‘The President is a grandmother and childless’: all conjunctions with false conjuncts are false. But whereas ‘If the President were a grandmother, the President would be childless’ is false, other counterfactuals with equally false components are true, such as ‘If the President were a grandmother, the President would be a mother’. The truth-value of a counterfactual is determined in part by the specific content of its components. This property is shared by indicative and subjunctive conditionals generally, as can be seen by varying the wording of the example. In marked contrast, the material conditional, p / q, of modern logic, defined as meaning that either p is false or q is true, is completely truth-functional. ‘The President is a grandmother / The President is childless’ is just as true as ‘The President is a grandmother / The President is a mother’. While stronger than the material conditional, the counterfactual is weaker than the strict conditional, p U q, of modern modal logic, which says that p / q is necessarily true. ‘If the switch had been flipped, the light would be on’ may in fact be true even though it is possible for the switch to have been flipped without the light’s being on because the bulb could have burned out. The fact that counterfactuals are neither strict nor material conditionals generated the problem of counterfactual conditionals raised by Chisholm and Goodman: What are the truth conditions of a counterfactual, and how are they determined by its components? According to the “metalinguistic” approach, which resembles the deductive-nomological model of explanation, a counterfactual is true when its antecedent conjoined with laws of nature and statements of background conditions logically entails its consequent. On this account, ‘If the switch had been flipped the light would be on’ is true because the statement that the switch was flipped, plus the laws of electricity and statements describing the condition and arrangement of the circuitry, entail that the light is on. The main problem is to specify which facts are “fixed” for any given counterfactual and context. The background conditions cannot include the denials of the antecedent or the consequent, even though they are true, nor anything else that would not be true if the antecedent were. Counteridenticals, whose antecedents assert identities, highlight the difficulty: the background for ‘If I were you, I’d run’ must include facts about my character and your situation, but not vice versa. Counterlegals like ‘Newton’s laws would fail if planets had rectangular orbits’, whose antecedents deny laws of nature, show that even the set of laws cannot be all-inclusive. Another leading approach pioneered by Robert C. Stalnaker and David K. Lewis extends the possible worlds semantics developed for modal logic, saying that a counterfactual is true when its consequent is true in the nearest possible world in which the antecedent is true. The counterfactual about the switch is true on this account provided a world in which the switch was flipped and the light is on is closer to the actual world than one in which the switch was flipped but the light is not on. The main problem is to specify which world is nearest for any given counterfactual and context. The difference between indicative and subjunctive conditionals can be accounted for in terms of either a different set of background conditions or a different measure of nearness. counterfactuals counterfactuals     Counterfactuals turn up in a variety of philosophical contexts. To distinguish laws like ‘All copper conducts’ from equally true generalizations like ‘Everything in my pocket conducts’, some have observed that while anything would conduct if it were copper, not everything would conduct if it were in my pocket. And to have a disposition like solubility, it does not suffice to be either dissolving or not in water: it must in addition be true that the object would dissolve if it were in water. It has similarly been suggested that one event is the cause of another only if the latter would not have occurred if the former had not; that an action is free only if the agent could or would have done otherwise if he had wanted to; that a person is in a particular mental state only if he would behave in certain ways given certain stimuli; and that an action is right only if a completely rational and fully informed agent would choose it. “If the cat is on the mat, she is purring.” INDICATIVE PLUS INDICATIVE – “Subjective ‘if’ is a different animal as Julius Caesar well knew!” -- Refs: “If and Macaulay.”

iff: Grice: “a silly abbreviation for ‘if and only if’” -- that is used as if it were a single propositional operator (connective). Another synonym for ‘iff’ is ‘just in case’. The justification for treating ‘iff’ as if it were a single propositional connective is that ‘P if and only if Q’ is elliptical for ‘P if Q, and P only if Q’, and this assertion is logically equivalent to ‘P biconditional Q’.

Il’in, Ivan Aleksandrovich, philosopher and conservative legal and political theorist. He authored an important two-volume commentary on Hegel (1918), plus extensive writings in ethics, political theory, aesthetics, and spirituality. Exiled in 1922, he was known for his passionate opposition to Bolshevism, his extensive proposals for rebuilding a radically reformed Russian state, church, and society in a post-Communist future, and his devout Russian Orthodox spirituality. He is widely regarded as a master of Russian language and a penetrating interpreter of the history of Russian culture. His collected works are currently being published in Moscow.

illatum, f. illātĭo (inl- ), ōnis, f. in-fero, a logical inference, conclusion: “vel illativum rogamentum. quod ex acceptionibus colligitur et infertur,” App. Dogm. Plat. 3, pp. 34, 15. – infero: to conclude, infer, draw an inference, Cic. Inv. 1, 47, 87; Quint. 5, 11, 27. ILLATUM -- inference, the process of drawing a conclusion from premises or assumptions, or, loosely, the conclusion so drawn. An argument can be merely a number of statements of which one is designated the conclusion and the rest are designated premises. Whether the premises imply the conclusion is thus independent of anyone’s actual beliefs in either of them. Belief, however, is essential to inference. Inference occurs only if someone, owing to believing the premises, begins to believe the conclusion or continues to believe the conclusion with greater confidence than before. Because inference requires a subject who has beliefs, some requirements of (an ideally) acceptable inference do not apply to abstract arguments: one must believe the premises; one must believe that the premises support the conclusion; neither of these beliefs induction, eliminative inference 426 4065h-l.qxd 08/02/1999 7:39 AM Page 426 may be based on one’s prior belief in the conclusion. W. E. Johnson called these the epistemic conditions of inference. In a reductio ad absurdum argument that deduces a self-contradiction from certain premises, not all steps of the argument will correspond to steps of inference. No one deliberately infers a contradiction. What one infers, in such an argument, is that certain premises are inconsistent. Acceptable inferences can fall short of being ideally acceptable according to the above requirements. Relevant beliefs are sometimes indefinite. Infants and children infer despite having no grasp of the sophisticated notion of support. One function of idealization is to set standards for that which falls short. It is possible to judge how nearly inexplicit, automatic, unreflective, lessthan-ideal inferences meet ideal requirements. In ordinary speech, ‘infer’ often functions as a synonym of ‘imply’, as in ‘The new tax law infers that we have to calculate the value of our shrubbery’. Careful philosophical writing avoids this usage. Implication is, and inference is not, a relation between statements. Valid deductive inference corresponds to a valid deductive argument: it is logically impossible for all the premises to be true when the conclusion is false. That is, the conjunction of all the premises and the negation of the conclusion is inconsistent. Whenever a conjunction is inconsistent, there is a valid argument for the negation of any conjunct from the other conjuncts. (Relevance logic imposes restrictions on validity to avoid this.) Whenever one argument is deductively valid, so is another argument that goes in a different direction. (1) ‘Stacy left her slippers in the kitchen’ implies (2) ‘Stacy had some slippers’. Should one acquainted with Stacy and the kitchen infer (2) from (1), or infer not-(1) from not-(2), or make neither inference? Formal logic tells us about implication and deductive validity, but it cannot tell us when or what to infer. Reasonable inference depends on comparative degrees of reasonable belief. An inference in which every premise and every step is beyond question is a demonstrative inference. (Similarly, reasoning for which this condition holds is demonstrative reasoning.) Just as what is beyond question can vary from one situation to another, so can what counts as demonstrative. The term presumably derives from Aristotle’s Posterior Analytics. Understanding Aristotle’s views on demonstration requires understanding his general scheme for classifying inferences. Not all inferences are deductive. In an inductive inference, one infers from an observed combination of characteristics to some similar unobserved combination. ‘Reasoning’ like ‘painting’, and ‘frosting’, and many other words, has a process–product ambiguity. Reasoning can be a process that occurs in time or it can be a result or product. A letter to the editor can both contain reasoning and be the result of reasoning. It is often unclear whether a word such as ‘statistical’ that modifies the words ‘inference’ or ‘reasoning’ applies primarily to stages in the process or to the content of the product. One view, attractive for its simplicity, is that the stages of the process of reasoning correspond closely to the parts of the product. Examples that confirm this view are scarce. Testing alternatives, discarding and reviving, revising and transposing, and so on, are as common to the process of reasoning as to other creative activities. A product seldom reflects the exact history of its production. In An Examination of Sir William Hamilton’s Philosophy, J. S. Mill says that reasoning is a source from which we derive new truths (Chapter 14). This is a useful saying so long as we remember that not all reasoning is inference. -- inference to the best explanation, an inference by which one concludes that something is the case on the grounds that this best explains something else one believes to be the case. Paradigm examples of this kind of inference are found in the natural sciences, where a hypothesis is accepted on the grounds that it best explains relevant observations. For example, the hypothesis that material substances have atomic structures best explains a range of observations concerning how such substances interact. Inferences to the best explanation occur in everyday life as well. Upon walking into your house you observe that a lamp is lying broken on the floor, and on the basis of this you infer that the cat has knocked it over. This is plausibly analyzed as an inference to the best explanation; you believe that the cat has knocked over the lamp because this is the best explanation for the lamp’s lying broken on the floor. The nature of inference to the best explanation and the extent of its use are both controversial. Positions that have been taken include: (a) that it is a distinctive kind of inductive reasoning; (b) inference rule inference to the best explanation 427 4065h-l.qxd 08/02/1999 7:39 AM Page 427 that all good inductive inferences involve inference to the best explanation; and (c) that it is not a distinctive kind of inference at all, but is rather a special case of enumerative induction. Another controversy concerns the criteria for what makes an explanation best. Simplicity, cognitive fit, and explanatory power have all been suggested as relevant merits, but none of these notions is well understood. Finally, a skeptical problem arises: inference to the best explanation is plausibly involved in both scientific and commonsense knowledge, but it is not clear why the best explanation that occurs to a person is likely to be true. -- inferential knowledge, a kind of “indirect” knowledge, namely, knowledge based on or resulting from inference. Assuming that knowledge is at least true, justified belief, inferential knowledge is constituted by a belief that is justified because it is inferred from certain other beliefs. The knowledge that 7 equals 7 seems non-inferential. We do not infer from anything that 7 equals 7 – it is obvious and self-evident. The knowledge that 7 is the cube root of 343, in contrast, seems inferential. We cannot know this without inferring it from something else, such as the result obtained when multiplying 7 times 7 times 7. Two sorts of inferential relations may be distinguished. ‘I inferred that someone died because the flag is at half-mast’ may be true because yesterday I acquired the belief about the flag, which caused me to acquire the further belief that someone died. ‘I inferentially believe that someone died because the flag is at halfmast’ may be true now because I retain the belief that someone died and it remains based on my belief about the flag. My belief that someone died is thus either episodically or structurally inferential. The episodic process is an occurrent, causal relation among belief acquisitions. The structural basing relation may involve the retention of beliefs, and need not be occurrent. (Some reserve ‘inference’ for the episodic relation.) An inferential belief acquired on one basis may later be held on a different basis, as when I forget I saw a flag at half-mast but continue to believe someone died because of news reports. That “How do you know?” and “Prove it!” always seem pertinent suggests that all knowledge is inferential, a version of the coherence theory. The well-known regress argument seems to show, however, that not all knowledge can be inferential, which is a version of foundationalism. For if S knows something inferentially, S must infer it correctly from premises S knows to be true. The question whether those premises are also known inferentially begins either an infinite regress of inferences (which is humanly impossible) or a circle of justification (which could not constitute good reasoning). Which sources of knowledge are non-inferential remains an issue even assuming foundationalism. When we see that an apple is red, e.g., our knowledge is based in some manner on the way the apple looks. “How do you know it is red?” can be answered: “By the way it looks.” This answer seems correct, moreover, only if an inference from the way the apple looks to its being red would be warranted. Nevertheless, perceptual beliefs are formed so automatically that talk of inference seems inappropriate. In addition, inference as a process whereby beliefs are acquired as a result of holding other beliefs may be distinguished from inference as a state in which one belief is sustained on the basis of others. Knowledge that is inferential in one way need not be inferential in the other. When it came to rationality – Grice was especially irritated by the adjective ‘theoretical’ as applied to ‘reason’. “Kant was cleverer when he used the metaphorical ‘pure’!” -- theoretical reason – Grice preferred ‘conversational reason.’ “There’s no need to divide reason into pure and impure!’ -- in its traditional sense, a faculty or capacity whose province is theoretical knowledge or inquiry; more broadly, the faculty concerned with ascertaining truth of any kind also sometimes called speculative reason. In Book 6 of his Metaphysics, Aristotle identifies mathematics, physics, and theology as the subject matter of theoretical reason. Theoretical reason is traditionally distinguished from practical reason, a faculty exercised in determining guides to good conduct and in deliberating about proper courses of action. Aristotle contrasts it, as well, with productive reason, which is concerned with “making”: shipbuilding, sculpting, healing, and the like. Kant distinguishes theoretical reason not only from practical reason but also sometimes from the faculty of understanding, in which the categories originate. Theoretical reason, possessed of its own a priori concepts “ideas of reason”, regulates the activities of the understanding. It presupposes a systematic unity in nature, sets the goal for scientific inquiry, and determines the “criterion of empirical truth” Critique of Pure Reason. Theoretical reason, on Kant’s conception, seeks an explanatory “completeness” and an “unconditionedness” of being that transcend what is possible in experience. Reason, as a faculty or capacity, may be regarded as a hybrid composed of theoretical and practical reason broadly construed or as a unity having both theoretical and practical functions. Some commentators take Aristotle to embrace the former conception and Kant the latter. Reason is contrasted sometimes with experience, sometimes with emotion and desire, sometimes with faith. Its presence in human beings has often been regarded as constituting the primary difference between human and non-human animals; and reason is sometimes represented as a divine element in human nature. Socrates, in Plato’s Philebus, portrays reason as “the king of heaven and earth.” Hobbes, in his Leviathan, paints a more sobering picture, contending that reason, “when we reckon it among the faculties of the mind, . . . is nothing but reckoning  that is, adding and subtracting  of the consequences of general names agreed upon for the marking and signifying of our thoughts.” 

illuminism: d’Alembert, Jean Le Rond, philosopher, and Encyclopedist. According to Grimm, d’Alembert was the prime luminary of the philosophic party. Cf. the French ideologues that influenced Humboldt. An abandoned, illegitimate child, he nonetheless received an outstanding education at the Jansenist Collège des Quatre-Nations in Paris. He read law for a while, tried medicine, and settled on mathematics. In 1743, he published an acclaimed Treatise of Dynamics. Subsequently, he joined the Paris Academy of Sciences and contributed decisive works on mathematics and physics. In 1754, he was elected to the  Academy, of which he later became permanent secretary. In association with Diderot, he launched the Encyclopedia, for which he wrote the epoch-making Discours préliminaire 1751 and numerous entries on science. Unwilling to compromise with the censorship, he resigned as coeditor in 1758. In the Discours préliminaire, d’Alembert specified the divisions of the philosophical discourse on man: pneumatology, logic, and ethics. Contrary to Christian philosophies, he limited pneumatology to the investigation of the human soul. Prefiguring positivism, his Essay on the Elements of Philosophy 1759 defines philosophy as a comparative examination of physical phenomena. Influenced by Bacon, Locke, and Newton, d’Alembert’s epistemology associates Cartesian psychology with the sensory origin of ideas. Though assuming the universe to be rationally ordered, he discarded metaphysical questions as inconclusive. The substance, or the essence, of soul and matter, is unknowable. Agnosticism ineluctably arises from his empirically based naturalism. D’Alembert is prominently featured in D’Alembert’s Dream 1769, Diderot’s dialogical apology for materialism.  Grice’s illuminism – “reason enlightens us” Enlightenment, a late eighteenth-century international movement in thought, with important social and political ramifications. The Enlightenment is at once a style, an attitude, a temper  critical, secular, skeptical, empirical, and practical. It is also characterized by core beliefs in human rationality, in what it took to be “nature,” and in the “natural feelings” of mankind. Four of its most prominent exemplars are Hume, Thomas Jefferson, Kant, and Voltaire. The Enlightenment belief in human rationality had several aspects. 1 Human beings are free to the extent that their actions are carried out for a reason. Actions prompted by traditional authority, whether religious or political, are therefore not free; liberation requires weakening if not also overthrow of this authority. 2 Human rationality is universal, requiring only education for its development. In virtue of their common rationality, all human beings have certain rights, among them the right to choose and shape their individual destinies. 3 A final aspect of the belief in human rationality was that the true forms of all things could be discovered, whether of the universe Newton’s laws, of the mind associationist psychology, of good government the U.S. Constitution, of a happy life which, like good government, was “balanced”, or of beautiful architecture Palladio’s principles. The Enlightenment was preeminently a “formalist” age, and prose, not poetry, was its primary means of expression. The Enlightenment thought of itself as a return to the classical ideas of the Grecians and more especially the Romans. But in fact it provided one source of the revolutions that shook Europe and America at the end of the eighteenth century, and it laid the intellectual foundations for both the generally scientific worldview and the liberal democratic society, which, despite the many attacks made on them, continue to function as cultural ideals. 

illusion: cf. veridical memories, who needs them? hallucination is Grice’s topic.Malcolm argues in Dreaming and Skepticism and in his Dreaming that the notion of a dream qua conscious experience that occurs at a definite time and has definite duration during sleep, is unintelligible. This contradicts the views of philosophers like Descartes (and indeed Moore!), who, Malcolm holds, assume that a human being may have a conscious thought and a conscious experience during sleep. Descartes claims that he had been deceived during sleep. Malcolms point is that ordinary language contrasts consciousness and sleep. The claim that one is conscious while one is sleep-walking is stretching the use of the term. Malcolm rejects the alleged counter-examples based on sleepwalking or sleep-talking, e.g. dreaming that one is climbing stairs while one is actually doing so is not a counter-example because, in such a case, the individual is not sound asleep after all. If a person is in any state of consciousness, it logically follows that he is not sound asleep. The concept of dreaming is based on our descriptions of dreams after we have awakened in telling a dream. Thus, to have dreamt that one has a thought during sleep is not to have a thought any more than to have dreamt that one has climbed Everest is to have climbed Everest. Since one cannot have an experience during sleep, one cannot have a mistaken experience during sleep, thereby undermining the sort of scepticism based on the idea that our experience might be wrong because we might be dreaming. Malcolm further argues that a report of a conscious state during sleep is unverifiable. If Grice claims that he and Strawson saw a big-foot in charge of the reserve desk at the Bodleian library, one can verify that this took place by talking to Strawson and gathering forensic evidence from the library. However, there is no way to verify Grices claim that he dreamed that he and Strawson saw a big-foot working at the Bodleian. Grices only basis for his claim that he dreamt this is that Grice says so after he wakes up. How does one distinguish the case where Grice dreamed that he saw a big-foot working at The Bodleian and the case in which he dreamed that he saw a person in a big-foot suit working at the library but, after awakening, mis-remembered that person in a big-foot suit as a big-foot proper? If Grice should admit that he had earlier mis-reported his dream and that he had actually dreamed he saw a person in a big-foot suit at The Bodleian, there is no more independent verification for this new claim than there was for the original one. Thus, there is, for Malcolm, no sense to the idea of mis-remembering ones dreams. Malcolm here applies one of Witters ideas from his private language argument. One would like to say: whatever is going to seem right to me is right. And that only means that here we cannot talk about right. For a similar reason, Malcolm challenges the idea that one can assign a definite duration or time of occurrence to a dream. If Grice claims that he ran the mile in 3.4 minutes, one could verify this in the usual ways. If, however, Grice says he dreamt that he ran the mile in 3.4 minutes, how is one to measure the duration of his dreamt run? If Grice says he was wearing a stopwatch in the dream and clocked his run at 3.4 minutes, how can one know that the dreamt stopwatch is not running at half speed (so that he really dreamt that he ran the mile in 6.8 minutes)? Grice might argue that a dream report does not carry such a conversational implicatura. But Malcolm would say that just admits the point. The ordinary criteria one uses for determining temporal duration do not apply to dreamt events. The problem in both these cases (Grice dreaming one saw a bigfoot working at The Bodleian and dreaming that he ran the mile in 3.4 minutes) is that there is no way to verify the truth of these dreamt events — no direct way to access that dreamt inner experience, that mysterious glow of consciousness inside the mind of Grice lying comatose on the couch, in order to determine the facts of the matter. This is because, for Malcolm, there are no facts of the matter apart from the report by the dreamer of the dream upon awakening. Malcolm claims that the empirical evidence does not enable one to decide between the view that a dream experience occurs during sleep and the view that they are generated upon the moment of waking up. Dennett agrees with Malcolm that nothing supports the received view that a dream involves a conscious experience while one is asleep but holds that such issues might be settled empirically. Malcolm also argues against the attempt to provide a physiological mark of the duration of a dream, for example, the view that the dream lasted as long as the rapid eye movements. Malcolm replies that there can only be as much precision in that common concept of dreaming as is provided by the common criterion of dreaming. These scientific researchers are misled by the assumption that the provision for the duration of a dream is already there, only somewhat obscured and in need of being made more precise. However, Malcolm claims, it is not already there (in the ordinary concept of dreaming). These scientific views are making radical conceptual changes in the concept of dreaming, not further explaining our ordinary concept of dreaming. Malcolm admits, however, that it might be natural to adopt such scientific views about REM sleep as a convention. Malcolm points out, however, that if REM sleep is adopted as a criterion for the occurrence of a dream, people would have to be informed upon waking up that they had dreamed or not. As Pears observes, Malcolm does not mean to deny that people have dreams in favour of the view that they only have waking dream-behaviour. Of course it is no misuse of language to speak of remembering a dream. His point is that since the concept of dreaming is so closely tied to our concept of waking report of a dreams, one cannot form a coherent concept of this alleged inner (private) something that occurs with a definite duration during sleep. Malcolm rejects a certain philosophical conception of dreaming, not the ordinary concept of dreaming, which, he holds, is neither a hidden private something nor mere outward behaviour.The account of dreaming by Malcolm has come in for considerable criticism. Some argue that Malcolms claim that occurrences in dreams cannot be verified by others does not require the strict criteria that Malcolm proposes but can be justified by appeal to the simplicity, plausibility, and predictive adequacy of an explanatory system as a whole. Some argue that Malcolms account of the sentence I am awake is inconsistent. A comprehensive programme in considerable detail has been offered for an empirical scientific investigation of dreaming of the sort that Malcolm rejects. Others have proposed various counterexamples and counter arguments against dreaming by Malcolm. Grices emphasis is in Malcolms easy way out with statements to the effect that implicatura do or do not operate in dream reports. They do in mine! Grice considers, I may be dreaming in the two essays opening the Part II: Explorations on semantics and metaphysics in WOW. Cf. Urmson on ‘delusion’ in ‘Parentheticals’ as ‘conceptually impossible.’ Refs.: The main reference is Grice’s essay on ‘Dreaming,’ but there are scattered references in his treatment of Descartes, and “The causal theory of perception” (henceforth, “Causal theory”), The H. P. Grice Papers, BANC.

imagination: referred to by Grice in “Prolegomena” – the rabbit that looks like a duck -- the mental faculty sometimes thought to encompass all acts of thinking about something novel, contrary to fact, or not currently perceived; thus: “Imagine that Lincoln had not been assassinated,” or “Use your imagination to create a new design for roller skates.” ‘Imagination’ also denotes an important perception-like aspect of some such thoughts, so that to imagine something is to bring to mind what it would be like to perceive it. Philosophical theories of imagination must explain its apparent intentionality: when we imagine, we always imagine something. Imagination is always directed toward an object, even though the object may not exist. Moreover, imagination, like perception, is often seen as involving qualia, or special subjective properties that are sometimes thought to discredit materialist, especially functionalist, theories of mind. The intentionality of imagination and its perceptual character lead some theories to equate imagination with “imaging”: being conscious of or perceiving a mental image. However, because the ontological status of such images and the nature of their properties are obscure, many philosophers have rejected mental images in favor of an adverbial theory on which to imagine something red is best analyzed as imagining “redly.” Such theories avoid the difficulties associated with mental images, but must offer some other way to account for the apparent intentionality of imagination as well as its perceptual character. Imagination, in the hands of Husserl and Sartre, becomes a particularly apt subject for phenomenology. It is also cited as a faculty that idols of the cave imagination 417 4065h-l.qxd 08/02/1999 7:39 AM Page 417 separates human thought from any form of artificial intelligence. Finally, imagination often figures prominently in debates about possibility, in that what is imaginable is often taken to be coextensive with what is possible.

inmanens, a term most often used in contrast to ‘transcendence’ to express the way in which God is thought to be present in the world. The most extreme form of immanence is expressed in pantheism, which identifies God’s substance either partly or wholly with the world. In contrast to pantheism, Judaism and Christianity hold God to be a totally separate substance from the world. In Christianity, the separateness of God’s substance from that of the world is guaranteed by the doctrine of creation ex nihilo. Aquinas held that God is in the world as an efficient cause is present to that on which it acts. Thus, God is present in the world by continuously acting on it to preserve it in existence. Perhaps the weakest notion of immanence is expressed in eighteenth- and nineteenthcentury deism, in which God initially creates the world and institutes its universal laws, but is basically an absentee landlord, exercising no providential activity over its continuing history.

immaterialism, Oneo of Grice’s twelve labours is with Materialism. Immaterialism is the view that objects are best characterized as mere collections of qualities: “a certain colour, taste, smell, figure and consistence having been observed to go together, are accounted one distinct thing, signified by the name apple” (Berkeley, Principles, 1). So construed, immaterialism anticipates by some two hundred years a doctrine defended in the early twentieth century by Russell. The negative side of the doctrine comes in the denial of material substance or matter. Some philosophers had held that ordinary objects are individual material substances in which qualities inhere. The account is mistaken because, according to immaterialism, there is no such thing as material substance, and so qualities do not inhere in it. Immaterialism should not be confused with Berkeley’s idealism. The latter, but not the former, implies that objects and their qualities exist if and only if they are perceived.

mediatum: Grice is all about the mediatum. This he call a ‘soul-to-soul’ transfer. Imagine you pick up a rose, the thorn hurts you. You are in pain. You say “Ouch.” You transmit this to the fellow gardener. The mediacy means, “Beware of the thorn. It may hurt you.” “I am amazed that in The New World, it’s all about immediacy (Chisholm) when there’s so much which is mediately of immediate philosophical importance!”

immediatum: Grice: “Here the ‘in-’ is negative!” – the presence to the mind without intermediaries. The term ‘immediatum’ and its cognates have been used extensively throughout the history of philosophy, generally without much explanation. Descartes, e.g., explains his notion of thought thus: “I use this term to include everything that is within us in a way that we are IMMEDIATELY aware of it” (Second Replies). Descartes offers no explanation of immediate awareness, but the implicaturum is “contextually cancellable.” “Only an idiot would not realise that he is opposing it to mediated experience.” – Grice. Grice is well aware of this. “Check with Lewis and Short.” “mĕdĭo , 1, v. a. medius, I.to halve, divide in the middle (post-class.), Apic. 3, 9. — B. Neutr., to be in the middle: “melius Juno mediante,” Pall. Mart. 10, 32.” “So you see, ‘mediare’ can be transitive, but surely Descartes means it in the intransitive way – something mediates or something doesn’t – Clear as water!” However, when used as a primitive in this way, ‘immediatum’ may simply mean that thoughts are the immediate objects of perception because thoughts are the only things perceived in the strict and proper sense that no perception of an intermediary is required for the person’s awareness of them. Sometimes ‘immediate’ means ‘not mediated’. (1) An inference from a premise to a conclusion can exhibit logical immediacy because it does not depend on other premises. This is a technical usage of proof theory to describe the form of a certain class of inference rules. (2) A concept can exhibit conceptual immediacy because it is definitionally primitive, as in the Berkeleian doctrine that perception of qualities is immediate, and perception of objects is defined by the perception of their qualities, which is directly understood. (3) Our perception of something can exhibit causal immediacy because it is not caused by intervening acts of perception or cognition, as with seeing someone immediately in the flesh rather than through images on a movie screen. (4) A belief-formation process can possess psychological immediacy because it contains no subprocess of reasoning and in that sense has no psychological mediator. (5) Our knowledge of something can exhibit epistemic immediacy because it is justified without inference from another proposition, as in intuitive knowledge of the existence of the self, which has no epistemic mediator. A noteworthy special application of immediacy is to be found in Russell’s notion of knowledge by acquaintance. This notion is a development of the venerable doctrine originating with Plato, and also found in Augustine, that understanding the nature of some object requires that we can gain immediate cognitive access to that object. Thus, for Plato, to understand the nature of beauty requires acquaintance with beauty itself. This view contrasts with one in which understanding the nature of beauty requires linguistic competence in the use of the word ‘beauty’ or, alternatively, with one that requires having a mental representation of beauty. Russell offers sense-data and universals as examples of things known by acquaintance. To these senses of immediacy we may add another category whose members have acquired special meanings within certain philosophical traditions. For example, in Hegel’s philosophy if (per impossibile) an object were encountered “as existing in simple immediacy” it would be encountered as it is in itself, unchanged by conceptualization. In phenomenology “immediate” experience is, roughly, bracketed experience.

partiale.

impartialis – impartiality: Grice found this amusing. “Surely conversational maxims, constituting the conversational immanuel, are impartial – i.e. they are not part of any other part!” – “However, it’s only because they can be partial that’s the only way they can have a bite on us!” -- a state or disposition achieved to the degree that one’s actions or attitudes are not influenced in a relevant respect by which members of a relevant group are benefited or harmed by one’s actions or by the object of one’s attitudes. For example, a basketball referee and that referee’s calls are impartial when the referee’s applications of the rules are not affected by whether the calls help one team or the other. A fan’s approval of a call lacks impartiality if that attitude results from the fan’s preference for one team over the other. Impartiality in this general sense does not exclude arbitrariness or guarantee fairness; nor does it require neutrality among values, for a judge can be impartial between parties while favoring liberty and equality for all. Different situations might call for impartiality in different respects toward different groups, so disagreements arise, for example, about when morality requires or allows partiality toward friends or family or country. Moral philosophers have proposed various tests of the kind of impartiality required by morality, including role reversibility (Kurt Baier), universalizability (Hare), a veil of ignorance (Rawls), and a restriction to beliefs shared by all rational people (Bernard Gert).

imperatum – While of course there is a verb in the infinitive for this, Grice prefers the past participle – “It’s so diaphanous!” -- This starts with the Greeks, who had the klesis porstktike, modus imperativus. But then, under the modus subjunctives, the Romans added the modus prohibitivus. So this is interesting, because it seems that most of Grice’s maxims are ‘prohibitions’: “Do not say what you believe to be false.” “Do not that for which you lack adequate evidence.” And some while formally in the ‘affirmative,’ look prohibitive with ‘negative-loaded’ verbs like ‘avoid ambiguity,’ etc. hile an imperatus, m. is a command, ‘imperatum’ refers, diaphanously, to what is commanded. “Impero” is actually a derivation from the intensive “in-“ and the “paro,” as in “prepare,” “Paratum” would thus reflect the ssame cognateness with ‘imperatum.”  Modus imperativus -- imperative mode: At one point, Grice loved the “psi,” Actions are alright, but we need to stop at the psi level. The emissor communicates that the addressee thinks that the emissor has propositional attitude psi. No need to get into the logical form of action. One can just do with the logical form of a ‘that’-clause in the ascription of a state of the soul. This should usually INVOLVE an action, as in Hare, “The door is shut, please.” like Hare, Grice loves an imperative. In this essay, Grice attempts an exploration of the logical form of Kant’s concoction. Grice is especially irritated by the ‘the.’ ‘They speak of Kant’s categorical imperative, when he cared to formulate a few versions of it!” Grice lists them all in Abbott’s version. There are nine of them!  Grice is interested in the conceptual connection of the categorical imperative with the hypothetical or suppositional imperative, in terms of the type of connection between the protasis and the apodosis. Grice spends the full second Carus lecture on the conception of value on this. Grice is aware that the topic is central to Oxonian philosophers such as Hare, a member of Austin’s Play Group, too, who regard the universability of an imperative as a mark of its categoricity, and indeed, moral status. Grice chose some of the Kantian terminology on purpose.Grice would refer to this or that ‘conversational maxim.’A ‘conversational maxim’ contributes to what Grice jocularly refers to as the ‘conversational immanuel.’But there is an admission test.The ‘conversational maxim’ has to be shown that, qua items under an overarching principle of conversational helpfulness, the maxim displays a quality associated with conceptual, formal, and applicational generality. Grice never understood what Kant meant by the categoric imperative. But for Grice, from the acceptability of the the immanuel you can deduce the acceptability of this or that maxim, and from the acceptability of the conversational immanuel, be conversationally helpful, you can deduce the acceptability of this or that convesational maxim. Grice hardly considered Kants approach to the categoric imperative other than via the universability of this or that maxim. This or that conversational maxim, provided by Grice, may be said to be universalisable if and only if it displays what Grice sees as these three types of generality: conceptual, formal, and applicational. He does the same for general maxims of conduct. The results are compiled in a manual of universalisable maxims, the conversational immanuel, an appendix to the general immanuel. The other justification by Kant of the categoric imperative involve an approach other than the genitorial justification, and an invocation of autonomy and freedom. It is the use by Plato of imperative as per categoric imperative that has Grice expanding on modes other than the doxastic, to bring in the buletic, where the categoric imperative resides. Note that in the end Kant DOES formulate the categoric imperative, as Grice notes, as a real imperative, rather than a command, etc. Grice loved Kant, but he loved Kantotle best. In the last Kant lecture, he proposes to define the categorical imperative as a counsel of prudence, with a protasis Let Grice be happy. The derivation involves eight stages! Grice found out that out of his play-group activities with this or that linguistic nuance he had arrived at the principle, or imperative of conversational helpfulness, indeed formulated as an imperative: Make your contribution such as is required, at the stage at which it occurs, by the accepted purpose of the conversation in which you are engaged. He notes that the rationality behind the idea of conversation as rational co-operation does not preclude seeing rationality in conversation as other than cooperation. The fact that he chooses maxim, and explicitly echoes Kant, indicates where Grice is leading! An exploration on Paton on the categorical imperative. Grice had previously explored the logical form of hypothetical or suppositional imperatives in the Kant (and later Locke) lectures, notably in Lecture IV, Further remarks on practical and alethic reasons. Here he considers topics related to Hares tropic-clistic neustic-phrastic quartet. What does it mean to say that a command is conditional? The two successors of Grices post as Tutorial Fellow at St. Johns, Baker Hacker, will tackle the same issue with humour, in Sense and nonsense, published by Blackwell (too irreverent to be published by the Clarendon). Is the logical form of a maxim, .p⊃!q, or !(.p ⊃.q), etc. Kant thought that there is a special sub-class of hypothetical or suppositional  imperative (which he called a counsels of prudence) which is like his class of technical imperative, except in that the end specified in a full specfication of the imperative is the special end of eudæmonia (the agents eudæmonia). For Grice, understanding Kant’s first version of the categorical imperative involves understanding what a maxim is supposed to be. Grice explores at some length four alternative interpretations of an iffy buletic (as opposed to a non-iffy buletic): three formal, one material. The first interpretation is the horseshoe interpretation. A blind logical nose might lead us or be led to the assumption of a link between a buletically iffy utterance and a doxastically iffy utterance. Such a link no doubt exists, but the most obvious version of it is plainly inadequate. At least one other philosopher besides Grice has noticed that If he torments the cat, have him arrested! is unlikely to express an buletically iffy utterance, and that even if one restricts oneself to this or that case in which the protasis specifies a will, we find pairs of examples like If you will to go to Oxford, travel by AA via Richmond! or If you will to go to Cambridge, see a psychiatrist! where it is plain that one is, and the other is not, the expression of a buletically iffy utterance. For fun, Grice does not tell which! A less easily eliminable suggestion, yet one which would still interprets the notion of a buletically iffy utterance in terms of that particular logical form to which if, hypothetical or suppositional  and conditional attach, would be the following. Let us assume that it is established, or conceded, as legitimate to formulate an if utterance in which not only the apodosis is couched in some mode other than the doxastic, as in this or that conditional command. If you see the whites of their eyes, shoot fire! but also the protasis or some part (clause) of them. In which case all of the following might be admissible conditionals. Thus, we might have a doxastic protasis (If the cat is sick, take it to the vet), or a mixed (buletic-cum-doxastic protasis (If you are to take the cat to the vet and theres no cage available, put it on Marthas lap!), and buletic protasis (If you are to take the cat to the vet, put it in a cage!). If this suggestion seems rebarbative, think of this or that quaint if utterance (when it is quaint) as conditionalised versions of this or that therefore-sequence, such as: buletic-cum-doxastic premises (Take the cat to the vet! There isnt a cage. Therefore; Put the cat on Marthas lap!), buletic premise (Take the cat to the vet! Put it in a cage!). And then, maybe, the discomfort is reduced. Grice next considers a second formal interpretation or approach to the buletically iffy/non-iffy utterance. Among if utterances with a buletic apodosis some will have, then, a mixed doxastic-cum buletic protasis (partly doxastic, partly buletic), and some will have a purely doxastic protasis (If the cat is sick, take him to the vet!). Grice proposes a definition of the iffy/non-iffy distinction. A buletically iffy utterance is an iffy utterance the apodosis of which is buletic and the protasis of which is buletic or mixed (buletic-cum-dxastic) or it is an elliptical version of such an iffy utterance. A buletically non-iffy utterance is a buletic utterance which is not iffy or else, if it is iffy, has a purely doxastic protasis. Grice makes three quick comments on this second interpretation. First, re: a real imperative. The structures which are being offered as a way of interpreting an iffy and a non-iffy  imperative do not, as they stand, offer any room for the appearance this or that buletic modality like ought and should which are so prominently visible in the standard examples of those kinds of imperatives. The imperatives suggested by Grice are explicit imperatives. An explicit buletic utterance is Do such-and-such! and not You ought to do such and such or, worse, One ought to do such and such. Grice thinks, however, that one can modify this suggestion to meet the demand for the appearance or occurrence of ought (etc) if such occurrence is needed. Second, it would remain to be decided how close the preferred reading of Grices deviant conditional imperatives would be to the accepted interpretation of standard hypothetical or suppositional imperatives. But even if there were some divergence that might be acceptable if the new interpretation turns out to embody a more precise notion than the standard conception. Then theres the neustical versus tropical protases. There are, Grice thinks, serious doubts of the admissibility of conditionals with a NON-doxastic protasis, which are for Grice connected with the very difficult question whether the doxastic and the buletic modes are co-ordinate or whether the doxastic mode is in some crucial fashion (but not in other) prior (to use Suppess qualification) to the buletic. Grice confesses he does not know the answer to that question. A third formal interpretation links the iffy/non-iffy distinction to the absolute-relative value distinction. An iffy imperatives would be end-relative and might be analogous to an evidence-relative probability. A non-iffy imperatives would not be end-relative. Finally, a fourth Interpretation is not formal, but material. This is close to part of what Kant says on the topic. It is a distinction between an imperative being escapable (iffy), through the absence of a particular will and its not being escapable (non-iffy). If we understand the idea of escabability sufficiently widely, the following imperatives are all escapable, even though their logical form is not in every case the same: Give up popcorn!, To get slim, give up popcorn!, If you will to get slim, give up popcorn! Suppose Grice has no will to get slim. One might say that the first imperative (Give up popcorn!) is escaped, provided giving up popcorn has nothing else to recommend it, by falsifying You should give up popcorn. The second and the third imperatives (To get slim, give up pocorn! and If you will to get slim, give up popcorn!) would not, perhaps, involve falsification but they would, in the circumstances, be inapplicable to Grice – and inapplicability, too, counts, as escape. A non-iffy imperative however, is in no way escapable. Re: the Dynamics of Imperatives in Discourse, Grice then gives three examples which he had discussed in “Aspects,” which concern arguments (or therefore-chains). This we may see as an elucidation to grasp the logical form of buletically iffy utterance (elided by the therefore, which is an if in the metalanguage) in its dynamics in argumentation. We should, Grice suggests, consider not merely imperatives of each sort, together with the range of possible characterisations, but also the possible forms of argument into which_particular_ hypothetical or suppositional imperatives might enter. Consider: Defend the Philosophy Department! If you are to defend the philosophy department, learn to use bows and arrows! Therefore, learn to use bows and arrows! Grice says he is using the dichotomy of original-derived value. In this example, in the first premise, it is not specified whether the will is original or derived, the second premise specifies conducive to (means), and the conclusion would involve a derived will, provided the second premise is doxastically satisfactory. Another example would be: Fight for your country! If you are to fight for your country, join up one of the services! Therefore, join up! Here, the first premise and the conclusion do not specify the protasis. If the conclusion did, it would repeat the second premise. Then theres Increase your holdings in oil shares! If you visit your father, hell give you some oil shares. Therefore, visit your father! This argument (purportedly) transmits value. Let us explore these characterisations by Grice with the aid of Hares distinctions. For Hare in a hypothetical or suppositional imperative, the protasis contains a neustic-cum-tropic. A distinction may be made between this or that hypothetical or suppositional imperative and a term used by Grice in his first interpretation of the hypothetical or suppositional imperative, that of conditional command (If you see the whites of their eyes, shoot fire!). A hypothetical or suppositional imperative can be distinguished from a conditional imperative (If you want to make bread, use yeast! If you see anything suspicious, telephone the police!) by the fact that modus ponens is not valid for it. One may use hypothetical, suppositional or conditional imperative for a buletic utterance which features if, and reserve conditional command for a command which is expressed by an imperative, and which is conditional on the satisfaction of the protasis. Thus, on this view, treating the major premise of an argument as a hypothetical or suppositional imperative turns the therefore-chain invalid. Consider the sequence with the major premise as a hypothetical or suppositional imperative. If you will to make someone mad, give him drug D! You will to make Peter mad; therefore, give Peter drug D! By uttering this hypothetical or suppositional imperative, the utterer tells his addressee A only what means to adopt to achieve a given end in  a way which does not necessarily endorse the adoption of that end, and hence of the means to it. Someone might similarly say, if you will to make someone mad, give him drug D! But, of course, even if you will to do that, you must not try to do so. On the other hand, the following is arguably valid because the major premise is a conditional imperative and not a mere hypothetical or suppositional one. We have a case of major premise as a conditional imperative: You will to make someone mad, give him drug D! Make Peter mad! Therefore, give Peter drug D!. We can explain this in terms of the presence of the neustic in the antecedent of the imperative working as the major premise. The supposition that the protasis of a hypothetical or suppositional imperative contains a clause in the buletic mode neatly explains why the argument with the major premise as a hypothetical or suppositional imperative is not valid. But the argument with the major premise as a conditional imperative is, as well as helping to differentiate a suppositional or hypothetical or suppositional iffy imperative from a conditional iffy imperative. For, if the protasis of the major premise in the hypothetical or suppositional imperative is volitival, the mere fact that you will to make Peter mad does not license the inference of the imperative to give him the drug; but this _can_ be inferred from the major premise of the hypothetical or suppositional imperative together with an imperative, the minor premise in the conditional imperative, to make Peter mad. Whether the subordinate clause contains a neustic thus does have have a consequence as to the validity of inferences into which the complex sentence enters. Then theres an alleged principle of mode constancy in buletic and and doxastic inference. One may tries to elucidate Grices ideas on the logical form of the hypothetical or suppositional imperative proper. His suggestion is, admittedly, rather tentative. But it might be argued, in the spirit of it, that an iffy imperative is of the form ((!p⊃!q) Λ .p)) ∴ !q But this violates a principle of mode constancy. A phrastic must remain in the same mode (within the scope of the same tropic) throughout an argument. A conditional imperative does not violate the principle of Modal Constancy, since it is of the form ((p⊃!q) Λ !p)) ∴ !q The question of the logical form of the hypothetical or suppositional  imperative is too obscure to base much on arguments concerning it. There is an alternative to Grices account of the validity of an argument featuring a conditional imperative.  This is to treat the major premise of a conditional imperative, as some have urged it should be as a doxastic utterance tantamount to In order to make someone mad, you have to give him drug D.  Then an utterer who explicitly conveys or asserts the major premise of a conditional imperative and commands the second premise is in consistency committed to commanding the conclusion. If does not always connect phrastic with phrastic but sometimes connects two expressions consisting of a phrastic and a tropic. Consider: If you walk past the post office, post the letter! The antecedent of this imperative states, it seems, the condition under which the imperative expressed becomes operative, and so can not be construed buletically, since by uttering a buletic utterance, an utterer cannot explicitly convey or assert that a condition obtains. Hence, the protasis ought not be within the scope of the buletic !, and whatever we take to represent the form of the utterance above we must not take !(if p, q) to do so. One way out. On certain interpretation of the isomorphism or æqui-vocality Thesis between Indicative and Imperative Inference the utterance has to be construed as an imperative (in the generic reading)  to make the doxasatic conditional If you will walk past the post office,  you will post the letter satisfactory. Leaving aside issues of the implicaturum of if, that the utterance can not be so construed  seems to be shown by the fact that the imperative to make the associated doxastically iffy utterance satisfactory is conformed with by one who does not walk past the post office. But it seems strange at best to say that the utterance is conformed with in the same circumstances. This strangeness or bafflingliness, as Grice prefers, is aptly explained away in terms of the implicaturum. At Oxford, Dummett is endorsing this idea that a conditional imperative be construed as an imperative to make an indicative if utterance true. Dummett urges to divide conditional imperatives into those whose antecedent is within the power of the addressee, like the utterance in question, and those in which it is not. Consider: If you go out, wear your coat! One may be not so much concerned with how to escape this, as Grice is, but how to conform it. A child may choose not to go out in order to comply with the imperative. For an imperative whose protasis is_not_ within the power of the addressee (If anyone tries to escape, shoot him!) it is indifferent whether we treat it as a conditional imperative or not, so why bother. A small caveat here. If no one tries to escape, the imperative is *not violated*. One might ask, might there not be an important practical difference bewteen saying that an imperative has not been violated and that it has been complied with? Dummett ignores this distinction. One may feel think there is much of a practical difference there. Is Grice an intuitionist? Suppose that you are a frontier guard and the antecedent has remained unfulfilled. Then, whether we say that you complied with it, or simply did not *violate* it will make a great deal of difference if you appear before a war crimes tribunal.  For Dummett, the fact that in the case of an imperative expressed by a conditional imperative in which the antecedent is not within the agents power, we should *not* say that the agent had obeyed just on the ground that the protassi is false, is no ground for construing an imperative as expressing a conditional command: for there is no question of fixing what shall constitute obedience independently of the determination of what shall constitute disobedience. This complicates the issues. One may with Grice (and Hare, and Edgley) defend imperative inference against other Oxonian philosophers, such as Kenny or Williams. What is questioned by the sceptics about imperative inference is whether if each one of a set of imperatives is used with the force of a command, one can infer a _further_ imperative with that force from them. Cf. Wiggins on Aristotle on the practical syllogism. One may be more conservative than Hare, if not Grice. Consider If you stand by Jane, dont look at her! You stand by Jane; therefore, dont look at her! This is valid. However, the following, obtained by anti-logism, is not: If you stand by Jane, dont look at her! Look at her! Therefore, you dont stand by Jane. It may seem more reasonable to some to deny Kants thesis, and maintain that anti-logism is valid in imperative inference than it is to hold onto Kants thesis and deny that antilogism is valid in the case in question. Then theres the question of the implicatura involved in the ordering of modes. Consider: Varnish every piece of furniture you make! You are going to make a table; therefore, varnish it! This is prima facie valid. The following, however, switching the order of the modes in the premises is not. You are going to varnish every piece of furniture that you make. Make a table! Therefore; varnish it! The connection between the if and the therefore is metalinguistic, obviously – the validity of the therefore chain is proved by the associated if that takes the premise as, literally, the protasis and the consequence as the apodosis.  Conversational Implicaturum at the Rescue. Problems with or: Consider Rosss infamous example: Post the letter! Therefore, post the letter or burn it! as invalid, Ross – and endorsed at Oxford by Williams. To permit to do p or q is to permit to do p and to permit to do q. Similarly, to give permission to do something is to lift a prohibition against doing it. Admittedly, Williams does not need this so we are stating his claim more strongly than he does. One may review Grices way out (defense of the validity of the utterance above in terms of the implicaturum. Grice claims that in Rosss infamous example (valid, for Grice), whilst (to state it roughly) the premises permissive presupposition (to use the rather clumsy term introduced by Williams) is entailed by it, the conclusions is only conversationally implicated. Typically for an isomorphist, Grice says this is something shared by indicative inferences. If, being absent-minded, Grice asks his wife, What have I done with the letter? And she replies, You have posted it or burnt it, she conversationally implicates that she is not in a position to say which Grice has done. She also conversationally implicates that Grice may not have post it, so long as he has burnt it. Similarly, the future tense indicative, You are going to post the letter has the conversational implicaturum You may be not going to post the letter so long as you are going to burn it.  But this surely does not validate the introduction rule for OR, to wit:  p; therefore, p or q. One can similarly, say: Eclipse will win. He may not, of course, if it rains. And I *know* it will *not* rain. Problems with and. Consider: Put on your parachute AND jump out! Therefore, jump out! Someone who _only_ jumps out of an æroplane does not fulfil Put on your parachute and jump out!  He has done only what is necessary, but not sufficient to fulfil it.  Imperatives do not differ from indicatives in this respect, except that fulfilment takes the place of belief or doxa, which is the form of acceptance apprpriate to a doxasatic utterance, as the Names implies.  Someone who is told Smith put on his parachute AND jumped out is entitled to believe that Smith jumped out. But if he believes that this is _all_ Smith did he is in error (Cf. Edgley). One may discuss Grices test of cancellability in the case of the transport officer who says: Go via Coldstream or Berwick! It seems the transport officers way of expressing himself is extremely eccentric, or conversationally baffling, as Grice prefers – yet validly. If the transport officer is not sure if a storm may block one of the routes, what he should say is _Prepare_ to go via Coldstream or Berwick! As for the application of Grices test of explicit cancellation here, it yield, in the circumstances, the transport officer uttering Go either via Coldstream or Berwick!  But you may not go via Coldstream if you do not go via Berwick, and you may not go via Berwick if you do not go via Coldstream. Such qualifications  ‒ what Grice calls explicit cancellation of the implicaturum  ‒ seem to the addressee to empty the buletic mode of utterance of all content and is thus reminiscent of Henry Fords utterance to the effect that people can choose what colour car they like provided it is black. But then Grice doesnt think Ford is being illogical, only Griceian and implicatural! Grice was fascinated by “if” clauses in mode other than the indicative: “if the cat is on the mat, she is purring.” “If the cat had been, make her purr!” etc. He spent years at Clifton mastering this – only to have Ayer telling him at Oxford he didn’t need it! “I won’t take that!” -- Refs.: There is at least one essay just about the categorical imperative, but there are scattered references wherever Grice considers the mood markers, The H. P. Grice Papers, BANC.

implicaturum: or, Grice’s implication. Grice makes an important distinction which he thinks Austin doesn’t make because what a philosopher EXPLICITLY conveys and what he IMPLICITLY conveys. It was only a few years Grice was interacting philosophically with Austin and was reading some material by Witters, when Grice comes with this criticism and complaint. Austin ignores “all too frequently” a distinction that Witters apparently dnies. This is a distinction between what an emissor communicates (e. g. that p), which can be either explicitly (that p1) or implicitly (that p2) and what, metabolically, and derivatively, the emissum ‘communictates’ (explicitly or implicitly). At the Oxford Philosophical Society, he is considering Moore’s ‘entailment.’ This is not a vernacular expression, but a borrowing from a Romance language. But basically, Moore’s idea is that ‘p’ may be said to ‘entail’ q iff at least two conditions follow. Surely ‘entail’ has only one sense. In this metabolically usage where it is a ‘p’ that ‘entails’ the conditions are that there is a property and that there is a limitation. Now suppose Grice is discussing with Austin or reading Witters. Grice wants to distinguish various things: what the emissor communicates (explicitly or implicitly) and the attending diaphanous but metabolical, what WHAT THE EMSSOR COMMUNICATES (explicitly or implicitly) ENTAILS, AND the purely metabolical what the emissum ‘entails’ (explicitly or implicitly). This is Grice’s wording:“If we can elucidate the meaning of "A meantNN by x that p (on a particular occasion)," this might reasonably be expected to help us with the explication of "entails.”The second important occasion is in the interlude or excursus of his Aristotelian Society talk. How does he introduce the topic of ‘implication’? At that time there was a lot being written about ‘contextual’ or ‘pragmatic’ implication – even within Grice’s circle – as in D. K. Grant’s essay on pragmatic implication for Philosophy, and even earlier Nowell-Smith’s on ‘contextual implication’ in “Ethics,” and even earlier, and this is perhaps Grice’s main trigger, P. F. Strawson’s criticism of Whitehead and Russell, with Strawson having that, by uttering ‘The king of France is not bald,’ the emissor IMPLIES that there is a king of France (Strawson later changes the idiom from ‘imply,’ and the attending ‘implication, to ‘presuppose,’ but he keeps ‘imply’ in all the reprints of his earlier essays).  In “Causal Theory,” Grice surely cannot just ‘break’ the narrative and start with ‘implication’ in an excursus. So the first stage is to explore the use of ‘implication’ or related concepts in the first part of “Causal Theory” LEADING to the excursus for which need he felt. The first use appears in section 2.  The use is the noun, ‘implication.’ And Grice is reporting the view of an objector, so does not care to be to careful himself.“the OBJECTION MIGHT run as follows.” “… When someone makes a remark such as “The pillar box seems red” A CERTAIN IMPLICATION IS CARRIED.” He goes on “This implication is “DISJUNCTIVE IN FORM,” which should not concerns us here. Since we are considering the status of the implication, as seen by the objector as reported by Grice. He does not give a source, so we may assume G. A. Paul reading Witters, and trying to indoctrinate a few Oxonians into Wittgensteinianism (Grice notes that besides the playgroup there was Ryle’s group at Oxford and a THIRD, “perhaps more disciplined” group, that tended towards Witters.Grice goes on:“It IS implied that…” p. Again, he expands it, and obviously shows that he doesn’t care to be careful. And he is being ironic, because the implication is pretty lengthy! Yet he says, typically:“This may not be an absolutely EXACT or complete characterisation of the implication, but it is, perhaps, good ENOUGH to be going with!” Grice goes on to have his objector a Strawsonian, i. e. as REFUSING TO ASSIGN A TRUTH-VALUE to the utterance, while Grice would have that it is ‘uninterestingly true. In view of this it may to explore the affirmative and negative versions. Because the truth-values may change:In Grice’s view: “The pillar box seems red to me” IS “UNINTERESTINGLY TRUE,” in spite of the implication.As for “It is not the case that the pillar box seems red,” this is more of a trick. In “Negation,” Grice has a similar example. “That pillar box is red; therefore, it is not blue.”He is concerned with “The pillar box is not blue,” or “It is not the case that the pillar box is blue.”What about the truth-value now of the utterance in connection with the implication attached to it?Surely, Grice would like, unless accepting ‘illogical’ conversationalists (who want to make that something is UNASSERTIBLE or MISLEADING by adding ‘not’), the utterance ‘It is not the case that the pillar box seems red to me’ is FALSE in the scenario where the emissor would be truthful in uttering ‘The pillar box seems red to me.” Since Grice allows that the affirmative is ‘uninterestingly true,’ he is committed to having ‘It is not the case that the pillar box seems red’ as FALSE.For the Strawsonian Wittgensteinian, or truth-value gap theorist, the situation is easier to characterise. Both ‘The pillar box seems red to me” and its negation, “The pillar box does not seem red to me” lack a truth value, or in Grice’s word, as applied to the affirmative, “far from being uninterestingly true, is neither true nor false,” i. e. ‘neuter.’ It wold not be true but it would not be false either – breakdown of bivalence. Grice’s case is a complicated one because he distinguishes between the sub-perceptual “The pillar box seems red” from the perceptual ‘vision’ statement, “Grice sees that the pillar box is red.” So the truth of “The pillar box seems red” is a necessary condition for the statement about ‘seeing.’ This is itself controversial. Some philosophers have claimed that “Grice knows that p” does NOT entail “Grice believes that p,” for example. But for the causal theory Grice is thinking of an analysis of “Grice sees that the pillar box is red” in terms of three conditions: First, the pillar box seems red to Grice. Second, the pillar box is red. And third, it is the pillar box being red that causes it seeming red to Grice. Grice goes to reformulate the idea that “The pillar box seems red” being true. But now not “uninterestingly true,” but “true (under certain conditions),” or as he puts it “(subject to certain qualifications) true.” He may be having in mind a clown in a circus confronted with the blue pillar box and making a joke about it. Those ‘certain qualifications’ would not apply to the circus case. Grice goes on to change the adverb, it’s ‘boringly true,’ or ‘highly boringly true.’ He adds ‘suggestio falsi,’ which seems alright but which would not please the Wittgensteinian who would also reject the ‘false.’ We need a ‘suggestio neutri.’ In this second section, he gives the theoretical explanation. The “implication” arises “in virtue of a GENERAL FEATURE OR PRINCIPLE” of conversation, or pertaining to a system put in ‘communication,’ or a general feature or principle governing an emissor communicating that p. Note that ‘feature’ and ‘principle’ are appropriately ‘vague.’ “Feature” can be descriptive. “Principle” is Aristotelian. Boethius’s translation for Aristotle’s ‘arche.’ It can be descriptive. The first use of ‘principle’ in a ‘moral’ or ‘practical’ context seems to post-date its use in, say, geometry – Euclid’s axioms as ‘principia mathematica,’ or Newton’s “Principia.” Grice may be having in mind Moore’s ‘paradox’ (true, surely) when Grice adds ‘it is raining.’Grice’s careful wording is worth exploring. “The mistake [incorrectness, falsehood] of supposing the implication to constitute a "part of the meaning [sense]” of "The Alpha seems Beta" is somewhat similar to, though MORE INSIDUOUS …”[moral implication here: 1540s, from Middle French insidieux "insidious" (15c.) or directly from Latin insidiosus "deceitful, cunning, artful, treacherous," from insidiae (plural) "plot, snare, ambush," from insidere "sit on, occupy," from in- "in" (from PIE root *en "in") + sedere "to sit," from PIE root *sed- (1) "to sit." Figurative, usually with a suggestion of lying in wait and the intent to entrap. Related: Insidiously; insidiousness]“than, the mistake which one IF one supposes that the SO-CALLED [‘pragmatic’ or ‘contextual – implicaturum, “as I would not,” and indeed he does not – he prefers “expresses” here, not the weak ‘imply’] “implication” that one believes it to be raining is "a part of the meaning [or sense]" of the expression [or emissum] "It is raining.”Grice allows that no philosopher may have made this mistake. He will later reject the view that one conversationally implicates that one believes that it is raining by uttering ‘It is raining.’ But again he does not give sources. In these case, while without the paraphernalia about the ‘a part of the ‘sense’” bit, can be ascribed at Oxford to Nowell-Smith and Grant (but not, we hope to Strawson). Nowell-Smith is clear that it is a contextual implication, but one would not think he would make the mistake of bringing in ‘sense’ into the bargain. Grice goes on:“The short and literally inaccurate reply to such a supposition [mistake] might be that the so-called “implication” attaches because the expression (or emissum) is a PROPOSITIONAL one [expressable by a ‘that so-and-so’ clause] not because it is the particular propositional expression which it happens to be.”By ‘long,’ Grice implicates: “And it is part of the function of the informative mode that you utter an utterance in the informative mode if you express your belief in the content of the propositonal expression.”Grice goes on to analyse ‘implication’ in terms of ‘petitio principii.’ This is very interesting and requires exploration. Grice claims that his success the implicaturum in the field of the philosophy of perception led his efforts against Strawson on the syncategoremata.But here we see Grice dealing what will be his success.One might, for example, suggest that it is open to the champion of sense_data to lay down that the sense-datum sentence " I have a pink sense-datum " should express truth if and only if the facts are as they would have to be for it to be true, if it were in order, to say .. Something looks pink to me ", even though it may not actually be in ordei to say this (because the D-or-D condition is unfulfilled). But this attempt to by-pass the objector's position would be met by the reply that it begs the question; for it assumes that there is some way of specifying the facts in isolation from the implication standardly carried by such a specification; and this is precisely what the objector is denying.Rephrasing that:“One might, for example, suggest that it is open to the champion of sense_data to lay down that the sense-datum sentence "The pillar box seems red” is TRUE if and only if the facts are as the facts WOULD HAVE to be for “The pillar box seems red” to be true, IF (or provided that) it were IN ORDER [i. e. conversationally appropriate], to utter or ‘state’ or explicitly convey that the pillar box seems red, even though it may NOT actually be in order [conversationally appropriate] to explicitly convey that the pillar box seems red (because the condition specified in the implication is unfulfilled).”“But this attempt to by-pass the objector's position would be met by a charge of ‘petitio principia,’ i. e. the reply that it begs the question.”“Such a  manoeuvre is invalid in that it assumes that there IS some way of providing a SPECIFICATION of the facts of the matter in isolation from, or without recourse to, the implication that is standardly carried by such a specification.”“This is precisely what the objector is denying, i. e. the objector believes it is NOT the case that there is a way of giving a specification of the scenario without bringing in the implication.”Grice refers to the above as one of the “frustrations,” implicating that the above, the ‘petitio principia,’ is just one of the trials Grice underwent before coming with the explanation in terms of the general feature of communication, or as he will late express, in terms of ‘what the hell’ the ‘communication-function’ of “The pillar seems red to me” might be when the implicaturum is not meant – and you have to go on and cancel it (“That pillar box seems red; mind, I’m not suggesting that it’s not – I’m practicing my sub-perceptual proficiency.”).Grice goes on to note the generality he saw in the idea of the ‘implication.’ Even if “The pillar box seems red” was his FIRST attack, the reason he was willing to do the attacking was that the neo-Wittgensteinian was saying things that went against THE TENOR OF THE THINGS GRICE would say with regard to other ‘linguistic philosophical’ cases OTHER than in the philosophy of perception, notably his explorations were against Malcolm reading of Moore, about Moore ‘misusing’ “know.”Grice:“I was inclined to rule against my objector, partly because his opponent's position was more in line with the kind of thing I was inclined to say about other linguistic phenomena which are in some degree comparable.”Rephrase:“My natural inclination was to oppose the objector.”“And that was because his opponent's position is more “in line” with the kind of thing Grice is inclined to say – or thesis he is willing to put forward-- about OTHER phenomena involving this or that ‘communication-function’ of this or that philosophical adage, which are in some degree comparable to “The pillar box seems red.””So just before the ‘excursus,’ or ‘discursus,’ as he has it – which is then not numbered – but subtitlted (‘Implication’), he embark on a discursus about “certain ASPECTS of the concept OR CONCEPTS of implication.”He interestingly adds: “using some more or less well-worn examples.” This is not just a reference to Strawson, Grant, Moore, Hungerland and Nowell-Smith, but to the scholastics and the idea of the ‘suppositio’ as an ‘implicatio,’: “Tu non cessas edere ferrum.” Grice says he will consider only four aspects or FOUR IDEAS (used each as a ‘catalyst’) in particular illustrations.“Smith has not ceased beating his wife.”“Smith’s girlfriend is poor, but honest.”“Smith’s handwriting is beautiful”“Smith’s wife is in the kitchen or in the bathroom.”Each is a case, as Grice puts it, “in which in ordinary parlance, or at least in Oxonian philosophical parlance, something might be said to be ‘implied’ (hopefully by the emissor) -- as distinct from being ‘stated,’ or ‘explicitly put.’One first illustrationEXPLICITLY CONVEYED: “Smith has not ceased beating his wife.” IMPLICITLY CONVEYED, but cancellable: “Smith has been beating his wife.”CANCELLATION: “Smith has not ceased beating his wife; he never started.”APPLY THREE OTHER IDEAS.A second illustrationEXPLICITLY CONVEYED:“Smith’s girlfriend is poor, but honest.”IMPLICITLY CONVEYED: “There is some contrast between Smith’s girlfriend’s honesty and her poverty; and possibly between Smith and the utterer.”CANCELLATION: “I’m sorry, I cannot cancel that.”TRY OTHER THREE IDEAS.A third illustrationEXPLICITLY CONVEYED “Smith’s handwriting is beautiful” – “Or “If only his outbursts were more angelic.”IMPLICITLY CONVEYED: “He possibly cannot read Hegel in German.”CANCELLATION: “Smith’s handwriting is beautiful; on top, he reads Hegel in German.”TRY THREEOTHER IDEASA fourth illustration:EXPLICITLY CONVEYED: “Smith’s wife is in the kitchen or in the bathroom.”IMPLICITLY CONVEYED: “It is not the case that I have truth-functional grounds to express disjunct D1, and it is not the case that I have truth-functional grounds to express disjunct D2; therefore, I am introducting the disjunction EITHER than by the way favoured by Gentzen.” (Grice actually focuses on the specific ‘doxastic’ condition: emissor believes …CANCELLATION: “I know perfectly well where she is, but I want you to find out for yourself.”TRY THREE OTHER IDEAS.Within the discursus he gives SIX (a sextet) other examples, of the philosophical type, because he is implicating the above are NOT of the really of philosophical type, hence his reference to ‘ordinary parlance.’ He points out that he has no doubt there are other candidates besides his sextet.FIRST IN THE SEXTETEXPLICITLY CONVEYED: “You cannot see a knife as a knife, though you may see what is not a knife as a knife.”IMPLICITLY CONVEYED: “”AS” REQUIRES A GESTALT.”CANCELLATION: “I see the horse as a horse, because my gestalt is mine.”TRY THREE OTHER IDEASSECOND IN THE SEXTET:EXPLICITLY CONVEYED:“When Moore said he knew that the objects before him were human hands, he was guilty of misusing the word "know".”IMPLICITLY CONVEYED: “You can only use ‘know’ for ‘difficult cases.’CANCELLATION: “If I know that p iff I believe that p, p, and p causes my belief in p, I know that the objects before me are human hands.”TRY THREE OTHER IDEAS.THIRD IN THE SEXTETEXPLICITLY CONVEYED: “For an occurrence to be properly said to have a ‘cause,’ the occurrence must be something abnormal or unusual.”IMPLICILTY CONVEYED: “Refrain from using ‘cause’ when the thing is normal and usual.”CANCELLATION: “If I see that the pillar box is red iff the pillar box seems red, the pillar box is red, and the pillar box being red causes the pillar box seeming red, the cause of the pillar box seeming red is that the pillar box is red.”TRY OTHER THREE IDEAS.FOURTH IN THE SEXTET:  EXPLICITLY CONVEYED: “For an action to be properly described as one for which the agent is responsible, it must be the sort of action for which people are condemned.”IMPLICITLY CONVEYED: “Refrain ascribing ‘responsibility’ to Timmy having cleaned up his bedroom.”CANCELLATION: “Timmy is very responsible. He engages in an action for which people are not condemned.”TRY THREE OTHER IDEAS.FIFTH IN THE SEXTET:EXPLICITLY CONVEYED: “What is actual is not also possible.”IMPLICITLY CONVEYED: “There is a realm of possibilities which does not overlap with the realm of actualities.”CANCELLATION: “If p is actual iff p obtains in world w1, and p is possible iff p obtains in any world wn which includes w1, p is possible.”TRY THREE OTHER IDEAS.SIXTH IN THE SEXTETEXPLICITLY CONVEYED: “What is known by me to be the case is not also believed by me to be the case.”IMPLICITLY CONVEYED: “To know is magical!”CANCELLATION: “If I know that p iff I believe that p, p, and p causes my believing that p, then what is known by me to be the case is also believed by me to be the case.”TRY THREE OTHER IDEAS.CASE IN QUESTION:EXPLICITLY CONVEYED: “The pillar box seems red.”IMPLICITLY CONVEYED: “One will doubt it is.”CANCELLATION: “The pillar box seems red and I hope no one doubt it is.”TRY THREE OTHER IDEAS. THAT LISTING became commonplace for Grice. In ProlegomenaGROUP A: EXAMPLE I: RYLE on ‘voluntarily’ and “involuntarily” in “The Concept of Mind.” RYLE WAS LISTENING! BUT GRICE WAS without reach! Grice would nothavecriticised Ryle at a shorter distance.EXAMPLE II: MALCOLM IN “Defending common sense” in the Philosophical Review, on Moore’s misuse of ‘know’ – also in Causal, above, as second in the sextet.EXPLICITLY CONVEYED:“When Moore said he knew that the objects before him were human hands, he was guilty of misusing the word "know".REPHRASE IN “PROLEGOMENA.”IMPLICITLY CONVEYED: “You can only use ‘know’ for ‘difficult cases.’CANCELLATION: “If I know that p iff I believe that p, p, and p causes my belief in p, I know that the objects before me are human hands.”EXAMPLE III: BENJAMIN ON BROAD ON THE “SENSE” OF “REMEMBERING”EXPLICITLY CONVEYED;IMPLICITLY CONVEYEDCANCELLATIONEXAMPLES, GROUP A, CLASS IV: philosophy of perception FIRST EXAMPLE: Witters on ‘seeing as’ in Philosophical InvestigationsEXPLICITLY CONVEYEDIMPLICITLY CONVEYEDCANCELLATION.Previously used in Causal as first in the sextet: FIRST IN THE SEXTETEXPLICITLY CONVEYED: “You cannot see a knife as a knife, though you may see what is not a knife as a knife.”Rephrased in Prolegomena. IMPLICITLY CONVEYED: “”AS” REQUIRES A GESTALT.”CANCELLATION: “I see the horse as a horse, because my gestalt is mine.”GROUP A – CLASS IV – PHILOSOPHY OF PERCEPTIONEXAMPLE II – “The pillar box seems red to me.”Used in“Causal”EXPLICITLY CONVEYED: “The pillar box seems red.”IMPLICITLY CONVEYED: “One will doubt it is.”CANCELLATION: “The pillar box seems red and I hope no one doubt it is.”GROUP A – CLASS V – PHILOSOPHY OF ACTION – Here unlike Class IV, he uses (a), etc.EXAMPLE A: WITTERS AND OTHERS on ‘trying’ EXPLICITLY CONVEYEDIMPLICITLY CONVEYED:CANCELLATIONGROUP A – CLASS V – “ACTION,” not ‘philosophy of action’ – cf. ‘ordinary parlance.’EXAMPLE B: Hart on ‘carefully.’EXPLICITLY CONVEYEDIMPLICITLY CONVEYEDCANCELLATION GROUP A – CLASS V – ACTIONEXAMPLE C: Austin in “A plea for excuses” on ‘voluntarily’ and ‘involuntarily’ – a refinement on Ryle above – using variable “Mly” – Grice would not have criticised Austin in the play group. He rather took it against his tutee, Strawson.EXPLICITLY CONVEYED IMPLICITLY CONVEYEDCANCELLATIONGROUP B: syncategorema – not lettered butFIRST EXAMPLE: “AND” (not ‘not’)SECOND EXAMPLE: “OR”THIRD EXAMPLE: “IF” – particularly relevant under ‘implication.’ STRAWSON, Introduction to logical theory.GRICE’S PHRASING: “if p, q” ENTAILS ‘p horseshoe q.’ The reverse does not hold: it is not the case that ‘p horseshoe q’ ENTAILS ‘if p, q’. Odd way of putting it, but it was all from Strawson. It may be argued that ‘entail’ belongs in a system, and ‘p horseshoe q’ and ‘if p, q’ are DISPARATE. Grice quotes verbatim from Strawson:a ‘primary or standard’ use of “if … then …,” or “if,” of which the main characteristics were: that for each hypothetical statement made by this use of “if,” there could be made just one statement which would be the antecedent of the hypothetical and just onestatement which would be its consequent; that the hypothetical statement is acceptable (true, reasonable) if the antecedent statement, if made or accepted, would, in the circumstances, be a good ground or reason for accepting the consequent statement; and that the making of the hypothetical statement carries the implicationeither of uncertainty about, or of disbelief in, the fulfilment of both antecedent and consequent.Grice rephrases that by stating that for Grice “a primary or standard use of ‘if, then’” is characterised as follows:“for each hypothetical statement made by this use of “if,” there could be made just one statement which would be the antecedent of the hypothetical and just one statement which would be its consequent; that the hypothetical statement is acceptable (true, reasonable) if the antecedent statement, if made or accepted, would, in the circumstances, be a good ground or reason for accepting the consequent statement; and that the making of the hypothetical statement carries the implication either of uncertainty about, or of disbelief in, the fulfilment of both antecedent and consequent.”Grice rephrases the characterisation as from “each” and eliding a middle part, but Grice does not care to add the fastidious “[…],” or quote, unquote.“each hypothetical ‘statement’ made by this use of “if” is acceptable (TRUE, reasonable) if the antecedent ‘statement,’ IF made or accepted, would, in the circumstances, be a good ground or reason for accepting the consequent ‘statement;’ and that the making of thehypothetical statement carries the implication either of uncertainty about, or of disbelief in, the fulfilment of both antecedent and consequent.  “A hypothetical, or conditional ‘statement’ or composite proposition such as “If it is day, I talk”is acceptable (or TRUE, or ‘reasonable’) if (but not only if), first, the antecedent ‘statement,’ ‘It is day,’ IF made on its own, or accepted on its own, i. e. simpliciter, would, in the circumstances, be a good ground or ‘reason’ for accepting the consequent ‘statement,’ to wit: “I talk;” and, second, that the making of the conditional proposition or hypothetical ‘statement’ carries the implication, or rather the emissor of the emissum IMPLIES, either it is not the case that the emissor is CERTAIN about or that it is day and CERTAIN about or that he talks, or BELIEVES that it is day and BELIEVES that he talks.”More or less Grice’s denial or doubt. Or rather ‘doubt’ (Strawson’s ‘uncertainty about’) or denial (‘disbelief in’). But it will do at this point to explore the argument by Strawson to which Grice is responding. First two comments. Strawson has occasion to respond to Grice’s response in more than one opportunity. But Grice never took up the issue again in a detailed fashion – after dedicating a full lecture to it. One occasion was Strawson’s review of the reprint of Grice in 1989. Another is in the BA memorial. The crucial one is repr. by Strawson (in a rather otiose way) in his compilation, straight from PGRICE. This is an essay which Strawson composed soon after the delivery by Grice of the lecture without consulting. Once Stawson is aware of Grice’s terminology, he is ready to frame his view in Grice’s terms: for Strawson, there IS an implicaturum, but it is a conventional one. His analogy is with the ‘asserted’ “therefore” or “so.” Since this for Grice was at least the second exemplar of his manoeuvre, it will do to revise the argument from which Grice extracts the passage in “Prolegomena.” In the body of the full lecture IV, Grice does not care to mention Strawson at all; in fact, he makes rather hasty commentaries generalising on both parties of the debate: the formalists, who are now ‘blue-collared practitioners of the sciences,” i. e. not philosophers like Grice and Strawson; and the informalists or ‘traditionalists’ like Strawson who feel offended by the interlopers to the tranquil Elysium of philosophy. Grice confesses a sympathy for the latter, of course. So here is straight from the tranquil Elysium of philosophy. For Strawson, the relations between “if” and “⊃” have already, but only in part, been discussed (Ch. 2, S. 7).” So one may need to review those passages. But now he has a special section that finishes up the discussion which has been so far only partial. So Strawson resumes the points of the previous partial discussion and comes up with the ‘traditionalist’ tenet.  The sign “⊃” is called the material implication sign. Only by Whitehead and Russell, that is, ‘blue-collared practitioners of the sciences,’ in Grice’s wording. Whitehead and Russell think that ‘material’ is a nice opposite to ‘formal,’ and ‘formal implication’ is something pretty complex that only they know to which it refers! Strawson goes on to explain, and this is a reminder of his “Introduction” to his “Philosophical Logic” where he reprints Grice’s Meaning (for some reason). There Strawson has a footnote quoting from Quine’s “Methods of Logic,” where the phrasing is indeed about the rough phrase, ‘the meaning of ‘if’’ – cf. Grice’s laughter at philosophers talking of ‘the sense of ‘or’’ – “Why, one must should as well talk of the ‘sense’ of ‘to,’ or ‘of’!’ – Grice’s implicaturum is to O. P. Wood, whose claim to fame is for having turned Oxford into the place where ‘the sense of ‘or’’ was the key issue with which philosophers were engaged.  Strawson goes on to say that its meaning is given by the ‘rule’ that any statement of the form ‘p⊃q’ is FALSE in the case in which the first of its constituent statements is true and the second false, and is true in every other case considered in the system; i. e., the falsity of the first constituent statement or the truth of the second are, equally, sufficient conditions of the truth of a statement of material implication. The combination of truth in the first with falsity in the second is the single, NECESSARY AND SUFFICIENT, condition of its falsity. The standard or primary -- the importance of this qualifying phrase, ‘primary,’ can scarcely be overemphasized – Grice omits this bracket when he expolates the quote. The bracket continues. The place where Strawson opens the bracket is a curious one: it is obvious he is talking about the primary use of ‘if’. So here he continues the bracket with the observation that there are uses of “if”  which do not answer to the description given here, or to any other descriptions given in this [essay] -- use of “if” sentence, on the other hand [these are Strawson’s two hands], are seen to be in circumstances where, not knowing whether some statement which could be made by the use of a sentence corresponding in a certain way to the sub-ordinated clause of the utterance is true or not, or believing it to be false, the emissor nevertheless considers that a step in reasoning from THAT statement to a statement related in a similar way to the main clause would be a sound or reasonable step [a reasonable reasoning, that is]; this statement related to the main clause also being one of whose truth the emissor is in doubt, or which the emissor believes to be false. Even in such circumstances as these a philosopher may sometimes hesitate to apply ‘true’ to a conditional or hypothetical statement, i.e., a statement which could be made by the use of “if ”(Philo’s ‘ei,’ Cicero’s ‘si’)  in its standard significance, preferring to call a conditional statement reasonable or well-founded. But if the philosopher does apply ‘true’ to an ‘if’ utterance at all, it will be in such circumstances as these. Now one of the sufficient conditions of the truth of a ‘statement’ or formula of material implication may very well be fulfilled without the conditions for the truth, or reasonableness, of the corresponding hypothetical or conditional statement being fulfilled. A statement of the form ‘p ⊃ q’ (where the horseshoe is meant to represent an inverted ‘c’ for ‘contentum’ or ‘consequutum’ -- does not entail the corresponding statement of the ‘form’ “if p, q.” But if the emissor is prepared to accept the hypothetical statement, he must in consistency be prepared to deny the conjunction of the statement corresponding to the sub-ordinated clause of the sentence used to make the hypothetical statement with the negation of the statement corresponding to its main or super-ordinated clause. A statement of the ‘form’ “if p, q” does entail the corresponding statement of the form ‘p ⊃ q.’ The force of “corresponding” may need some elucidation. Consider the following very ‘ordinary’ or ‘natural’ specimens of a hypothetical sentence. Strawson starts with a totally unordinary subjective counterfactual ‘if,’ an abyss with Philo, “If it’s day, I talk.” Strawson surely involves The Hun. ‘If the Germans had invaded England in 1940, they, viz. the Germans, would have won the war.’ Because for the Germans, invading England MEANT winning the war. They never cared much for Wales or Scotland, never mind Northern Ireland. Possibly ‘invaded London’ would suffice. Strawson’s second instantiation again is the odd subjective counter-factual ‘if,’ an abyss or chasm from Philo, ‘If it’s day, I talk.’ “If Smith were in charge, half the staff would have been dismissed.’ Strawson is thinking Noel Coward, who used to make fun of the music-hall artist Wade. “If you WERE the only girl in the world, and I WAS the only boy…’. The use of ‘were’ is Oxonian. A Cockney is forbidden to use it, using ‘was’ instead. The rationale is Philonian. ‘was’ is indicative.  “If Smith were in charge, half the staff would have been dismissed.’ Strawson’s third instantiation is, at last, more or less Philonian, a plain indicative ‘weather’ protasis, etc. “If it rains, the match will be cancelled.” The only reservation Philo would have is ‘will’. Matches do not have ‘will,’ and the sea battle may never take place – the world may be destroyed by then. “If it rains, the match will be cancelled.” Or “If it rains, the match is cancelled – but there is a ‘rain date.’” The sentence which could be used to make a statement corresponding in the required ‘sense’ to the sub-ordinate clause can be ascertained by considering what it is that the emissor of each hypothetical sentence must (in general) be assumed either to be in doubt about or to believe to be not the case. Thus, the corresponding sentences. ‘The Germans invaded England in 1940.’ Or ‘The Germans invade England’ – historical present -- ‘The Germans won the war.’ Or ‘The Germans win the war’ – historical present. ‘Smith is in charge.’ ‘Half the staff has been dismissed.’ Or ‘Half the staff is dismissed.’ ‘It will rain.’ Or ‘It rains.’‘The match will be cancelled.’ Or ‘The match is cancelled.’ A sentence could be used to make a statement of material implication corresponding to the hypothetical statement made by the  sentence is framed, in each case, from these pairs of sentences as follows. ‘The Germans invaded England in 1940 ⊃ they won the war.’ Or in the historical present,’The Germans invade London ⊃ The Germans win the war. ‘ ‘Smith is in charge ⊃ half the staff has been, dismissed.’ Or in the present tense, ‘Smith is in charge ⊃ half the staff is dismissed.’ ‘ It will rain ⊃ the match will be cancelled.’ Or in the present ‘It rains ⊃ the match is cancelled.’  The very fact that a few verbal modifications are necessary to please the Oxonian ear, in order to obtain from the clauses of the hypothetical sentence the clauses of the corresponding material implication sentence is itself a symptom of the radical difference between a hypothetical statement and a truth-functional statement. Some detailed differences are also evident from these instantiations. The falsity of a statement made by the use of ‘The Germans invade London in 1940’ or ‘Smith is in charge’ is a sufficient condition of the truth of the corresponding statements made by the use of the ⊃-utterances. But not, of course, of the corresponding statement made by the use of the ‘if’ utterance. Otherwise, there would normally be no point in using an ‘if’ sentence at all.An ‘if’ sentence would normally carry – but not necessarily: one may use the pluperfect or the imperfect subjunctive when one is simply working out the consequences of an hypothesis which one may be prepared eventually to accept -- in the tense or mode of the verb, an implication (or implicaturum) of the emissor’s belief in the FALSITY of the statements corresponding to the clauses of the hypothetical.That it is not the case that it rains is sufficient to verify (or truth-functionally confirm) a statement made by the use of “⊃,” but not a statement made by the use of ‘if.’ That it is not the case that it rains is also sufficient to verify (or truth-functionally confirm) a statement made by the use of ‘It will rain ⊃ the match will not be cancelled.’ Or ‘It rains ⊃ the match is cancelled.’ The formulae ‘p ⊃ q’ and ‘p ⊃ ~ q' are consistent with one another.The joint assertion of corresponding statements of these forms is equivalent to the assertion of the corresponding statement of the form ‘~ p.’ But, and here is one of Philo’s ‘paradoxes’: “If it rains, the match will be cancelled” (or ‘If it rains, the match is cancelled’) seems (or sounds) inconsistent with “If it rains, the match will not be cancelled,’ or ‘If it rains, it is not the case that the match is cancelled.’But here we add ‘not,’ so Philo explains the paradox away by noting that his account is meant for ‘pure’ uses of “ei,” or “si.”Their joint assertion in the same context sounds self-contradictory. But cf. Philo, who wisely said of ‘If it is day, it is night’ “is true only at night.” (Diog. Laert. Repr. in Long, The Hellenistic Philosophers). Suppose we call the statement corresponding to the sub-ordinated clause of a sentence used to make a hypothetical statement the antecedent of the hypothetical statement; and the statement corresponding to the super-ordinated clause, its consequent. It is sometimes fancied that, whereas the futility of identifying a conditional ‘if’ statement with material implication is obvious in those cases where the implication of the falsity of the antecedent is normally carried by the mode or tense of the verb – as in “If the Germans invade London in 1940, they, viz. the Germans, win the war’ and ‘If Smith is in charge, half the staff is dismissed’ -- there is something to be said for at least a PARTIAL identification in cases where no such implication is involved, i.e., where the possibility of the truth of both antecedent and consequent is left open – as in ‘If it rains, the match is cancelled.’ In cases of the first kind (an ‘unfulfilled,’ counterfactual, or ‘subjunctive’ conditional) the intended addressee’s attention is directed, as Grice taught J. L. Mackie, in terms of the principle of conversational helpfulness, ONLY TO THE LAST TWO ROWS of the truth-tables for ‘ p ⊃ q,’ where the antecedent has the truth-value, falsity. Th suggestion that ‘~p’ ‘entails’ ‘if p, q’ is felt or to be or ‘sounds’ – if not to Philo’s or Grice’s ears -- obviously wrong.  But in cases of the second kind one inspects also the first two ROWS. The possibility of the antecedent's being fulfilled is left open. It is claimed that it is NOT the case that the suggestion that ‘p ⊃ q’ ‘entails’ ‘if p, q’ is felt to be or sound obviously wrong, to ANYBODY, not just the bodies of Grice and Philo. This Strawson calls, to infuriate Grice, ‘an illusion,’ ‘engendered by a reality.’The fulfilment of both antecedent and consequent of a hypothetical statement does not show that the man who made the hypothetical statement is right. It is not the case that the man would be right, Strawson claims, if the consequent is made true as a result of this or that factor unconnected with, or in spite of, rather than ‘because’ of, the fulfilment of the antecedent.  E. g. if Grice’s unmissable match is missed because the Germans invade – and not because of the ‘weather.’ – but cf. “The weather in the streets.” Strawson is prepared to say that the man (e. g., Grice, or Philo) who makes the hypothetical statement is right only if Strawson is also prepared to say that the antecedent being true is, at least in part, the ‘explanation’ of the consequent being true. The reality behind the illusion Strawson naturally finds ‘complex,’ for surely there ain’t one! Strawson thinks that this is due to two phenomena. First, Strawson claims, in many cases, the fulfilment of both antecedent and consequent provides confirmation for the view that the existence of states of affairs like those described by the antecedent IS a good ‘reason’ for expecting (alla Hume, assuming the uniformity of nature, etc.) a states of affair like that described by the consequent. Second, Starwson claims, a man (e. g. Philo, or Grice) who (with a straight Grecian or Griceian face) says, e. g. ‘If it rains, the match is cancelled’ makes a bit of a prediction, assuming the ‘consequent’ to be referring to t2>t1 – but cf. if he is reporting an event taking place at THE OTHER PLACE. The prediction Strawson takes it to be ‘The match is cancelled.’And the man is making the prediction ONLY under what Strawson aptly calls a “proviso,” or “caveat,” – first used by Boethius to translate Aristotle -- “It rains.” Boethius’s terminology later taken up by the lawyers in Genoa. mid-15c., from Medieval Latin proviso (quod) "provided (that)," phrase at the beginning of clauses in legal documents (mid-14c.), from Latin proviso "it being provided," ablative neuter of provisus, past participle of providere (see provide). Related: Provisory. And that the cancellation of the match because of the rain therefore leads us to say, not only that the reasonableness of the prediction was confirmed, but also that the prediction itself was confirmed.  Because it is not the case that a statement of the form ‘ p ⊃ q’ entails the corresponding statement of the form ' if p, q ' (in its standard employment), Strawson thinks he can find a divergence between this or that ‘rule’ for '⊃' and this or that ‘rule’ for '’if ,’ in its standard employment. Because ‘if p, q’ does entail ‘p ⊃ q,’ we shall also expect to find some degree of parallelism between the rules. For whatever is entailed by ‘p ⊃ q’ is entailed by ‘if p, q,’ though not everything which entails ‘p ⊃ q’ does Strawson claims, entail ‘if p, q.’  Indeed, we find further parallels than those which follow simply from the facts that ‘if p, q’ entails ‘p ⊃ q’ and that entailment is transitive.  To some laws for ‘⊃,’ Strawson finds no parallels for ‘if.’ Strawson notes that for at least four laws for ‘⊃,’ we find that parallel laws ‘hold’ good for ‘if. The first law is mentioned by Grice, modus ponendo ponens, as elimination of ‘⊃.’ Strawson does not consider the introduction of the horseshoe, where p an q forms a collection of all active assumptions previously introduced which could have been used in the deduction of  ‘if p, q.’ When inferring ‘if p, q’ one is allowed to discharge assumptions of the form p. The fact that after deduction of ‘if p, q’  this assumption is discharged (not active is pointed out by using [ ] in vertical notation, and by deletion from the set of assumptions in horizontal notation. The latter notation shows better the character of the rule; one deduction is transformed into the other. It shows also that the rule for the introduction of ‘if’ corresponds to an important metatheorem, the Deduction Theorem, which has to be proved in axiomatic formalizations of logic. But back to the elimination of ‘if’. Modus ponendo ponens. ‘‘((p ⊃ q).p) ⊃ q.’ For some reason, Strawson here mixes horseshoes and ifs as if Boethius is alive! Grice calls these “half-natural, half-artificial.’ Chomsky prefers ‘semi-native.’ ‘(If p, q, and p) ⊃q.’ Surely what Strawson wants is a purely ‘if’ one, such as ‘If, if p, q, and p, q.’ Some conversational implicaturum!  As Grice notes: “Strawson thinks that one can converse using his converses, but we hardly.’ The second law. Modus tollendo tollens. ‘((p⊃q). ~ q)) ⊃ (~ p).’ Again, Strawson uses a ‘mixed’ formula: (if p, q, and it is not the case that q) ⊃ it is not the case that p. Purely unartificial: If, if p, q, and it is not the case that q, it is not the case that p. The third law, which Strawson finds problematic, and involves an operator that Grice does not even consider. ‘(p ⊃ q) ≡ (~ q  ⊃ ~ p). Mixed version, Strawson simplifies ‘iff’ to ‘if’ (in any case, as Pears notes, ‘if’ IMPLICATES ‘iff.’). (If p, q) ⊃ if it is not the case that q, it is not the case that p. Unartificial: If, if p, q, it is not the case that if q, it is not the case that p. The fourth law. ((p ⊃ q).(q ⊃ r)) ⊃ (p ⊃ r). Mixed: (if p, q, and if q, r) ⊃ (if p, r). Unartificial: ‘If, if p, q, and if q, r, if p, r.’ Try to say that to Mrs. Grice! (Grice: “It’s VERY SURPRISING that Strawson think we can converse in his lingo!”). Now Strawson displays this or that ‘reservation.’ Mainly it is an appeal to J. Austen and J. Austin. Strawson’s implicaturum is that Philo, in Megara, has hardly a right to unquiet the tranquil Elysium. This or that ‘reservation’ by Strawson takes TWO pages of his essay. Strawson claims that the reservations are important. It is, e. g., often impossible to apply entailment-rule (iii) directly without obtaining incorrect or absurd results. Some modification of the structure of the clauses of the hypothetical is commonly necessary. Alas, Whitehead and Russell give us little guide as to which modifications are required.  If we apply rule (iii) to our specimen hypothetical sentences, without modifying at all the tenses or moods of the individual clauses, we obtain expressions which Austin would not call ‘ordinary language,’ or Austen, for that matter, if not Macaulay.  If we preserve as nearly as possible the tense-mode structure, in the simplest way consistent with grammatical requirements, we obtain this or that sentence. TOLLENDO TOLLENS. ‘If it is not the case that the Germans win the war, it is not the case that they, viz. the Germans, invade England in 1940.’ ‘If it is not the case that half the staff is dismissed, it is not the case that Smith is in charge.’ ‘If it is not the case that the match is cancelled, it is not the case that it rains.’ But, Strawson claims, these sentences, so far from SOUNDING or seeming logically equivalent to the originals, have in each case a quite different ‘sense.’ It is possible, at least in some cases, to frame, via tollendo tollens a target setence of more or less the appropriate pattern for which one can imagine a use and which DOES stand in the required relationship to the source sentence. ‘If it is not the case that the Germans win the war, (trust) it is not the case that they, viz. the Germans, invade England in 1940,’ with the attending imlicatum: “only because they did not invade England in 1940.’ or even, should historical evidence be scanty). ‘If it is not the case that the Germans win the war, it SURELY is not the case that they, viz. the Germans, invade London in 1940.’ ‘If it is not the case that half the staff is dismissed, it surely is not the case that Smith is in charge.’ These changes reflect differences in the circumstances in which one might use these, as opposed to the original, sentences.  The sentence beginning ‘If Smith is in charge …’ is normally, though not necessarily, used by a man who antecedently knows that it is not the case that Smith is in charge. The sentence beginning ‘If it is not the case that half the staff is dismissed …’  is normally, though not necessarily, used by by a man who is, as Cook Wilson would put it, ‘working’ towards the ‘consequent’ conclusion that Smith is not in charge.  To say that the sentences are nevertheless truth-functionally equivalent seems to point to the fact that, given the introduction rule for ‘if,’ the grounds for accepting the original ‘if’-utterance AND the ‘tollendo tollens’ correlatum, would, in two different scenarios, have been grounds for accepting the soundness or validity of the passage or move from a premise ‘Smith is in charge’ to its ‘consequentia’ ‘consequutum,’ or ‘conclusion,’ ‘Half the staff is dismissed.’ One must remember that calling each formula (i)-(iv) a LAW or a THEOREM is the same as saying that, e.g., in the case of (iii), ‘If p, q’ ‘ENTAILS’ ‘If it is not the case that q, it is not the case that p.’ Similarly, Strawson thinks, for some steps which would be invalid for ‘if,’ there are corresponding steps that would be invalid for ‘⊃.’ He gives two example using a symbol Grice does not consider, for ‘therefore,’ or ‘ergo,’ and lists a fallacy. First example. ‘(p ⊃ q).q ∴ p.’ Second example of a fallacy:‘(p ⊃ q). ~p ∴ ~q.’ These are invalid inference-patterns, and so are the correlative patterns with ‘if’: ‘If p, q; and q  ∴ p’ ‘If p, q; and it is not the case that p ∴ it is not the case that q. The formal analogy here may be described by saying that neither ‘p ⊃  q’ nor ‘if p, q’ is a simply convertible (“nor hardly conversable” – Grice) formula. Strawson thinks, and we are getting closer to Philo’s paradoxes, revisied, that there may be this or that laws which holds for ‘p ⊃ q’ and not for ‘If p, q.’  As an example of a law which holds for ‘if’ but not for ‘⊃,’ one may give an analytic formula. ~[(if p, q) . (if p, it is not the case that q)]’. The corresponding formula with the horseshoe is not analytic. ‘~[(p ⊃ q) . (p ⊃ ~q)]’ is not analytic, and is equivalent to the contingent formula ‘~ ~p.’ The rules to the effect that this or that formula is analytic is referred to by Johnson, in the other place, as the ‘paradox of implication.’ This Strawson finds a Cantabrigian misnomer. If Whitehead’s and Russell’s ‘⊃’ is taken as identical either with Moore’s ‘entails’ or, more widely, with  Aelfric’s‘if’ – as in his “Poem to the If,” MSS Northumberland – “If” meant trouble in Anglo-Saxon -- in its standard use, the rules that yield this or that so-called ‘paradox’ -- are not, for Strawson, “just paradoxical.” With an attitude, he adds. “They are simply incorrect.”This is slightly illogical.“That’s not paradoxical; that’s incorrect.”Cf. Grice, “What is paradoxical is not also incorrect.” And cf. Grice: “Philo defines a ‘paradox’ as something that surprises _his father_.’ He is ‘using’ “father,” metaphorically, to refer to his tutor. His father was unknown (to him). On the other hand (vide Strawson’s Two Hands), with signs you can introduce alla Peirce and Johnson by way of ostensive definition any way you wish! If ‘⊃’ is given the meaning it is given by what Grice calls the ‘truth-table definition,’ or ‘stipulation’ in the system of truth functions, the rules and the statements they represent, may be informally dubbed ‘paradoxical,’ in that they don’t agree with the ‘man in the street,’ or ‘the man on High.’ The so-called ‘paradox’ would be a simple and platitudinous consequence of the meaning given to the symbol. Strawson had expanded on the paradoxes in an essay he compiled while away from Oxford. On his return to Oxford, he submitted it to “Mind,” under the editorship by G. Ryle, where it was published. The essay concerns the ‘paradoxes’ of ‘entailment’ in detail, and mentions Moore and C. I. Lewis. He makes use of modal operators, nec. and poss. to render the ‘necessity’ behind ‘entail.’ He thinks the paradoxes of ‘entailment’ arise from inattention to this modality. At the time, Grice and Strawson were pretty sure that nobody then accepted, if indeed anyone ever did and did make, the identification of the relation symbolised by the horseshoe, ⊃, with the relation which Moore calls ‘entailment,’ p⊃q, i. e. The mere truth-functional ‘if,’ as in ‘p ⊃ q,’ ‘~(pΛ~q)’ is rejected as an analysis of the meta-linguistic ‘p entails q.’ Strawson thinks that the identification is rejected because ‘p ⊃ q’ involves this or that allegedly paradoxical implicaturum.Starwson explicitly mentions ‘ex falso quodlibeet.’ Any FALSE proposition entails any proposition, true or false. And any TRUE proposition is entailed by any proposition, true or falso (consequentia mirabilis). It is a commonplace  that  Lewis, whom Grice calls a ‘blue-collared practioner of the sciences,’ Strawson thinks, hardly solved the thing. The amendment by Lewis, for Strawson, has consequences scarcely less paradoxical in terms of the implicatura. For if p is impossible, i.e. self-contradictory, it is impossible that p and ~q. And if q is necessary, ~q is impossible and it is impossible that p and ~q; i. e., if p entails q means it is impossible that p and ~q any necessary proposition is entailed by any proposition and any self-contradictory proposition entails any proposition. On the other hand, the definition by Lewis of ‘strict’ implication or entailment (i.e. of the relation which holds from p to q whenever q is deducible from p), Strawson thinks, obviously commends itself in some respects. Now, it is clear that the emphasis laid on the expression-mentioning character of the intensional contingent statement by writing ‘ ‘pΛ~q’ is impossible instead’ of ‘It is impossible that p and ~q’ does not avoid the alleged paradoxes of entailment. But, Starwson optimistically thinks, it is equally clear that the addition of some provision does avoid them. Strawson proposes that one should use “p entails q” such that no necessary statement and no negation of a necessary statement can significantly be said to “entail” or be entailed by any statement; i. e. the function “p entails q” cannot take necessary or self-contradictory statements as arguments. The expression “p entails q” is to be used to mean “ ‘p ⊃ q’ is necessary, and neither ‘p’ nor ‘q’ is either necessary or self-contradictory.” Alternatively, “p entails q” should be used only to mean “ ‘pΛ~q’ is impossible and neither ‘p’ nor ‘q,’ nor either of their contradictories, is necessary. In this way, Strawson thinks the paradoxes are avoided. Strawson’s proof. Let us assume that p1 expresses a contingent, and q1 a necessary, proposition. p1 and ~q1 is now impossible because ~q1 is impossible. But q1 is necessary. So, by that provision, p1 does not entail q1. We may avoid the paradoxical assertion “p1 entails q2” as merely falling into the equally paradoxical assertion “ “p1 entails q1” is necessary.” For: If ‘q’ is necessary, ‘q is necessary’ is, though true, not necessary, but a CONTINGENT INTENSIONAL (Latinate)  statement. This becomes part of the philosophers lexicon: intensĭo, f. intendo, which L and S render as a stretching out, straining, effort. E. g. oculorum, Scrib. Comp. 255. Also an intensifying, increase. Calorem suum (sol) intensionibus ac remissionibus temperando fovet,” Sen. Q. N. 7, 1, 3. The tune: “gravis, media, acuta,” Censor. 12.  Hence: ‘~ (‘q’ is necessary)’ is, though false, possible. Hence “p1 Λ ~ (q1 is necessary)” is, though false, possible.  Hence ‘p1’ does NOT entail ‘q1 is necessary.’ Thus, by adopting the view that an entailment statement, and other intensional statements, are contingent, viz. non-necessary, and that no necessary statement or its contradictory can entail or be entailed by any statement, Strawson thinks he can avoid the paradox that a necessary proposition is entailed by any proposition, and indeed all the other associated paradoxes of entailment.  Grice objects that the alleged cure by Strawson is worse than disease of Moore!  The denial that a necessary proposition can entail or be entailed by any proposition, and, therefore, that necessary propositions can be related to each other by the entailment relation, is too high a price to pay for the solution of the paradoxes, which are perfectly true utterances with only this or that attending cancellable implicaturum. Strawson’s introduction of ‘acc.’ makes sense. Which makes sense in that Philo first supplied his truth-functional account of ‘if’ to criticise his tutor Diodorus on modality. Philo reported to Diodorus something he had heard from Neptune. In dreams, Neptune appeared to Philo and told him: “I saw down deep in the waters a wooden trunk of a plant that only grows under weather – algae -- The trunk can burn!” Neptune said.Awakening, Philo ran to Diodorus: “A wooden trunk deep down in the ocean can burn.”   Throughout this section, Strawson refers to a ‘primary or standard’ use of ‘if,’ of which the main characteristics are various. First, that for each hypothetical statement made by this use of ‘if,’ there could be made just one statement which would be the antecedent of the hypothetical and just one statement which would be its consequent. Second, that the hypothetical statement is acceptable (true, reasonable) if the antecedent statement, if made or accepted, would, in the circumstances, be a good ground or reason for accepting the consequent statement. Third, the making of the hypothetical statement carries the implication either of uncertainty about, or of disbelief in, the fulfilment of both antecedent and consequent.’ This above is the passage extrapolated by Grice. Grice does not care to report the platitudionous ‘first’ ‘characteristic’ as Strawson rather verbosely puts it. The way Grice reports it, it is not clear Strawson is listing THREE characteristics. Notably, from the extrapolated quote, it would seem as if Grice wishes his addressee to believe that Strawson thinks that characteristic 2 and characteristic 3 mix. On top, Grice omits a caveat immediately after the passage he extrapolates. Strawso notes: “There is much more than this to be said about this way of using ‘if;’ in particular, about the meaning of the question whether the antecedent would be a GOOD ground or reason for accepting the consequent, and about the exact way in which THIS question is related to the question of whether the hypothetical is TRUE {acceptable, reasonable) or not.’ Grice does not care to include a caveat by Strawson: “Not all uses of ‘if ,’ however, exhibit all these three characteristics.” In particular, there is a use which has an equal claim to rank as standard ‘if’ and which is closely connected with the use described, but which does not exhibit the first characteristic and for which the description of the remainder must consequently be modified.  Strawson has in mind what is sometimes called a ‘formal’ (by Whitehead and Russell) or 'variable' or 'general’ or ‘generic’ hypothetical. Strawson gives three examples. The first example is ‘lf ice is left in the sun, it melts.’ This is Kantian. Cf. Grice on indicative conditionals in the last Immanuel Kant Lecture.  Grice: "It should be, given that it is the case that one smears one's skin with peanut butter before retiring and that it is the case that one has a relatively insensitive skin, that it is the case that one preserves a youthful complexion." More generally, there is some plausibility to the idea that an exemplar of the form 'Should (! E, ⊢F; ! G)' is true just in case a corresponding examplar of the form 'Should (⊢ F, ⊢G; ⊢E)' is true. Before proceeding further, I will attempt to deal briefly with a possible objection which might be raised at this point. I can end imagine an ardent descriptivist, who first complains, in the face of someone who wishes to allow a legitimate autonomous status to practical acceptability generalizations, that truth-conditions for such generalizations are not available, and perhaps are in principle not available; so such generalizations are not to be taken seriously. We then point out to him that, at least for a class of such cases, truth-conditions are available, and that they are to be found in related alethic generalizations, a kind of generalization he accepts. He then complains that, if finding truth-conditions involves representing the practical acceptability generalizations as being true just in case related alethic generalizations are true, then practical acceptability generalizations are simply reducible to alethic generalizations, and so are not to be taken seriously for another reason, namely, that they are simply transformations of alethic generalizations, and we could perfectly well get on without them. Maybe some of you have heard some ardent descriptivists arguing in a style not so very different from this. Now a deep reply to such an objection would involve (I think) a display of the need for a system of reasoning in which the value to be transmitted by acceptable inference is not truth but practical value, together with a demonstration of the role of practical acceptability generalizations in such a system. I suspect that such a reply could be constructed, but I do not have it at my fingertips (or tongue-tip), so I shall not try to produce it. An interim reply, however, might take the following form: even though it may be true (which is by no means certain) that certain practical acceptability generalizations have the same truth-conditions as certain corresponding alethic generalizations, it is not to be supposed that the former generalizations are simply reducible to the latter (in some disrespectful sense of 'reducible'). For though both kinds of generalization are defeasible, they are not defeasible in the same way; more exactly, what is a defeating condition for a given practical generalization is not a defeating condition for its alethic counterpart. A generalization of the form 'should (! E, ⊢F; ! G)' may have, as a defeating condition, 'E*'; that is to say, consistently with the truth of this generalization, it may be true that 'should (! E & ! E*, ⊢F; ! G*)' where 'G*' is inconsistent with 'G'. But since, in the alethic counterpart generalization 'should (⊢ F, ⊢G; ⊢E)', 'E' does not occur in the antecedent, 'E*' cannot be a defeating end p.92 condition for this generalization. And, since liability to defeat by a certain range of defeating conditions is essential to the role which acceptability generalizations play in reasoning, this difference between a practical generalization and its alethic counterpart is sufficient to eliminate the reducibility of the former to the latter. To return to the main theme of this section. If, without further ado, we were to accept at this point the suggestion that 'should (! E, ⊢F; ! G)' is true just in case 'should (⊢ F, ⊢G; ⊢E)' is true, we should be accepting it simply on the basis of intuition (including, of course, linguistic or logical intuition under the head of 'intuition'). If the suggestion is correct then we should attain, at the same time, a stronger assurance that it is correct and a better theoretical understanding of the alethic and practical acceptability, if we could show why it is correct by deriving it from some general principle(s). Kant, in fact, for reasons not unlike these, sought to show the validity of a different but fairly closely related Technical Imperative by just such a method. The form which he selects is one which, in my terms, would be represented by "It is fully acceptable, given let it be that B, that let it be that A" or "It is necessary, given let it be that B, that let it be that A". Applying this to the one fully stated technical imperative given in Grundlegung, we get Kant’s hypothetical which is of the type Strawson calls ‘variable,’ formal, ‘generic,’ or ‘generic.’ Kant: “It is necessary, given let it be that one bisect a line on an unerring principle, that let it be that I draw from its extremities two intersecting arcs". Call this statement, (α). Though he does not express himself very clearly, I am certain that his claim is that this imperative is validated in virtue of the fact that it is, analytically, a consequence of an indicative statement which is true and, in the present context, unproblematic, namely, the statement vouched for by geometry, that if one bisects a line on an unerring principle, then one does so only as a result of having drawn from its extremities two intersecting arcs. Call this statement, (β). His argument seems to be expressible as follows. (1) It is analytic that he who wills the end (so far as reason decides his conduct), wills the indispensable means thereto. (2) So it is analytic that (so far as one is rational) if one wills that A, and judges that if A, then A as a result of B, then one wills that B. end p.93 (3) So it is analytic that (so far as one is rational) if one judges that if A, then A as a result of B, then if one wills that A then one wills that B. (4) So it is analytic that, if it is true that if A, then A as a result of B, then if let it be that A, then it must be that let it be that B. From which, by substitution, we derive (5): it is analytic that if β then α. Now it seems to me to be meritorious, on Kant's part, first that he saw a need to justify hypothetical imperatives of this sort, which it is only too easy to take for granted, and second that he invoked the principle that "he who wills the end, wills the means"; intuitively, this invocation seems right. Unfortunately, however, the step from (3) to (4) seems open to dispute on two different counts. (1) It looks as if an unwarranted 'must' has appeared in the consequent of the conditional which is claimed, in (4), as analytic; the most that, to all appearances, could be claimed as being true of the antecedent is that 'if let it be that A then let it be that B'. (2) (Perhaps more serious.) It is by no means clear by what right the psychological verbs 'judge' and 'will', which appear in (3), are omitted in (4); how does an (alleged) analytic connection between (i) judging that if A, A as a result of B and (ii) its being the case that if one wills that A then one wills that B yield an analytic connection between (i) it's being the case that if A, A as a result of B and (ii) the 'proposition' that if let it be that A then let it be that B? Can the presence in (3) of the phrase "in so far as one is rational" legitimize this step? I do not know what remedy to propose for the first of these two difficulties; but I will attempt a reconstruction of Kant's line of argument which might provide relief from the second. It might, indeed, even be an expansion of Kant's actual thinking; but whether or not this is so, I am a very long way from being confident in its adequacy. Back to Strawson. First example:  ‘lf ice is left in the sun, it melts.’Or “If apple goes up, apple goes down.” – Newton, “Principia Mathematica.” “If ice is left in the sun, it, viz. ice, melts.” Strawson’s second example of a formal, variable, generic, or general ‘if’ ‘If the side of a triangle is produced, the exterior angle is equal to the sum of the two interior and opposite angles.’ Cf. Kant: “If a line on an unerring principle is bisected, two intersecting arcs are drawn from its extremities.” Synthetical propositions must no doubt be employed in defining the means to a proposed end; but they do not concern the principle, the act of the will, but the object and its realization. E.g., that in order to bisect a line on an unerring principle I must draw from its extremities two intersecting arcs; this no doubt is taught by mathematics only in synthetical propositions; but if I know that it is only by this process that the intended operation can be performed, then to say that, if I fully will the operation, I also will the action required for it, is an analytical proposition; for it is one and the same thing to conceive something as an effect which I can produce in a certain way, and to conceive myself as acting in this way. Strawson’s third example: ‘If a child is very strictly disciplined in the nursery, it, viz. the child, that should be seen but not heard, will develop aggressive tendencies in adult life.’ To a statement made by the use of a sentence such as these there corresponds no single pair of statements which are, respectively, its antecedent and consequent.  On the other hand, for every such statement there is an indefinite number of NON-general, or not generic, hypothetical statements which might be called exemplifications, applications, of the variable hypothetical; e.g., a statement made by the use of the sentence ‘If THIS piece of ice is left in the sun, it, viz. this piece, melts.’Strawson, about to finish his section on “ ‘⊃’ and ‘if’,” – the expression, ‘’ ⊃’ and ‘if’” only occurs in the “Table of Contents,” on p. viii, not in the body of the essay, as found redundant – it is also the same title Strawson used for his essay which circulated (or ‘made the rounds’) soon after Grice delivered his attack on Strawson, and which Strawson had, first, the cheek to present it to PGRICE, and then, voiding the idea of a festschrift, reprint it in his own compilation of essays. -- from which Grice extracted the quote for “Prolegomena,” notes that there are two ‘relatively uncommon uses of ‘if.’‘If he felt embarrassed, he showed no signs of it.’It is this example that Grice is having in mind in the fourth lecture on ‘indicative conditionals.’ “he didn’t show it.”Grice is giving an instantiation of an IMPLICIT, or as he prefers, ‘contextual,’ cancellation of the implicaturum of ‘if.’  He does this to show that even if the implicaturum of ‘if’ is a ‘generalised,’ not ‘generic,’ or ‘general,’ one, it need not obtain or be present in every PARTICULAR case. “That is why I use the weakened form ‘generalISED, not general. It’s all ceteris paribus always with me).” The example Grice gives corresponds to the one Strawson listed as one of the two ‘relatively uncommon’ uses of ‘if.’ By sticking with the biscuit conditional, Grice is showing Strawson that this use is ‘relatively uncommon’ because it is absolutely otiose!  “If he was surprised, he didn’t show it.”Or cf. AustinIf you are hungry, there are. Variants by Grice on his own example:“If Strawson was surprised, he did not show it.”“If he was surprised, it is not the case that Strawson showed it, viz. that he was surprised.”Grice (on the phone with Strawson’s friend) in front of Strawson – present tense version:“If he IS surprised, it is not th case that he, Strawson, is showing it, viz. the clause that he is surprised. Are you implicating he SHOULD?”and a second group:‘If Rembrandt passes the exam at the Koninklijke Academie van Beeldende Kunsten, I am a Dutchman.’‘If the Mad Hatter is not mad, I'll eat my hat.’(as opposed to ‘If the Mad Hatter IS mad, I’ll eat HIS hat.’)Hats were made at Oxford in a previous generation, by mad ‘hatters.’ “To eat one’s hat,” at Oxford, became synonymous with ‘I’ll poison myself and die.’ The reason of the prevalence of Oxonian ‘lunatic’ hatters is chemical. Strawson is referring to what he calls an ‘old wives’ tale’As every grandmother at Oxford knows, the chemicals used in hat-making include mercurious nitrate, which is used in ‘curing’ felt. Now exposure to the mercury vapours cause mercury poisoning. Or, to use an ‘if’: “If Kant is exposed to mercury vapour, Kant gets poisoned. A poisoned victim  develops a severe and uncontrollable muscular tremors and twitching limbs, distorted vision and confused speech, hallucinations and psychosis, if not death. For a time, it was at Oxford believed that a wearer of a hat could similarly die, especially by eating the felt containing the mercurial nitrate. The sufficient and necessary condition of the truth of a statement made by “If he was surprised, it is not the case that Strawson showed it, viz. that he was surprised” is that it is not the case that Strawson showed that he was surprised. The antecedent is otiose. Cf. “If you are hungry, there are biscuits in the cupboard.’ Austin used to expand the otiose antecedent further, ‘If you are hungry – AND EVEN IF YOU ARE NOT – there are biscuits in the cupboard,” just in case someone was ignorant of Grice’s principle of conversational helpfulness. Consequently, Strawson claims that such a statement cannot be treated either as a standard hypothetical or as a material implication. This is funny because by the time Grice is criticizing Strawson he does take “If Strawson is surprised, it is not the case that he is showing it, viz. that he is surprised.” But when it comes to “Touch the beast and it will bite you” he is ready to say that here we do not have a case of ‘conjunction.’Why? Stanford.Stanford is the answer.Grice had prepared the text to deliver at Stanford, of all places. Surely, AT STANFORD, you don’t want to treat your addressee idiotically. What Grice means is:“Now let us consider ‘Touch the beast and it will bite you.’ Symbolise it: !p et !q. Turn it into the indicative: You tell your love and love bites you (variant on William Blake).” Grice: “One may object to the  use of ‘p.q’ on Whiteheadian grounds. Blue-collared practitioners of the sciences will usually proclaim that they do not care about the ‘realisability’ of this or that operator. In fact, the very noun, ‘realisability,’ irritated me so that I coined non-detachability as a balance. The blue-collared scientist will say that ‘and’ is really Polish, and should be PRE-FIXED as an “if,” or condition, or proviso. So that the conjunction becomes “Provided you tell your love, love bites you.”Strawson gives his reason about the ‘implicaturum’ of what P. L. Gardiner called the ‘dutchman’ ‘if,’ after G. F. Stout’s “ ‘hat-eating’ if.”  Examples of the second kind are sometimes erroneously treated as evidence that Philo was not crazy, and that ‘if’ does, after all, behave somewhat as ‘⊃’ behaves.  Boethius appropriately comments: “Philo had two drawbacks against his favour. He had no drawing board, and he couldn’t write. Therefore he never symbolized, other than ‘via verba,’  his ‘ei’ utterance, “If it is day, it is night,” which he held to be true “at night only.”” Strawson echoes Grice. The evidence for this conversational explanation of the oddity of the ‘dutcham’ if, as called by Gardiner, and the ‘hat-eating’ if, as called by Stout, is, presumably, the facts, first, that the relation between antecedent and consequent is non-Kantian. Recall that Kant has a ‘Funktion’ which, after Aristotle’s ‘pros ti,’ and Boethius’s ‘relatio,’ he called ‘Relation’ where he considers the HYPOTHETICAL. Kant expands in section 8.5. “In the hypothetical, ‘If God exists, I’ll eat my hat,’ existence is no predicate.”Strawson appeals to a second, “more convincing,” fact, viz. that the consequent is obviously not – in the Dutchman ‘if,’ or not to be, in the ‘hat-eating’ if, fulfilled, or true.Grice’s passing for a Dutchman and sitting for an exam at the Koninklijke Academie van Beeldende Kunsten, hardly makes him a Dutchman.Dickens was well aware of the idiocy of people blaming hatters for the increases of deaths at Oxford. He would often expand the consequent in a way that turned it “almost a Wittgensteinian ‘contradiction’” (“The Cricket in the House, vii). “If the Hatter is not mad, I will eat my hat, with my head in it.”Grice comments: “While it is analytic that you see with your eyes, it is not analytic that you eat with your mouth. And one can imagine Dickens’s mouth to be situated in his right hand. Therefore, on realizing that the mad hatter is not mad, Dickens is allowing for it to be the case that he shall eat his hat, with his head in it. Since not everybody may be aware of the position of Dickens’s mouth, I shall not allot this common-ground status.”Strawson gives a third Griciean fact.“The intention of the emissor, by uttering a ‘consequens falsum’ that renders the ‘conditionalis’ ‘verum’ only if the ‘antecedens’ is ‘falsum, is an emphatic, indeed, rude, gesture, with a gratuitious nod to Philo, to the conviction that the antecedens is not fulfilled either. The emissor is further abiding by what Grice calls the ‘principle of truth,’ for the emissor would rather see himself dead than uttering a falsehood, even if he has to fill the conversational space with idiocies like ‘dutchman-being’ and ‘hat-eating.’ The fourth Griceian fact is obviously Modus Tollendo Tollens, viz. that  “(p ⊃ q) . ~q” entails “~p,” or rather, to avoid the metalanguage (Grice’s Bootlace: Don’t use a metalanguage: you can only implicate that your object-language is not objectual.”), “[(p ⊃ q) . ~ q] ⊃ ~ p.”At this point, Strawson reminisces: “I was slightly surprised that on my first tutorial with Grice, he gave me “What the Tortoise Said To Achilles,” with the hint, which I later took as a defeasible implicaturum, “See if you can resolve this!” ACHILLEs had overtaken the Tortoise, and had seated himself comfortably on its back. "So you've got to the end of our race-course?" said the Tortoise. "Even though it does consist of an infinite series of distances ? I thought some wiseacre or other had proved that the thing couldnl't be doiie ? " " It can be done," said Achilles. " It has been done! Solvitur ambulando. You see the distances were constaiitly diminishing; and so-" "But if they had beenl constantly increasing?" the Tortoise interrupted. "How then?" "Then I shouldn't be here," Achilles modestly replied; "and you would have got several times round the world, by this time! " "You flatter me-flatten, I mean," said the Tortoise; "for you are a heavy weight, and no mistake! Well now, would you like to hear of a race-course, that most people fancy they can get to the end of in two or three steps, while it really consists of an infinite number of distances, each one longer than the previous one? " "Very much indeed !" said the Grecian warrior, as he drew from his helmet (few Grecian warriors possessed pockets in those days) an enormous note-book and a pencil. "Proceed! And speak slowly, please! Shorthand isn't invented yet !" "That beautiful First Proposition of Euclid! " the Tortoise miurmured dreamily. "You admire Euclid?" "Passionately! So far, at least, as one can admire a treatise that wo'n't be published for some centuries to come ! " "Well, now, let's take a little bit of the argument in that First Proposition-just two steps, and the conclusion drawn from them. Kindly enter them in your note-book. And in order to refer to them conveniently, let's call them A, B, and Z:- (A) Things that are equal to the same are equal to each other. (B) The two sides of this Triangle are things that are equal to the same. (Z) The two sides of this Triangle are equal to each other. Readers of Euclid will grant, I suppose, that Z follows logically from A and B, so that any one who accepts A and B as true, must accept Z as true?" " Undoubtedly! The youngest child in a High School-as. soon as High Schools are invented, which will not be till some two thousand years later-will grant that." " And if some reader had not yet accepted A and B as true, he might still accept the sequence as a valid one, I suppose?" NOTES. 279 "No doubt such a reader might exist. He might say 'I accept as true the Hypothetical Proposition that, if A and B be true, Z must be true; but, I don't accept A and B as true.' Such a reader would do wisely in abandoning Euclid, and taking to football." " And might there not also be some reader who would say ' I accept A anld B as true, but I don't accept the Hypothetical'?" "Certainly there might. He, also, had better take to football." "And neither of these readers," the Tortoise continued, "is as yet under any logical necessity to accept Z as true?" "Quite so," Achilles assented. "Well, now, I want you to consider me as a reader of the second kind, and to force me, logically, to accept Z as true." " A tortoise playing football would be--" Achilles was beginning " -an anomaly, of course," the Tortoise hastily interrupted. "Don't wander from the point. Let's have Z first, and football afterwards !" " I'm to force you to accept Z, am I?" Achilles said musingly. "And your present position is that you accept A and B, but you don't accept the Hypothetical-" " Let's call it C," said the Tortoise. "-but you don't accept (C) If A and B are true, Z must be true." "That is my present position," said the Tortoise. "Then I must ask you to accept C." - "I'll do so," said the Tortoise, "as soon as you've entered it in that note-book of yours. What else have you got in it?" " Only a few memoranda," said Achilles, nervously fluttering the leaves: "a few memoranda of-of the battles in which I have distinguished myself!" "Plenty of blank leaves, I see !" the Tortoise cheerily remarked. "We shall need them all !" (Achilles shuddered.) "Now write as I dictate: (A) Things that are equal to the same are equal to each other. (B) The two sides of this Triangle are things that are equal to the same. (C) If A and B are true, Z must be true. (Z) The two sides of this Triangle are equal to each other." " You should call it D, not Z," said Achilles. " It comes next to the other three. If you accept A and B and C, you must accept Z." "And why must I?" "Because it follows logically from them. If A and B and C are true, Z must be true. You don't dispute that, I imagine ?" "If A and B and C are true, Z must be true," the Tortoise thoughtfully repeated. " That's another Hypothetical, isn't it? And, if I failed to see its truth, I might accept A and B and C, and still not accept Z, mightn't I?" "You might," the candid hero admitted; "though such obtuseness would certainly be phenomenal. Still, the event is possible. So I must ask you to grant one more Hypothetical." " Very good. I'm quite willing to grant it, as soon as you've written it down. We will call it (D) If A and B and C are true, Z must be true. Have you entered that in your note-book ? " " I have! " Achilles joyfully exclaimed, as he ran the pencil into its sheath. "And at last we've got to the end of this ideal race-course! Now that you accept A and B and C and D, of course you accept Z." " Do I ? " said the Tortoise innocently. " Let's make that quite clear. I accept A and B and C and D. Suppose I still refused to accept Z? " 280 NOTES. " Then Logic would take you by the throat, and force you to do it !" Achilles triumphantly replied. "Logic would tell you 'You ca'n't help yourself. Now that you've accepted A and B and C and D, you mvust accept Z!' So you've no choice, you see." "Whatever Logic is good enough to tell me is worth writing down," said the Tortoise. " So enter it in your book, please. We will call it (E) If A and B and C and Dare true, Zmust be true. Until I've granted that, of course I needn't grant Z. So it's quite a necessary step, you see?" "I see," said Achilles; and there was a touch of sadness in his tone. Here the narrator, having pressing business at the Bank, was obliged to leave the happy pair, and did not again pass the spot until some months afterwards. When he did so, Achilles was still seated on the back of the much-enduring Tortoise, and was writing in his note-book, which appeared to be nearly full. The Tortoise was saying " Have you got that last step written down ? Unless I've lost count, that makes a thousand and one. There are several millions more to come. And would you mind, as a personal favour, considering what a lot of instruction this colloquy of ours will provide for the Logicians of the Nineteenth Century-would you mnind adopting a pun that my cousin the Mock-Turtle will then make, and allowing yourself to be re-named Taught- Us ?" "As you please !" replied the weary warrior, in the hollow tones of despair, as he buried his face in his hands. " Provided that you, for your part, will adopt a pun the Mock-Turtle never made, and allow yourself to be re-named A Kill-Ease !"Strawon protests:“But this is a strange piece of logic.”Grice corrects: “Piece – you mean ‘piece’ simpliciter.”“But what do you protest that much!?”“Well, it seems that, on any possible interpretation, “if p, q” has, in respect of modus tollendo tollens the same powers as ‘p ⊃ q.’“And it is just these  powers that you, and Cook Wilson before you, are jokingly (or fantastically) exploiting!”“Fantastically?” “You call Cook Wilson ‘fantastical’? You can call me exploitative.’Strawson: “It is the absence of Kantian ‘Relation,’ Boethius’s ‘relatio,’ Aristotle’s ‘pros ti,’ referred to in that makes both Stout’s hat-eating if and Gardiner’s dutchman if quirks (as per Sir Randolph Quirk, another Manx, like Quine), a verbal or conversational flourish, an otiosity, alla Albritton, an odd, call it Philonian, use of ‘if.’ If a hypothetical statement IS, as Grice, after Philo, claims, is what Whitehead and Russell have as a ‘material’ implication, the statements would be not a quirkish oddity, but a linguistic sobriety and a simple truth. Or rather they are each, the dutchman  if and the hat-eating if, each a ‘quirkish oddity’ BECAUSE each is a simple, sober, truth. “Recall my adage,” Grice reminded Strawson, “Obscurely baffling, but Hegelianly true!”Strawson notes, as a final commentary on the relevant section, that ‘if’  can be employed PERFORMATORILY, which will have Grice finding his topic for the Kant lectures at Stanford: “must” is univocal in “Apples must fall,” and “You must not lie.”An ‘if’ is used ‘performatorily’ when it is used not simply in making this or that statement, but in, e.g., making a provisional announcement of an intention. Strawson’s example:“If it rains, I shall stay at home.”Grice corrected:“*I* *will* stay at home. *YOU* *shall.*”“His quadruple implicatura never ceased to amaze me.”Grice will take this up later in ‘Ifs and cans.’“If I can, I intend to climb Mt Everest on hands and knees, if I may disimplicate that to Davidson.”This hich, like an unconditional announcement of intention, Strawson “would rather not” call ‘truly true’ or ‘falsely false.’ “I would rather describe it in some other way – Griceian perhaps.” “A quessertion, not to be iterated.”“If the man who utters the quoted sentence leaves home in spite of the rain, we do not say that what he said was false, though we might say that he lied (never really intended to stay in) ; or that he changed his mind – which, Strawson adds, “is a form of lying to your former self.” “I agreed with you!” Grice screamed from the other side of the Quadrangle!Strawson notes: “There are further uses of ‘if’ which I shall not discuss.”This is a pantomime for Austin (Strawson’s letter to Grice, “Austin wants me to go through the dictionary with ‘if.’ Can you believe it, Grice, that the OED has NINE big pages on it?! And the sad thing is that Austin has already did ‘if’ in “Ifs and cans.” Why is he always telling OTHERS what to do?”Strawson’s Q. E. D.: “The safest way to read the material implication sign is, perhaps, ‘not both … and not …,” and avoid the ‘doubt’ altogether. (NB: “Mr. H. P. Grice, from whom I never ceased to learn about logic since he was my tutor for my Logic paper in my PPE at St. John’s back in the day, illustrates me that ‘if’ in Frisian means ‘doubt.’ And he adds, “Bread, butter, green cheese; very good English, very good Friese!”. GROUP C – “Performatory” theories – descriptive, quasi-descriptive, prescriptive – examples not lettered.EXAMPLE I: Strawson on ‘true’ in Analysis.EXAMPLE II: Austin on ‘know’ EXAMPLE III: Hare on ‘good.’EXPLICITLY CONVEYED: if p, qIMPLICITLY CONVEYED: p is the consequensCANCELLATION: “I know perfectly well where your wife is, but all I’ll say is that if she is not in kitchen she is in the bedroom.”Next would be to consider uses of ‘implication’ in the essay on the ‘indicative conditional.’ We should remember that the titling came out in 1987. The lecture circulated without a title for twenty years. And in fact, it is about ‘indicative conditional’ AND MORE BESIDES, including Cook Wilson, if that’s a plus. Grice states the indirectness condition in two terms:One in the obviously false terms “q is INFERRABLE, that’s the word Grice uses, from p”The other one is in terms of truth-value assignment:The emissor has NON-TRUTH-FUNCTIONAL GROUNDS for the emissum, ‘if p, q’. In Grice’s parlance: “Grounds for ACCEPTING “p ⊃ q.”This way Grice chooses is controversial in that usually he holds ‘accept’ as followed by the ‘that’-clause. So ‘accepting ‘p ⊃ q’” is not clear in that respect. A rephrase would be, accepting that the emissor is in a position to emit, ‘if p, q’ provided that what he EXPLICITLY CONVEYS by that is what is explicitly conveyed by the Philonian ‘if,’ in other words, that the emissor is explicitly conveying that it is the case of p or it is not the case of q, or that it is not the case that a situation obtains such that it is the case that p and it is not the case that q.“p ⊃ q” is F only in the third row. It is no wonder that Grice says that the use-mention was only used correctly ONCE.For Grice freely uses ‘the proposition that p ⊃ q.’ But this may be licensed because it was meant as for ‘oral delivery.’ THE FIRST INSTANTIATION GRICE GIVES (WoW:58) is“If Smith is in London, he, viz. Smith, is attending the meeting.”Grice goes on (WoW:59) to give FIVE alternatives to the ‘if’ utterance, NOT using ‘if.’ For the first four, he notes that he fells the ‘implicaturum’ of ‘indirectness’ seems ‘persistent.’On WoW:59, Grice refers to Strawson as a ‘strong theorist,’ and himself as a ‘weak theorist,’ i. e. an Occamist. Grice gives a truth-table or the ‘appropriate truth table,’ and its formulation, and notes that he can still detect the indirectness condition implication. Grice challenges Strawson. How is one to learn that what one conveys by the scenario formulated in the truth-table for the pair “Smith is in London” and “Smith is attending the meeting” – without using ‘if’ because this is Grice’s exercise in detachment – is WEAKER than what one would convey by “If Smith is in London, he, viz. Smith, is attending the meeting”?This sort of rhetorical questions – “Of course he can’t” are a bit insidious. Grice failed to give Strawson a copy of the thing. And Strawson is then invited to collaborate with P. G. R. I. C. E., so he submits a rather vague “If and ⊃,” getting the rebuke by Grice’s friend Bennett – “Strawson could at least say that Grice’s views were published in three different loci.” BUT: Strawson compiled that essay in 1968. And Strawson was NOT relying on a specific essay by Grice, but on his memory of the general manoeuvre. Grice had been lecturing on ‘if’ before at Oxford, in seminars entitled “Logic and Convesation.” But surely at Oxford you are not supposed to ‘air’ your seminar views. Outside Oxford it might be different. It shoud not!And surely knowing Grice, why would *GRICE* provide the input to Strawson. For Grice, philosophy is very personal, and while Grice might have thought that Sir Peter was slightly interested in what his former tutor would say about ‘if,’ it would be inappropriate of the tutor to overwhelm the tutee, or keep informing the tutee how wrong he is. For a tutor, once a tutee, always a tutee. On WoW:59, Grice provides the FIRST CANCELLATION of an ‘if,’ and changes it slightly from the one on p. 58. The ‘if’ now becomesIf Smith is in the library, he, viz. Smith, is working.’In Wiltshire:“If Smith is in the swimming-pool library, he, viz. Smith, is swimming.”THE CANCELLATION GOES by ‘opting out’:“I know just where Smith is and what he, viz. Smith, is doing, but all I will tell you is that if he is in the library he is working.”Grice had to keep adding his ‘vizes’ – viz. Smith – because of the insidious contextualists – some of them philosophical!“What do you mean ‘he,’ – are you sure you are keeping the denotatum constant?”Grice is challenging Strawson’s ‘uncertainty and disbelief.’No one would be surprised if Grice’s basis for his saying “I know just where Smith is and what he, viz. Smith, is doing, but all I will tell you is that if he is in the library, he is working” is that Grice has just looked in the library and found Smith working. So, Grice IS uttering “If Smith is in the library, he is working” WHEN THE INDIRECT (strong) condition ceteris-paribus carried by what Grice ceteris paribus IMPLIES by uttering “If Smith is in the library, Smith is working.”The situation is a bit of the blue, because Grice presents it on purpose as UNVOLUNTEERED. The ‘communication-function’ does the trick. GRICE THEN GIVES (between pages WoW: 59 and 60) TWO IMPLICIT cancellations of an implicaturum, or, to avoid the alliteration, ‘contextual’ cancellation. Note incidentally that Grice is aware of the explicit/implicit when he calls the cancellation, first, EXPLICIT, and then contextual. By ‘explicit,’ he means, ‘conveying explicitly’ in a way that commits you. THE THIRD INSTANTIATION refers to this in what he calls a ‘logical’ puzzle, which may be a bit question-begging, cf. ‘appropriate truth-table.’ For Strawson would say that Grice is using ‘if’ as a conscript, when it’s a civil. “If Smith has black, Mrs. Smith has black.”Grice refers to ‘truth-table definition’ OR STIPULATION. Note that the horseshoe is an inverted “C” for ‘contentum.’F. Cajori, “A history of mathematical notations,” SYMBOLS IN MATHEMATICAL LOGIC, §667-on : [§674] “A theory of the ‘meccanisme du raisonnement’ is offered by J. D. Gergonne in his “Essai de dialectique rationnelle.”In Gergonne’s “Essai,” “H” stands for complete logical disjunction, X” for logical product, “I” for "identity," [cf. Grize on izzing] “C” for "contains," and "Ɔ (inverted C)" for "is contained in."  [§685] Gergonne is using the Latinate, contineoIn rhet., the neuter substantive “contĭnens” is rendered as  “that on which something rests or depends, the chief point, hinge: “causae,” Cic. Part. Or. 29, 103; id. Top. 25, 95: “intuendum videtur, quid sit quaestio, ratio, judicatio, continens, vel ut alii vocant, firmamentum,” Quint. 3, 11, 1; cf. id. ib. § 18 sqq.—Adv.: contĭnen-ter . So it is a natural evolution in matters of implication. while Giusberti (“Materiale per studio,” 31) always reads “pro constanti,” the MSS occasionally has the pretty Griciean “precontenti,” from “prae” and “contenti.” Cf. Quine, “If my father was a bachelor, he was male. And I can say that, because ‘male’ is CONTAINED in ‘bachelor.’”E. Schröder, in his “Vorlesungen über die Algebra der Logik,” [§690]  Leipzig, uses “⊂” for "untergeordnet”, roughly, “is included in,” and the inverted “⊃” for the passive voice, "übergeordnet,” or includes.  Some additional symbols are introduced by Peano into Number 2 of Volume II of his influential “Formulaire.” Thus "ɔ" becomes ⊃. By “p.⊃ x ... z. q” is expressed “from p one DEDUCES, whatever x ... z may be, and q."  In “Il calcolo geometrico,” – “according to the Ausdehnungslehre of H. Grassmann, preceded by the operations of deductive logic,” Peano stresses the duality of interpretations of “p.⊃ x ... z. q” in terms of classes and propositions. “We shall indicate [the universal affirmative proposition] by the expression  A < B, or B > A,  which can be read "every A is a B," or "the class B CONTAINS A." [...]  Hence, if a,b,... are CONDITIONAL propositions, we have:  a < b, or b > a, ‘says’ that "the class defined by the condition a is part of that defined by b," or [...] "b is a CONSEQUENCE of a," "if a is true, b is true."  In Peano’s “Arithmetices principia: nova methodo exposita,” we have:  “II. Propositions.” “The sign “C” means is a consequence of [“est consequentia.” Thus b C a is read b is a consequence of the proposition a.” “The sign “Ɔ” means one deduces [DEDUCITUR]; thus “a Ɔ b” ‘means’ the same as b C a. [...]  IV. Classes “The sign Ɔ ‘means’ is contained in. Thus a Ɔ b means class a is contained in class b.  a, b ∈ K Ɔ (a Ɔ b) :=: (x)(x ∈ a Ɔ x ∈ b).  In his “Formulaire,” Peano writes:  “Soient a et b des Cls. a ⊃ b signifie "tout a est b".  Soient p et q des propositions contenant une variable x; p ⊃x q, signifie "de p on déduit, quel que soit x, la q", c'est-à-dire: "les x qui satisfont à la condition p satisferont aussi à la q".  Russell criticizes Peano’s dualism in “The Principles of mathematics,” §13. “The subject of Symbolic Logic consists of three parts, the calculus of propositions, the calculus of classes and the calculus of relations. Between the first two, there is, within limits, a certain parallelism, which arises as follows: In any symbolic expression, the letters may be interpreted as classes or as propositions, and the relation of inclusion in the one case may be replaced by that of formal implication in the other.  A great deal has been made of this duality, and in the later editions of his “Formulaire,” Peano appears to have sacrificed logical precision to its preservation. But, as a matter of fact, there are many ways in which the calculus of propositions differs from that of classes.” Whiehead and Russell borrow the basic logical symbolism from Peano, but they freed it from the "dual" interpretation.  Thus, Whitehead and Russell adopt Schröder's ⊂ for class inclusion:  a ⊂ b :=: (x)(x ∈ a Ɔ x ∈ b) Df.  and restricted the use of the "horseshoe" ⊃ to the connective "if’: “p⊃q.’ Whitehead’s and Russell’s decision isobvious, if we consider the following example from Cesare Burali-Forti, “Logica Matematica,” a Ɔ b . b Ɔ c : Ɔ : a Ɔ c [...]  The first, second and fourth [occurrences] of the sign Ɔ mean is contained, the third one means one deduces.So the horseshoe is actually an inverted “C” meant to read “contentum” or “consequens” (“consequutum”). Active Nominal Forms Infinitive: implicā́re Present participle: implicāns; implicántis Future participle: implicītúrus; implicātúrus Gerund: implicándum Gerundive: implicándus  Passive Nominal Forms Infinitive: implicā́re Perfect participle: implicī́tum; implicā́tumGRICE’s second implicit or contextual cancellation does not involve a ‘logical puzzle’ but bridge – and it’s his fourth instantiation:“If I have a red king, I also have a black king.” – to announce to your competititve opponents upon inquiry a bid of five no trumps. Cf. Alice, “The red Queen” which is a chess queen, as opposed to the white queen. After a precis, he gives a FIFTH instantiation to prove that ‘if’ is always EXPLICITLY cancellable.WoW:60“If you put that bit of sugar in water, it will dissolve, though so far as I know there can be no way of knowing in advance that this will happen.”This is complex. The cancellation turns the ‘if p, q’ into a ‘guess,’ in which case it is odd that the emissor would be guessing and yet be being so fortunate as to make such a good guess. At the end of page 60, Grice gives THREE FURTHER instantations which are both of philosophical importance and a pose a problem to such a strong theorist as Strawson.The first of the trio is:“If the Australians win the first Test, they will win the series, you mark my words.”The second of the trio is:“Perhaps if he comes, he will be in a good mood.”The third in the trio is:“See that, if he comes, he gets his money.”Grice’s point is that in the three, the implicaturum is cancelled. So the strong theorist has to modify the thesis ‘a sub-primary case of a sub-primary use of ‘if’ is…” which seems like a heavy penalty for the strong theorist. For Grice, the strong theorist is attaching the implicaturum to the ‘meaning’ of ‘if,’ where, if attached at all, should attach to some mode-marker, such as ‘probably,’ which may be contextual. On p. 61 he is finding play and using ‘logically weaker’ for the first time, i. e. in terms of entailment. If it is logically weaker, it is less informative. “To deny that p, or to assert that q.”Grice notes it’s ceteris paribus.“Provided it would be worth contributing with the ‘more informative’ move (“why deny p? Why assert q?) While the presumption that one is interested in the truth-values of at least p or q, this is ceteris paribus. A philosopher may just be interested in “if p, q” for the sake of exploring the range of the relation between p and q, or the powers of p and q. On p. 62 he uses the phrase “non-truth functional” as applied not to grounds but to ‘evidence’: “non-truth-functional evidence.”Grice wants to say that emissor has implicated, in a cancellable way, that he has non-truth-functional evidence for “if p, q,” i. e. evidence that proceeds by his inability to utter “if p, q” on truth-functional grounds. The emissor is signaling that he is uttering “if p, q” because he cannot deny p, or that he cannot assert q(p ⊃ q) ≡ ((~p) v q)Back to the first instantiation“If Smith is in London, he, viz. Smith is attending the meeting there, viz. in London”I IMPLICATE, in a cancellable way, that I have no evidence for “Smith is not in London”I IMPLICATE, in a cancellable way, that I have no evidence for “Smith is attending the lecture.On p. 61 he gives an example of an contextual cancellation to show that even if the implicaturum is a generalised one, it need not be present in every PARTICULAR case (hence the weakned form ‘generalISED, not general). “If he was surprised, he didn’t show it.”Or cf. AustinIf you are hungry, there are biscuits in the cupboard. Traditionalist Grice on the tranquil Elysium of philosophyĒlysĭum , ii, n., = Ἠλύσιον, the abode of the blest, I.Elysium, Verg. A. 5, 735 Serv.; 6, 542; 744 al.; cf. Heyne Verg. A. 6, 675 sq.; and ejusd. libri Exc. VIII. p. 1019 Wagn.—Hence, II. Ēlysĭus , a, um, adj., Elysian: “campi,” Verg. G. 1, 38; Tib. 1, 3, 58; Ov. Ib. 175; cf. “ager,” Mart. 10, 101: “plagae,” id. 6, 58: “domus,” Ov. M. 14, 111; cf. “sedes,” Luc. 3, 12: “Chaos,” Stat. Th. 4, 520: “rosae,” Prop. 4 (5), 7, 60. “puella,” i. e. Proserpine, Mart. 10, 24.—On p. 63, Grice uses ‘sense’ for the first time to apply to a Philonian ‘if p, q.’He is exploring that what Strawson would have as a ‘natural’ if, not an artificial ‘if’ like Philo’s, may have a sense that descends from the sense of the Philonian ‘if,’ as in Darwin’s descent of man. Grice then explores the ‘then’ in some formulations, ‘if p, then q’, and notes that Philo never used it, “ei” simpliciter – or the Romans, “si.”Grice plays with the otiosity of “if p, in that case q.”And then there’s one that Grice dismisses as ultra-otiose:“if p, then, in that case, viz. p., q.”Grice then explores ‘truth-functional’ now applied not to ‘evidence’ but to ‘confirmation.’“p or q” is said to be truth-functionally confirmable.While “p horseshoe q’ is of course truth-functionally confirmable.Grice has doubts that ‘if p, q’ may be regarded by Strawson as NOT being ‘truth-functionally confirmable.’ If would involve what he previously called a ‘metaphysical excrescence.’Grice then reverts to his bridge example“If I have a red king, I have a black king.”And provides three scenarios for a post-mortem truth-functional confirmability.For each of the three rowsNo red, no blackRed, no blackRed, blackWhich goes ditto for  the ‘logical’ puzzleIf Jones has black, Mrs. Jones has black. The next crop of instantiations come from PM, and begins on p. 64.He kept revising these notes. And by the time he was submitting the essay to the publisher, he gives up and kept the last (but not least, never latter) version. Grice uses the second-floor ‘disagree,’ and not an explicit ‘not.’ So is partially agreeing a form of disagreeing? In 1970, Conservative Heath won to Labour Wilson.He uses ‘validate’ – for ‘confirm’. ‘p v q’ is validated iff proved factually satisfactory.On p. 66 he expands“if p, q”as a triple disjunction of the three rows when ‘if p, q’ is true:“(not-p and not-q) or (not-p and q) or (p and q)”The only left out is “(p and not-q).”Grice gives an instantiation for [p et]q“The innings closed at 3:15, Smith no batting.”as opposed to“The inning close at 3:15, and Smith did not bat.”as displayed byp.qAfter using ‘or’ for elections he gives the first instantation with ‘if’:“If Wilson will not be prime minister, it will be Heath.”“If Wilson loses, he loses to Heath.”‘if’ is noncommutative – the only noncommutative of the three dyadic truth-functors he considers (‘and,’ ‘or’ and ‘if’).This means that there is a ‘semantic’ emphasis here.There is a distinction between ‘p’ and ‘q’. In the case of ‘and’ and ‘or’ there is not, since ‘p and q’ iff ‘q and p’ and ‘p or q’ iff ‘q or p.’The distinction is expressed in terms of truth-sufficiency and false-sufficiency.The antecedent or protasis, ‘p’ is FALSE-SUFFICIENT for the TRUTH of ‘if p, q.’The apodosis is TRUE-sufficient for the truth of ‘if p, q.’On p. 67 he raises three questions.FIRST QUESTIONHe is trying to see ‘if’ as simpler:The three instantiations areIf Smith rings, the butler will let Smith inIt is not the case that Smith rings, or the butler will let Smith in.It is not the case both Smith rings and it is not the the butler will let Smith in. (Grice changes the tense, since the apodosis sometimes requires the future tense) (“Either Smith WILL RING…”)SECOND QUESTIONWhy did the Anglo-Saxons feel the need for ‘if’ – German ‘ob’? After all, if Whitehead and Russell are right, the Anglo-Saxons could have done with ‘not’ and ‘and,’ or indeed with ‘incompatible.’The reason is that ‘if’ is cognate with ‘doubt,’ but The Anglo-Saxons left the doubt across the North Sea. it originally from an oblique case of the substantive which may be rendered as "doubt,” and cognate with archaic German “iba,” which may be rendered as “condition, stipulation, doubt," Old Norse if "doubt, hesitation," modern Swedish jäf "exception, challenge")It’s all different with ‘ei’ and ‘si.’For sisī (orig. and ante-class. form seī ),I.conj. [from a pronominal stem = Gr. ἑ; Sanscr. sva-, self; cf. Corss. Ausspr. 1, 778; Georg Curtius Gr. Etym. 396], a conditional particle, if.As for “ei”εἰ , Att.-Ion. and Arc. (for εἰκ, v. infr. 11 ad init.), = Dor. and Aeol. αἰ, αἰκ (q. v.), Cypr.A.“ἤ” Inscr.Cypr.135.10 H., both εἰ and αἰ in Ep.:— Particle used interjectionally with imper. and to express a wish, but usu. either in conditions, if, or in indirect questions, whether. In the former use its regular negative is μή; in the latter, οὐ.THIRD QUESTION. Forgetting Grecian neutral apodosis and protasis, why did the Romans think that while ‘antecedens’ is a good Humeian rendition of ‘protasis,’ yet instead they chose for the Grecian Humeian ‘apodosis,’ the not necessarily Humeian ‘con-sequens,’ rather than mere ‘post-sequens’?The Latin terminology is antecedens and consequens, the ancestors and ... tothem the way the Greek grammatical termsή πρότασιs and ήαπόδοσιsBRADWARDINE: Note that a consequence is an argumentation made up of an antecedent and a consequent. He starts with the métiers.For ‘or’ he speaks of ‘semiotic economy’ (p. 69). Grice’s Unitarianism – unitary particle.If, like iff, is subordinating, but only if is non-commutative. Gazdar considers how many dyadic particles are possible and why such a small bunch is chosen. Grice did not even care, as Strawson did, to take care of ‘if and only if.’ Grice tells us the history behind the ‘nursery rhyme’ about Cock Robin. He learned it from his mother, Mabel Fenton, at Harborne. Clifton almost made it forget it! But he recovered in the New World, after reading from Colin Sharp that many of those nursery rhymes travelled “with the Mayflower.” "Who Killed Cock Robin" is an English nursery rhyme, which has been much used as a murder archetype[citation needed] in world culture. It has a Roud Folk Song Index number of 494.  Contents 1Lyrics 2Origin and meaning 3Notes 4 External links Lyrics[edit] The earliest record of the rhyme is in Tommy Thumb's Pretty Song Book, published c. 1744, which noted only the first four verses. The extended version given below was not printed until c. 1770.[1]  Who killed Cock Robin? I, said the Sparrow, with my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin. Who saw him die? I, said the Fly, with my little eye, I saw him die. Who caught his blood? I, said the Fish, with my little dish, I caught his blood. Who'll make the shroud? I, said the Beetle, with my thread and needle, I'll make the shroud. Who'll dig his grave? I, said the Owl, with my little trowel, I'll dig his grave. Who'll be the parson? I, said the Rook, with my little book, I'll be the parson. Who'll be the clerk? I, said the Lark, if it's not in the dark, I'll be the clerk. Who'll carry the link? I, said the Linnet, I'll fetch it in a minute, I'll carry the link. Who'll be chief mourner? I, said the Dove, I mourn for my love, I'll be chief mourner. Who'll carry the coffin? I, said the Kite, if it's not through the night, I'll carry the coffin. Who'll bear the pall? We, said the Wren, both the cock and the hen, We'll bear the pall. Who'll sing a psalm? I, said the Thrush, as she sat on a bush, I'll sing a psalm. Who'll toll the bell? I, said the Bull, because I can pull, I'll toll the bell. All the birds of the air fell a-sighing and a-sobbing, when they heard the bell toll for poor Cock Robin. The rhyme has often been reprinted with illustrations, as suitable reading material for small children.[citation needed] The rhyme also has an alternative ending, in which the sparrow who killed Cock Robin is hanged for his crime.[2] Several early versions picture a stocky, strong-billed bullfinch tolling the bell, which may have been the original intention of the rhyme.[3]  Origin and meaning[edit] Although the song was not recorded until the mid-eighteenth century,[4] there is some evidence that it is much older. The death of a robin by an arrow is depicted in a 15th-century stained glass window at Buckland Rectory, Gloucestershire,[5] and the rhyme is similar to a story, Phyllyp Sparowe, written by John Skelton about 1508.[1] The use of the rhyme 'owl' with 'shovel', could suggest that it was originally used in older middle English pronunciation.[1] Versions of the story appear to exist in other countries, including Germany.[1]  A number of the stories have been advanced to explain the meaning of the rhyme:  The rhyme records a mythological event, such as the death of the god Balder from Norse mythology,[1] or the ritual sacrifice of a king figure, as proposed by early folklorists as in the 'Cutty Wren' theory of a 'pagan survival'.[6][7] It is a parody of the death of King William II, who was killed by an arrow while hunting in the New Forest (Hampshire) in 1100, and who was known as William Rufus, meaning "red".[8] The rhyme is connected with the fall of Robert Walpole's government in 1742, since Robin is a diminutive form of Robert and the first printing is close to the time of the events mentioned.[1] All of these theories are based on perceived similarities in the text to legendary or historical events, or on the similarities of names. Peter Opie pointed out that an existing rhyme could have been adapted to fit the circumstances of political events in the eighteenth century.[1]  The theme of Cock Robin's death as well as the poem's distinctive cadence have become archetypes, much used in literary fiction and other works of art, from poems, to murder mysteries, to cartoons.[1]  Notes[edit] ^ Jump up to:a b c d e f g h I. Opie and P. Opie, The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes (Oxford University Press, 1951, 2nd edn., 1997), pp. 130–3. ^ * Cock Robin at Project Gutenberg ^ M. C. Maloney, ed., English illustrated books for children: a descriptive companion to a selection from the Osborne Collection (Bodley Head, 1981), p. 31. ^ Lockwood, W. B. "The Marriage of the Robin and the Wren." Folklore 100.2 (1989): 237–239. ^ The gentry house that became the old rectory at Buckland has an impressive timbered hall that dates from the fifteenth century with two lights of contemporary stained glass in the west wall with the rebus of William Grafton and arms of Gloucester Abbey in one and the rising sun of Edward IV in the other light; birds in various attitudes hold scrolls "In Nomine Jesu"; none is reported transfixed by an arrow in Anthony Emery, Greater Medieval Houses of England and Wales, 1300–1500: Southern England, s.v. "Buckland Old Rectory, Gloucestershire", (Cambridge University Press, 2006), p. 80. ^ R. J. Stewart, Where is St. George? Pagan Imagery in English Folksong (1976). ^ B. Forbes, Make Merry in Step and Song: A Seasonal Treasury of Music, Mummer's Plays & Celebrations in the English Folk Tradition (Llewellyn Worldwide, 2009), p. 5. ^ J. Harrowven, The origins of rhymes, songs and sayings (Kaye & Ward, 1977), p. 92. External links[edit] Children's literature portal Death and Burial of Poor Cock Robin, by H. L. Stephens, from Project Gutenberg Death and Burial of Poor Cock Robin From the Collections at the Library of Congress Categories: Robert Walpole1744 songsFictional passerine birdsEnglish nursery rhymesSongwriter unknownEnglish folk songsEnglish children's songsTraditional children's songsSongs about birdsSongs about deathMurder balladsThe train from Oakland to Berkeley.Grice's aunt once visited him, and he picked her up at the Oakland Railway Station. On p. 74, Grice in terms of his aunt, mentions for the first time ‘premise’ and ‘conclusion.’On same p. for the record he uses ‘quality’ for affirmative, negative or infinite. On p. 74 he uses for the first time, with a point, the expression ‘conditional’ as attached to ‘if.’Oddly on the first line of p. 75, he uses ‘material conditional,’ which almost nobody does – except for a blue-collared practitioner of the sciences. ‘Material’ was first introduced by blue-collared Whitehead and Russell, practictioners of the sciences. They used ‘material’ as applied to ‘implication,’ to distinguish it, oddly, and unclassily, from ‘formal’ implication. It is only then he quotes Wilson verbatim in quotes“The question whether so and so is a case of a question whether such and such” This actually influenced Collingwood, and Grice is trying to tutor Strawson here once more!For the logic of question and answer has roots in the very philosophy that it was ... is John Cook Wilson, whose Statement and Inference can be regarded as the STATEMENT AND ITS RELATION TO THINKING AND APREHENSIOTHE DISTINCTION OF SUBJECT AND PREDICATE IN LOGIC AND GRAMMAR The influence of Strawson on Cook Wilson.“The building is the Bodleian.”As answer to“What is that building?”“Which building is the Bodleian”If the proposition is answer to first question, ‘that building’ is the subject, if the proposition is answer to second question, ‘the bodleian’ is the subject. Cf. “The exhibition was not visited by a bald king – of France, as it doesn’t happen.SUBJECT AS TOPICPREDICATE AS COMMENT.Cf. Grice, “The dog is a shaggy thig”What is shaggy?What is the dog?THIS DOG – Subject – TopicTHAT SHAGGY THING – Subject – occasionally, but usually Predicate, Comment.In fact, Wilson bases on StoutI am hungryWho is hungry?: subject IIs there anything amiss with you? ‘hungry’ is the subjectAre you really hungry? ‘am’ is the subject.Grice used to be a neo-Stoutian before he turned a neo-Prichardian so he knew. But perhaps Grice thought better of Cook Wilson. More of a philosopher. Stout seemed to have been seen as a blue-collared practioner of the SCIENCE of psychology, not philosophical psychology! Cf. Leicester-born B. Mayo, e: Magdalen, Lit. Hum. (Philosophy) under? on ‘if’ and Cook Wilson in Analysis.Other example by Wilson:“Glass is elastic.”Grice is motivated to defend Cook Wilson because Chomsky was criticizing him (via a student who had been at Oxford). [S]uppose instruction was being given in the properties of glass, and the instructor said ‘glass is elastic’, it would be natural to say that what was being talkedabout and thought about was ‘glass’, and that what was said of it was that it was elastic. Thus glass would be the subject and that it is elastic would be the predicate. (Cook Wilson 1926/1969, Vol. 1:117f.) What Cook Wilson discusses here is a categorical sentence. The next two quotes are concerned with an identificational sentence. [I]n the statement ‘glass is elastic’, if the matter of inquiry was elasticity and the question was what substances possessed the property of elasticity, glass, in accordance with the principle of the definition, would no longer be subject, and the kind of stress which fell upon ‘elastic’ when glass was the subject, would now be transferred to ‘glass’. [. . .] Thus the same form of words should be analyzed differently according as the words are the answer to one question or another. (Cook Wilson 1926/1969, Vol. 1:119f.) When the stress falls upon ‘glass’, in ‘glass is elastic’, there is no word in the sentence which denotes the actual subject elasticity; the word ‘elastic’ refers to what is already known of the subject, and glass, which has the stress, is the only word which refers to the supposed new fact in the nature of elasticity, that it is found in glass. Thus, according to the proposed formula, ‘glass’ would have to be the predicate. [. . .] Introduction and overview  But the ordinary analysis would never admit that ‘glass’ was the predicate in the given sentence and elasticity the subject. (Cook Wilson 1926/1969, Vol. 1:121)H. P. Grice knew that P. F. Strawson knew of J. C. Wilson  on “That building is the Bodleian” via Sellars’s criticism.There is  a  strong suggestion  in  Sellars' paper  that I would  have done better if I had stuck to Cook Wilson. This suggestion I want equally strongly to  repudiate.  Certainly  Cook  Wilson  draws  attention to  an interesting difference in ways  in which  items may appear in discourse. It may be roughly  expressed  as follows. When we  say Glass is elastic we may be talking  about glass or we may be talking about elasticity (and we may, in the relevant sense of  'about' be doing neither). We are talking about glass if  we are citing elasticity  as one of  the properties  of  glass, we  are talking  about  elasticity if  we  are  citing glass as one of  the substances which  are elastic.  Similarly when we  say Socrates is wise,  we  may be citing Socrates as an instance of  wisdom or wisdom as one of  the proper- ties  of  Socrates. And of  course  we  may be  doing neither  but, e.g., just imparting  miscellaneous  information.  Now  how,  if  at all,  could  this difference help me with my question? Would  it help at all, for example, if  it were plausible (which it is not) to say that we  were inevitably more interested in determining what properties  a given particular had,than in determining what particular had a given property? Wouldn't  this at least suggest that particulars were the natural subjects, in the sense of  subjects of  &erest?  Let me  answer this question  by the reminder  that what I have  to  do  is to establish  a connexion  between some formal  linguistic difference  and a  category  difference;  and  a  formal  linguistic  difference is one which logic can take cognizance of, in abstraction from pragmatic considerations,  like  the direction of  interest. Such  a  formal  ditference exists in the difference between appearing in discourse directly designated and  appearing  in  discourse under  the cloak of  quantification. ““But the difference in the use  of  unquantified  statements to which Cook Wilson draws attention is not a formal difference at all.”Both glass and elasticity, Socrates  and wisdom appear named  in  such  statements, whichever, in Cook  Wilson's  sense,  we  are talking about. An  appeal  to  pragmatic considerations  is,  certainly, an essential  part  of  my  own  account  at  a certain point: but this is the point  at which such considerations are in- voked to explain why  a certain formal difference should  be particularly closely linked, in common speech, with a certain category difference. The difference  of  which Cook  Wilson speaks is, then, though  interesting in itself, irrelevant to my question. Cook Wilson is, and I am not, concerned with  what  Sellars calls  dialectical  distinctions.” On p.76 Grice mentions for the first time the “ROLE” of if in an indefinite series of ‘interrogative subordination.”For Cook Wilson,as Price knew (he quotes him in Belief), the function of ‘if’ is to LINK TWO QUESTIONS. You’re the cream in my coffee as ‘absurd’ if literally (p. 83). STATEMENT In this entry we will explore how Grice sees the ‘implicaturum’ that he regards as ‘conversational’ as applied to the emissor and in reference to the Graeco-Roman classical tradition. Wht is implicated may not be the result of any maxim, and yet not conventional – depending on a feature of context. But nothing like a maxim – Strawson Wiggins p. 523. Only a CONVERSATIONAL IMPLICATURUM is the result of a CONVERSATIONAL MAXIM and the principle of conversational helpfulness. In a ‘one-off’ predicament, there may be an ‘implicaturum’ that springs from the interaction itself. If E draws a skull, he communicates that there is danger. If addressee runs away, this is not part of the implicaturum. This Grice considers in “Meaning.” “What is meant” should cover the immediate effect, and not any effect that transpires out of the addressee’s own will. Cf. Patton on Kripke. One thief to another: “The cops are coming!” The expressiom “IMPLICATION” is figures, qua entry, in a philosophical dictionary that Grice consulted at Oxford. In the vernacular, there are two prominent relata: entailment and implicaturum, the FRENCH have their “implication.” When it comes to the Germans, it’s more of a trick. There’s the “nachsichziehen,” the “zurfolgehaben,” the “Folge(-rung),” the “Schluß,” the “Konsequenz,” and of course the “Implikation” and the “Implikatur,” inter alia.  In Grecian, which Grice learned at Clifton, we have the “sumpeplegmenon,” or “συμπεπλεγμένον,” if you must, i. e. the “sum-peplegmenon,” but there’s also the “sumperasma,” or “συμπέϱασμα,” if you must, “sum-perasma;” and then there’s the “sunêmmenon,” or “συνημμένον,” “sun-emmenon,” not to mention (then why does Grice?) the “akolouthia,” or “ἀϰολουθία,” if you must, “akolouthia,” and the “antakolouthia,” ἀνταϰολουθία,” “ana-kolouthia.” Trust clever Cicero to regard anything ‘Grecian’ as not displaying enough gravitas, and thus rendering everything into Roman. There’s the “illatio,” from ‘in-fero.’ The Romans adopted two different roots for this, and saw them as having the same ‘sense’ – cf. referro, relatum, proferro, prolatum; and then there’s the “inferentia,”– in-fero; and then there’s the “consequentia,” -- con-sequentia. The seq- root is present in ‘sequitur,’ non sequitur. The ‘con-‘ is transliterating Greek ‘syn-’ in the three expressions with ‘syn’: sympleplegmenon, symperasma, and synemmenon. The Germans, avoiding the Latinate, have a ‘follow’ root: in “Folge,” “Folgerung,” and the verb “zur-folge-haben. And perhaps ‘implicatio,’  which is the root Grice is playing with. In Italian and French it underwent changes, making ‘to imply’ a doublet with Grice’s ‘to implicate’ (the form already present, “She was implicated in the crime.”). The strict opposite is ‘ex-plicatio,’ as in ‘explicate.’ ‘implico’ gives both ‘implicaturum’ and ‘implicitum.’ Consequently, ‘explico’ gives both ‘explicatum’ and ‘explicitum.’ In English Grice often uses ‘impicit,’ and ‘explicit,’ as they relate to communication, as his ‘implicaturum’ does. His ‘implicaturum’ has more to do with the contrast with what is ‘explicit’ than with ‘what follows’ from a premise. Although in his formulation, both readings are valid: “by uttering x, implicitly conveying that q, the emissor CONVERSATIONALY implicates that p’ if he has explicitly conveyed that p, and ‘q’ is what is required to ‘rationalise’ his conversational behavioiur. In terms of the emissor, the distinction is between what the emissor has explicitly conveyed and what he has conversationally implicated. This in turn contrasts what some philosophers refer metabolically as an ‘expression,’ the ‘x’ ‘implying’ that p – Grice does not bother with this because, as Strawson and Wiggins point out, while an emissor cannot be true, it’s only what he has either explicitly or implicitly conveyed that can be true. As Austin says, it’s always a FIELD where you do the linguistic botany. So, you’ll have to vide and explore: ANALOGY, PROPOSITION, SENSE, SUPPOSITION, and TRUTH. Implication denotes a relation between propositions and statements such that, from the truth-value of the protasis or antecedent (true or false), one can derive the truth of the apodosis or consequent. More broadly, we can say that one idea ‘implies’ another if the first idea cannot be thought without the second one -- RT: Lalande, Vocabulaire technique et critique de la philosophie. Common usage makes no strict differentiation between “to imply,” “to infer,” and “to lead to.” Against Dorothy Parker. She noted that those of her friends who used ‘imply’ for ‘infer’ were not invited at the Algonquin. The verb “to infer,” (from Latin, ‘infero,’ that gives both ‘inferentia,’ inference, and ‘illatio,’ ‘illatum’) meaning “to draw a consequence, to deduce” (a use dating to 1372), and the noun “inference,” meaning “consequence” (from 1606), do not on the face of it seem to be manifestly different from “to imply” and “implication.” But in Oxonian usage, Dodgson avoided a confusion. “There are two ways of confusing ‘imply’ with ‘infer’: to use ‘imply’ to mean ‘infer,’ and vice versa. Alice usually does the latter; the Dodo the former.” Indeed, nothing originally distinguishes “implication” as Lalande defines it — “a relation by which one thing ‘implies’ another”— from “inference” as it is defined in Diderot and d’Alembert’s Encyclopédie (1765): “An operation by which one ACCEPTS (to use a Griceism) a proposition because of its connection to other propositions held to be true.” The same phenomenon can be seen in the German language, in which the terms corresponding to “implication,” “Nach-sich-ziehen,” “Zur-folge-haben,” “inference,” “Schluß”-“Folgerung,” “Schluß,” “to infer,” “schließen,” “consequence,” “Folge” “-rung,” “Schluß,” “Konsequenz,” “reasoning,” “”Schluß-“ “Folgerung,” and “to reason,” “schließen,” “Schluß-folger-ung-en ziehen,” intersect or overlap to a large extent. In the French language, the expression “impliquer” reveals several characteristics that the expression does not seem to share with “to infer” or “to lead to.” First of all, “impliquer” is originally (1663) connected to the notion of contradiction, as shown in the use of impliquer in “impliquer contradiction,” in the sense of “to be contradictory.” The connection between ‘impliquer’ and ‘contradiction’ does not, however, explain how “impliquer” has passed into its most commonly accepted meaning — “implicitly entail” — viz. to lead to a consequence. Indeed, the two usages (“impliquer” connected with contradiction” and otherwise) constantly interfere with one another, which certainly poses a number of difficult problems. An analogous phenomenon can be found in the case of “import,” commonly given used as “MEAN” or “imply,” but often wavering instead, in certain cases, between “ENTAIL” and “imply.” In French, the noun “import” itself is generally left as it I (“import existentiel,” v. SENSE, Box 4, and cf. that’s unimportant, meaningless).  “Importer,” as used by Rabelais, 1536, “to necessitate, to entail,” forms via  It.“importare,” as used by Dante), from the Fr. “emporter,” “to entail, to have as a consequence,” dropped out of usage, and was brought back through Engl. “import.” The nature of the connection between the two primary usages of L. ‘implicare,’ It. ‘implicare,’ and Fr. ‘impliquer,’ “to entail IMPLICITitly” and “to lead to a consequence,” nonetheless remains obscure, but not to a Griceian, or Grecian. Another difficulty is understanding how the transition occurs from Fr. “impliquer,” “to lead to a consequence,” to “implication,” “a logical relation in which one statement necessarily supposes another one,” and how we can determine what in this precise case distinguishes “implication” from “PRAE-suppositio.” We therefore need to be attentive to what is implicit in Fr. “impliquer” and “implication,” to the dimension of Fr. “pli,” a pleat or fold, of Fr. “re-pli,” folding back, and of the Fr. “pliure,” folding, in order to separate out “imply,” “infer,” “lead to,” or “implication,” “inference,” “consequence”—which requires us to go back to Latin, and especially to medieval Latin. Once we clarify the relationship between the usage of “implication” and the medieval usage of “implicatio,” we will be able to examine certain derivations (as in Sidonius’s ‘implicatura,” and H. P. Grice’s “implicaturum,” after ‘temperature,’ from ‘temperare,’) or substitutes (“entailment”) of terms related to the generic field (for linguistic botanising) of “implicatio,” assuming that it is difficulties with the concept of implication (e. g., the ‘paradoxes,’ true but misleading, of material versus formal implication – ‘paradox of implication’ first used by Johnson 1921) that have given rise to this or that newly coined expression corresponding to this or that original attempt. This whole set of difficulties certainly becomes clearer as we leave Roman and go further upstream to Grecian, using the same vocabulary of implication, through the conflation of several heterogeneous gestures that come from the systematics in Aristotle and the Stoics. The Roman Vocabulary of Implication and the Implicatio has the necessary ‘gravitas,’ but Grice, being a Grecian at heart, found it had ‘too much gravitas,’ hence his ‘implicaturum,’ “which is like the old Roman ‘implicare,’ but for fun!” A number of different expressions in medieval Latin can express in a more or less equivalent manner the relationship between propositions and statements such that, from the truth-value of the antecedent (true or false), one can derive the truth-value of the consequent. There is “illatio,” and of course “illatum,” which Varro thought fell under ‘inferre.’ Then there’s the feminine noun, ‘inferentia,’ from the ‘participium praesens’ of ‘inferre,’ cf. ‘inferens’ and ‘ilatum.’ There is also ‘consequentia,’ which is a complex transliterating the Greek ‘syn-,’ in this case with ‘’sequentia,’ from the deponent verb. “I follow you.” Peter Abelard (Petrus Abelardus, v. Abelardus) makes no distinction in using the expression “consequentia” for the ‘propositio conditionalis,’ hypothetical. Si est homo, est animal. If Grice is a man, Grice is an animal (Dialectica, 473 – Abelardus uses ‘Greek man,’ not Grice.’ His implicaturum is ‘if a Greek man is a man, he is therefore also some sort of an animal’). But Abelardus also uses the expression “inferentia” for ‘same old same old’ (cf. “Implicaturum happens.”). Si non est iustus homo, est non iustus homo. Grice to Strawson on the examiner having given him a second. “If it is not the case that your examiner was a fair man, it follows thereby that your examiner was not a fair man, if that helps.” (Dialectica., 414).  For some reason, which Grice found obscure, ‘illatio” appears “almost always” in the context of commenting on Aristotle’s “Topics,” – “why people found the topic commenting escapes me” -- aand denotes more specifically a reasoning, or “argumentum,” in Boethius, allowing for a “consequentia” to be drawn from a given place. So Abelardus distinguishes: “illatio a causa.” But there is also “illatio a simili.” And there is “iillatio a pari.” And there is “illatio a partibus.” “Con-sequentia” sometimes has a very generic usage, even if not as generic as ‘sequentia.” “Consequentia est quaedam habitudo inter antecedens et consequens,” “Logica modernorum,” 2.1:38 – Cfr. Grice on Whitehead as a ‘modernist’! Grice draws his ‘habit’ from the scholastic ‘habitudo.’ Noe that ‘antededens’ and ‘consequens.’ The point is a tautological formula, in terms of formation. Surely ‘consequentia’ relates to a ‘consequens,’ where the ‘consequens’ is the ‘participium praesens’ of the verb from which ‘consequentia’ derives. It’s like deving ‘love’ by ‘to have a beloved.’ “Consequentia” is in any case present, in some way, without the intensifier ‘syn,’ which the Roman gravitas added to transliterate the Greek ‘syn,’ i. e. ‘cum.’ -- in the expression “sequitur” and in the expression “con-sequitur,” literally, ‘to follow,’ ‘to ensue,’ ‘to result in’). Keenan told Grice that this irritated him. “If there is an order between a premise and a conclusion, I will stop using ‘follow,’ because that reverts the order. I’ll use ‘… yields …’ and write that ‘p yields q.’” “Inferentia,” which is cognate (in the Roman way of using this expression broadly) with ‘illatio,’ and ‘illatum,’ -- frequently appears, by contrast, and “for another Grecian reason,” as Grice would put it -- in the context of the Aristotle’s “De Interpretatione,” on which Grice lectures only with J. L. Austin (Grice lectured with Strawson on “Categoriae,” only – but with Austin, from whom Grice learned – Grice lectured on both “Categoriae’ AND “De Interpretatione.” --  whether it is as part of a commentarium on Apuleius’s Isagoge and the Square of Oppositions (‘figura quadrata spectare”), in order to explain this or that “law” underlying any of the four sides of the square. So, between A and E we have ‘propositio opposita.’ Between A and I, and between E and O, we have propositio sub-alterna. Between A and O, and between E and I, we have propositio contradictoria. And between I and O, we have “propositio sub-alterna.” -- Logica modernorum, 2.1:115. This was irritatingly explored by P. F. Strawson and brought to H. P. Grice’s attention, who refused to accept Strawson’s changes and restrictions of the ‘classical’ validities (or “laws”) because Strawson felt that the ‘implication’ violated some ‘pragmatic rule,’ while still yielding a true statement. Then there’s the odd use of “inferentia” to apply to the different ‘laws’ of ‘conversio’ -- from ‘convertire,’ converting one proposition into another (Logica modernorum 131–39). Nevertheless, “inferentia” is used for the dyadic (or triadic, alla Peirce) relationship of ‘implicatio,’ which for some reason, the grave Romans were using for less entertaining things, and not this or that expressions from the “implication” family, or sub-field.  Surprisingly, a philosopher without a classical Graeco-Roman background could well be mislead into thinking that “implicatio” and “implication” are disparate! A number of treatises, usually written by monks – St. John’s, were Grice teaches, is a Cicercian monastery -- explore the “implicits.” Such a “tractatus” is not called ‘logico-philosophicus,’ but a “tractatus implicitarum,” literally a treatise on this or that  ‘semantic’ property of the proposition said to be an ‘implicaturum’ or an ‘implication,’ or ‘propositio re-lativa.’ This is Grice’s reference to the conversational category of ‘re-lation.’ “Re-latio” and “Il-latio” are surely cognate. The ‘referre’ is a bring back; while the ‘inferre’ is the bring in. The propositio is not just ‘brought’ (latum, or lata) it is brought back. Proposition Q is brought back (relata) to Proposition P. P and Q become ‘co-relative.’ This is the terminology behind the idea of a ‘relative clause,’ or ‘oratio relativa.’ E.g. “Si Plato tutee Socrates est, Socratos tutor Platonis est,” translated by Grice, “If Strawson was my tutee, it didn’t show!”. Now, closer to Grice “implicitus,” with an “i” following the ‘implic-‘ rather than the expected ‘a’ (implica), “implicita,” and “implicitum,” is an alternative “participium passatum” from “im-plic-are,” in Roman is used for “to be joined, mixed, enveloped.” implĭco (inpl- ), āvi, ātum, or (twice in Cic., and freq. since the Aug. per.) ŭi, ĭtum (v. Neue, Formenl. 2, 550 sq.), 1, v. a. in-plico, to fold into; hence, I.to infold, involve, entangle, entwine, inwrap, envelop, encircle, embrace, clasp, grasp (freq. and class.; cf.: irretio, impedio). I. Lit.: “involvulus in pampini folio se,” Plaut. Cist. 4, 2, 64: “ut tenax hedera huc et illuc Arborem implicat errans,” Cat. 61, 35; cf. id. ib. 107 sq.: “et nunc huc inde huc incertos implicat orbes,” Verg. A. 12, 743: “dextrae se parvus Iulus Implicuit,” id. ib. 2, 724; cf.: “implicuit materno bracchia collo,” Ov. M. 1, 762: “implicuitque suos circum mea colla lacertos,” id. Am. 2, 18, 9: “implicuitque comam laevā,” grasped, Verg. A. 2, 552: “sertis comas,” Tib. 3, 6, 64: “crinem auro,” Verg. A. 4, 148: “frondenti tempora ramo,” id. ib. 7, 136; cf. Ov. F. 5, 220: in parte inferiore hic implicabatur caput, Afran. ap. Non. 123, 16 (implicare positum pro ornare, Non.): “aquila implicuit pedes atque unguibus haesit,” Verg. A. 11, 752: “effusumque equitem super ipse (equus) secutus Implicat,” id. ib. 10, 894: “congressi in proelia totas Implicuere inter se acies,” id. ib. 11, 632: “implicare ac perturbare aciem,” Sall. J. 59, 3: “(lues) ossibus implicat ignem,” Verg. A. 7, 355.—In part. perf.: “quini erant ordines conjuncti inter se atque implicati,” Caes. B. G. 7, 73, 4: “Canidia brevibus implicatura viperis Crines,” Hor. Epod. 5, 15: “folium implicaturum,” Plin. 21, 17, 65, § 105: “intestinum implicaturum,” id. 11, 4, 3, § 9: “impliciti laqueis,” Ov. A. A. 2, 580: “Cerberos implicitis angue minante comis,” id. H. 9, 94: “implicitamque sinu absstulit,” id. A. A. 1, 561: “impliciti Peleus rapit oscula nati,” held in his arms, Val. Fl. 1, 264. II. Trop. A. In gen., to entangle, implicate, involve, envelop, engage: “di immortales vim suam ... tum terrae cavernis includunt, tum hominum naturis implicant,” Cic. Div. 1, 36, 79: “contrahendis negotiis implicari,” id. Off. 2, 11, 40: “alienis (rebus) nimis implicari molestum esse,” id. Lael. 13, 45: “implicari aliquo certo genere cursuque vivendi,” id. Off. 1, 32, 117: “implicari negotio,” id. Leg. 1, 3: “ipse te impedies, ipse tua defensione implicabere,” Cic. Verr. 2, 2, 18, § 44; cf.: multis implicari erroribus, id. Tusc. 4, 27, 58: “bello,” Verg. A. 11, 109: “eum primo incertis implicantes responsis,” Liv. 27, 43, 3: “nisi forte implacabiles irae vestrae implicaverint animos vestros,” perplexed, confounded, id. 40, 46, 6: “paucitas in partitione servatur, si genera ipsa rerum ponuntur, neque permixte cum partibus implicantur,” are mingled, mixed up, Cic. Inv. 1, 22, 32: ut omnibus copiis conductis te implicet, ne ad me iter tibi expeditum sit, Pompei. ap. Cic. Att. 8, 12, D, 1: “tanti errores implicant temporum, ut nec qui consules nec quid quoque anno actum sit digerere possis,” Liv. 2, 21, 4.—In part. perf.: “dum rei publicae quaedam procuratio multis officiis implicaturum et constrictum tenebat,” Cic. Ac. 1, 3, 11: “Deus nullis occupationibus est implicatus,” id. N. D. 1, 19, 51; cf.: “implicatus molestis negotiis et operosis,” id. ib. 1, 20, 52: “animos dederit suis angoribus et molestiis implicatos,” id. Tusc. 5, 1, 3: “Agrippina morbo corporis implicatura,” Tac. A. 4, 53: “inconstantia tua cum levitate, tum etiam perjurio implicatura,” Cic. Vatin. 1, 3; cf. id. Phil. 2, 32, 81: “intervalla, quibus implicatura atque permixta oratio est,” id. Or. 56, 187: “(voluptas) penitus in omni sensu implicatura insidet,” id. Leg. 1, 17, 47: “quae quatuor inter se colligata atque implicatura,” id. Off. 1, 5, 15: “natura non tam propensus ad misericordiam quam implicatus ad severitatem videbatur,” id. Rosc. Am. 30, 85; “and in the form implicitus, esp. with morbo (in morbum): quies necessaria morbo implicitum exercitum tenuit,” Liv. 3, 2, 1; 7, 23, 2; 23, 40, 1: “ubi se quisque videbat Implicitum morbo,” Lucr. 6, 1232: “graviore morbo implicitus,” Caes. B. C. 3, 18, 1; cf.: “implicitus in morbum,” Nep. Ages. 8, 6; Liv. 23, 34, 11: “implicitus suspicionibus,” Plin. Ep. 3, 9, 19; cf.: “implicitus terrore,” Luc. 3, 432: “litibus implicitus,” Hor. A. P. 424: “implicitam sinu abstulit,” Ov. A. A. 1, 562: “(vinum) jam sanos implicitos facit,” Cael. Aur. Acut. 3, 8, 87.— B. In partic., to attach closely, connect intimately, to unite, join; in pass., to be intimately connected, associated, or related: “(homo) profectus a caritate domesticorum ac suorum serpat longius et se implicet primum civium, deinde mortalium omnium societate,” Cic. Fin. 2, 14, 45: “omnes qui nostris familiaritatibus implicantur,” id. Balb. 27, 60: “(L. Gellius) ita diu vixit, ut multarum aetatum oratoribus implicaretur,” id. Brut. 47, 174: “quibus applicari expediet, non implicari,” Sen. Ep. 105, 5.— In part. perf.: “aliquos habere implicatos consuetudine et benevolentia,” Cic. Fam. 6, 12, 2: “implicatus amicitiis,” id. Att. 1, 19, 8: “familiaritate,” id. Pis. 29, 70: “implicati ultro et citro vel usu diuturno vel etiam officiis,” id. Lael. 22, 85. —Hence, 1. implĭcātus (inpl- ), a, um, P. a., entangled, perplexed, confused, intricate: “nec in Torquati sermone quicquam implicaturum aut tortuosum fuit,” Cic. Fin. 3, 1, 3: “reliquae (partes orationis) sunt magnae, implicaturae, variae, graves, etc.,” id. de Or. 3, 14, 52: vox rauca et implicatura, Sen. Apocol. med. — Comp.: “implicatior ad loquendum,” Amm. 26, 6, 18. — Sup.: “obscurissima et implicatissima quaestio,” Gell. 6, 2, 15: “ista tortuosissima et implicatissima nodositas,” Aug. Conf. 2, 10 init.— 2. im-plĭcĭtē (inpl- ), adv., intricately (rare): “non implicite et abscondite, sed patentius et expeditius,” Cic. Inv. 2, 23, 69. -- “Implicare” adds to these usages the idea of an unforeseen difficulty, i. e. a hint of “impedire,” and even of deceit, i. e. a hint of “fallere.” Why imply what you can exply? Cf. subreptitious. subreption (n.)"act of obtaining a favor by fraudulent suppression of facts," c. 1600, from Latin subreptionem (nominative subreptio), noun of action from past-participle stem of subripere, surripere (see surreptitious). Related: Subreptitious. surreptitious (adj.)mid-15c., from Latin surrepticius "stolen, furtive, clandestine," from surreptus, past participle of surripere "seize secretly, take away, steal, plagiarize," from assimilated form of sub "from under" (hence, "secretly;" see sub-) + rapere "to snatch" (see rapid). Related: Surreptitiously. The source of the philosophers’s usage of ‘implicare’ is a passage from Aristotle’s “De Int.” on the contrariety of proposition A and E (14.23b25–27), in which “implicita” (that sould be ‘com-plicita,’ and ‘the emissor complicates that p”) renders Gk. “sum-pepleg-menê,” “συμ-πεπλεγμένη,” f. “sum-plek-ein,” “συμ-πλέϰein,” “to bind together,” as in ‘com-plicatio,’ complication, and Sidonius’s ‘complicature,’ and Grice’s ‘complicature,’ as in ‘temperature,’ from ‘temperare.’ “One problem with P. F. Strawson’s exegesis of J. L. Austin is the complicature is brings.” This is from the same family or field as “sum-plokê,” “συμ-πλοϰή,” which Plato (Pol. 278b; Soph. 262c) uses for the ‘second articulation,’ the “com-bination” of sounds (phone) that make up a word (logos), and, more philosophically interesting, for ‘praedicatio,’ viz., the interrelation within a ‘logos’ or ‘oratio’ of a noun, or onoma or nomen, as in “the dog,” and a verb, or rhema, or verbum, -- as in ‘shaggisising’ -- that makes up a propositional complex, as “The dog is shaggy,” or “The dog shaggisises.” (H. P. Grice, “Verbing from adjectiving.”). In De Int. 23b25-27, referring to the contrariety of A and O, Aristotle, “let’s grant it” – as Grice puts it – “is hardly clear.” Aristotle writes: “hê de tou hoti kakon to agathon SUM-PEPLEG-MENÊ estin.” “Kai gar hoti ouk agathon anagkê isôs hupolambanein ton auton.”“ἡ δὲ τοῦ ὅτι ϰαϰὸν τὸ ἀγαθὸν συμπεπλεγμένη ἐστίν.”“ϰαὶ γὰϱ ὅτι οὐϰ ἀγαθὸν ἀνάγϰη ἴσως ὑπολαμϐάνειν τὸν αὐτόν.” Back in Rome, Boethius thought of bring some gravitas to this. “Illa vero quae est,” Boethius goes,” Quoniam malum est quod est bonum, IMPLICATURA est. Et enim: “Quoniam non bonum est.” necesse est idem ipsum opinari (repr. in Aristoteles latinus, 2.1–2.4–6. In a later vulgar Romance, we have J. Tricot). “Quant au jugement, “Le bon est mal” ce n’est en réalité qu’une COMBINAISON de jugements, cars sans doute est-il nécessaire de sous-entendre en même temps “le bon n’est pas le bon.” Cf. Mill on ‘sous-entendu’ of conversation. This was discussed by H. P. Grice in a tutorial with Reading-born English philosopher J. L. Ackrill at St. John’s.  With the help of H. P. Grice, J. L. Ackrill tries to render Boethius into the vernacular (just to please Austin) as follows. “Hê de tou hoti kakon to agathon SUM-PEPLEG-MENÊ estin, kai gar hoti OUK agathon ANAGKê isôs hupo-lambanein ton auton” “Illa vero quae est, ‘Quoniam malum est quod est bonum,’ IMPLICATURA est, et enim, ‘Quoniam non bonum est,’ necesse est idem ipsum OPINARI. In the vernacular: “The belief expressed by the proposition, ‘The good is bad,’ is COM-PLICATED or com-plex, for the same person MUST, perhaps, suppose also the proposition, ‘The good it is not good.’” Aristotle goes on, “For what kind of utterance is “The good is not good,” or as they say in Sparta, “The good is no good”? Surely otiose. “The good” is a Platonic ideal, a universal, separate from this or that good thing. So surely, ‘the good,’ qua idea ain’t good in the sense that playing cricket is good. But playing cricket is NOT “THE” good: philosophising is.” H. P. Grice found Boethius’s commentary “perfectly elucidatory,” but Ackrill was perplexed, and Grice intended Ackrill’s perplexity to go ‘unnoticed’ (“He is trying to communicate his perplexity, but I keep ignoring it.” For Ackrill was surreptitiously trying to ‘correct’ his tutor. Aristotle, Acrkill thought, is wishing to define the ‘contrariety’ between two statements or opinions, or not to use a metalanguage second order, that what is expressed by ‘The good is bad’ is a contrarium of what is expressed by ‘The good is no good.’” Aristotle starts, surely, from a principle. The principle states that a maximally false proposition, set in opposition to a maximally true proposition (such as “The good is good”), deserves the name “contraria” – and ‘contrarium’ to what is expressed by it. In a second phase, Aristotle then tries to demonstrate, in a succession of this or that stage, that ‘The good is good’ understood as a propositio universalis dedicativa – for all x, if x is (the) good, x is good (To agathon agathon estin,’ “Bonum est bonum”) is a maximally true proposition.” And the reason for this is that “To agathon agathon estin,” or “Bonum bonum est,” applies to the essence (essentia) of “good,” and ‘predicates’ “the same of the same,” tautologically. Now consider Aristotle’s other proposition “The good is the not-bad,” the correlative E form, For all x, if x is good, x is not bad. This does not do. This is not a maximally true proposition. Unlike “The good is good,” The good is not bad” does not apply to the essence of ‘the good,’ and it does not predicate ‘the same of the same’ tautologically. Rather, ‘The good is not bad,’ unless you bring one of those ‘meaning postulates’ that Grice rightly defends against Quine in “In defense of a dogma,” – in this case, (x)(Bx iff ~Gx) – we stipulate something ‘bad’ if it ain’t good -- is only true notably NOT by virtue of a necessary logical implication, but, to echo my tutor, by implicaturum, viz. by accident, and not by essence (or essential) involved in the ‘sense’ of either ‘good’ or ‘bad,’ or ‘not’ for that matter. Surely Aristotle equivocates slightly when he convinced Grice that an allegedly maximally false proposition (‘the good is bad’) entails or yields the negation of the same attribute, viz., ‘The good is not good,’ or more correctly, ‘It is not the case that the good is good,’ for this is axiomatically contradictory, or tautologically and necessarily false without appeal to any meaning postulate. For any predicate, Fx and ~Fx. The question then is one of knowing whether ‘The good is bad’ deserves to be called the contrary proposition (propositio contraria) of ‘The good is good.’ Aristotle notes that the proposition, ‘The good is bad,’ “To agathon kakon estin,” “Bonum malum est,” is NOT the maximally false proposition opposed to the maximally true, tautological, and empty, proposition, “The good is good,” ‘To agathon agathon estin,’ “Bonum bonum est.” “Indeed, “the good is bad” is sumpeplegmenê, or COMPLICATA. What the emissor means is a complicatum, or as Grice preferred, a ‘complicature. Grice’s complicature (roughly rendered as ‘complification’) condenses all of the moments of the transition from the simple idea of a container (cum-tainer) to the “modern” ideas of implication, Grice’s implicaturum, and prae-suppositio. The ‘propositio complicate,’ is, as Boethius puts it, duplex, or equivocal. The proposition  has a double meaning – one explicit, the other implicit. “A ‘propositio complicata’ contains within itself [“continet in se, intra se”]: bonum non est.” Boethius then goes rightly to conclude (or infer), or stipulate, that only a “simplex” proposition, not a propositio complicata, involving some ‘relative clause,’ can be said to be contrary to another -- Commentarii in librum Aristotelis Peri hermêneais, 219. Boethius’s exegesis thesis is faithful to Aristotle. For Aristotle, nothing like “the good is not bad,” but only the tautologically false “the good is not good,” or it is not the case that the good is good, (to agathon agathon esti, bonum bonum est), a propositio simplex, and not a propositio complicate, is the opposite (oppositum, -- as per the ‘figura quadrata’ of ‘oppoista’ -- of “the good is good,” another propositio simplex. Boethius’s analysis of “the good is bad,” a proposition that Boethius calls ‘propositio complicate or ‘propositio implicita’ are manifestly NOT the same as Aristotle’s. For Aristotle, the “doxa hoti kakon to agathon [δόξα ὅτι ϰαϰὸν τὸ ἀγαθόν],” the opinion according to which the good is bad, is only ‘contrary’ to “the good is good” to the extent that it “con-tains” (in Boethius’s jargon) the tautologically false ‘The good is not good.’ For Boethius, ‘The good is bad’ is contrary to ‘the good is good’ is to the extent that ‘the good is bad’ contains, implicitly, the belief which Boethius expresses as ‘Bonum NON est —“ cf. Grice on ‘love that never told can be” – Featuring “it is not the case that,” the proposition ‘bonum non est’ is a remarkably complicated expression in Latin, a proposition complicata indeed. ‘Bonum non est’ can mean, in the vernacular, “the good is not.” “Bonum non est” can only be rendered as “there is nothing good.’ “Bonum non est’ may also be rendered, when expanded with a repeated property, the tautologically false ‘The good is not good” (Bonum non bonum est). Strangely, Abelard goes in the same direction as Aristotle, contra Boethius. “The good is bad” (Bonum malum est)  is “implicit” (propositio implicita or complicate) with respect to the tautologically false ‘Bonum bonum non est’ “the good is not good.”Abelardus, having read Grice – vide Strawson, “The influence of Grice on Abelardus” -- explains clearly the meaning of “propositio implicita”: “IMPLYING implicitly ‘bonum non bonum est,’ ‘the good is not good’ within itself, and in a certain wa containing it [“IM-PLICANS eam in se, et quodammodo continens.” Glossa super Periermeneias, 99–100. But Abelard expands on Aristotle. “Whoever thinks ‘bonum malum est,’ ‘the good is bad’ also thinks ‘bonum non bonum est,’ ‘the good is not good,’ whereas the reverse does not hold true, i. e. it is not the case that whoever thinks the tautologically false ‘the good is not good’ (“bonum bonum non est”) also think ‘the good is bad’ (‘bonum malum est’). He may refuse to even ‘pronounce’ ‘malum’ (‘malum malum est’) -- “sed non convertitur.” Abelard’s explanation is decisive for the natural history of Grice’s implication. One can certainly express in terms of “implication” what Abelard expresses when he notes the non-reciprocity or non-convertibility of the two propositions. ‘The good is bad,’ or ‘Bonum malum est’ implies or presupposes the tautologically true “the good is not good;’It is not the case that the tautologically false “the good is not good” (‘Bonum bonum non est’) implies ridiculous “the good is bad.” Followers of Aristotle inherit these difficulties.  Boethius and Abelard bequeath to posterity an interpretation of the passage in Aristotle’s “De Interpretatione” according to which “bonum malum est” “the good is bad” can only be considered the ‘propositio opposita’ of the tautologically true ‘bonum bonum est’ (“the good is good”) insofar as, a ‘propositio implicita’ or ‘relativa’ or ‘complicata,’ it contains the ‘propositio contradictoria, viz. ‘the good is not good,’ the tautologically false ‘Bonum non bonum est,’ of the tautologically true ‘Bonum bonum est’ “the good is good.” It is this meaning of “to contain a contradiction” that, in a still rather obscure way, takes up this analysis by specifying a usage of “impliquer.” The first attested use in French of the verb “impliquer” is in 1377 in Oresme, in the syntagm “impliquer contradiction” (RT: DHLF, 1793). These same texts give rise to another analysis. A propositio implicita or pregnant, or complicate, is a proposition that “implies,” that is, that in fact contains two propositions, one principalis, and the other relative, each a ‘propositio explicita,’ and that are equivalent or equipollent to the ‘propositio complicata’ when paraphrased. Consider. “Homo qui est albus est animal quod currit,” “A man who is white is an animal who runs.” This ‘propositio complicate contains the the propositio implicita, “homo est albus” (“a man is white”) and the propositio implicita, “animal currit” (“an animal  runs.”). Only by “exposing” or “resolving” (via ex-positio, or via re-solutio) such an ‘propositio complicata’ can one assign it a truth-value. “Omnis proposition implicita habet duas propositiones explicitas.” “A proposition implicita “P-im” has (at least) a proposition implicita P-im-1 and a different proposition implicita P-im-2.” “Verbi gratia.” “Socrates est id quod est homo.” “Haec propositio IMplicita aequivalet huic copulativae constanti ex duis propositionis explicitis. Socrates est aliquid est illud est homo. Haec proposition est vera, quare et propositio implicita vera. Every “implicit proposition” has two explicit propositions.” “Socrates is something (aliquid) which is a man.” This implicit proposition, “Socrates is something shich is a man,” is equivalent or equipoent to the following conjunctive proposition made up of two now EXplicit propositions, to wit, “Socrates is something,” and “That something is a man.” This latter conjunctive proposition of the two explicit propositions is true. Therefore, the “implicit” proposition is also true” (Tractatus implicitarum, in Giusberti – Materiale per studum, 43). The two “contained” propositions are usually relative propositions. Each is called an ‘implicatio.’ ‘Implicatio’ (rather than ‘implicitio’) becomes shorthand for “PROPOSITIO implicita.” An ‘implicatio’ becomes one type of  ‘propositio exponibilis,’ i. e. a proposition that is to be “exposed” or paraphrased for its form or structure to be understood.  In the treatises of Terminist logic, one chapter is by custom devoted to the phenomenon of “restrictio,” viz. a restriction in the denotation or the suppositio of the noun (v. SUPPOSITION). A relative expression (an implication), along with others, has a restrictive function (viz., “officium implicandi”), just like a sub-propositional expression like an adjective or a participle. Consider.  “A man, Grice, who argues, runs to the second base.”  “Man,” because of the relative expression or clause “who runs,” is restricted to denoting the present time (it is not Grice, who argues NOW but ran YESTERDAY). Moreover there is an equivalence or equipolence between the relative expression “qui currit” and the present participle “currens.” Running Grice argues. Grice who runs argues. Summe metenses, Logica modernorum, 2.1:464. In the case in which a relative expression is restrictive, its function is to “leave something that is constant,” “aliquid pro constanti relinquere,” viz., to produce a pre-assertion that conditions the truth of the main super-ordinate assertion without being its primary object or topic or signification or intentio. “Implicare est pro constanti et involute aliquid significare.” “Ut cum dicitur homo qui est albus currit.”  “Pro constanti” dico, quia praeter hoc quod assertitur ibi cursus de homine, aliquid datur intelligi, scilicet hominem album; “involute” dico quia praeter hoc quod ibi proprie et principaliter significatur hominem currere, aliquid intus intelligitur, scilicet hominem esse album. Per hoc patet quod implicare est intus plicare. Id enim quod intus “plicamus” sive “ponimus,” pro constanti relinquimus. Unde implicare nil aliud est quam subiectum sub aliqua dispositione pro constanti relinquere et de illo sic disposito aliquid affirmare. Ackrill translates to Grice: “To imply” is to signify something by stating it as constant, and in a pretty ‘hidden’ manner – “involute.” When I state that the man runs, I state, stating it as constant, because, beyond (“praeter”) the main supra-ordinate assertion or proposition that predicates the running of the man, my addressee is given to understand something else (“aliquid intus intelligitur”), viz. that the man is white; This is communicated in a hidden manner (“involute”) because, beyond (“praeter”) what is communicated (“significatur”) primarily, principally (“principaliter”) properly (“proprie”), literally, and explicitly, viz. that the man is running, we are given to understand something else (“aliquid intus intelligutur”) within (“intus”), viz.  that the man is white.  It follows from this that implicare is nothing other than what the form of the expression literally conveys, intus plicare (“folded within”).  What we fold or state within, we leave as a constant.  It follows from this that “to imply” is nothing other than leaving something as a constant in the subject (‘subjectum’), such that the subject (subjectum, ‘homo qui est albus”) is under a certain disposition, and that it is only under this disposition that something about the subjectum is affirmed” -- De implicationibus, Nota, 100) For the record: while Giusberti (“Materiale per studio,” 31) always reads “pro constanti,” the MSS occasionally has the pretty Griciean “precontenti.” This is a case of what the “Logique du Port-Royal” describes as an “in-cidental” assertion. The situation is even more complex, however, insofar as this operation only relates to one usage of a relative proposition, viz. when the proposition is restrictive. A restriction can sometimes be blocked, or cancelled, and the reinscriptions are then different for a  nonrestrictive and a restrictive relative proposition. One such case of a blockage is that of “false implication” (Johnson’s ‘paradox of ‘implicatio’) as in “a [or the] man who is a donkey runs,” (but cf. the centaur, the man who is a horse, runs) where there is a conflict (“repugnantia”) between what the determinate term itself denotes (homo, man) and the determination (ansinus, donkey). The truth-values of a proposition containing a relative clause or propositio thus varies according to whether it is restrictive, and of composite meaning, as in “homo, qui est albus, currit” (A man, who is white, runs), or non-restrictive, and of divided meaning, as in “Homo currit qui est albus” (Rendered in the vernacular in the same way, the Germanic languages not having the syntactic freedom the classical languages do: A man, who is white, is running. When the relative is restrictive, as in “Homo, qui est albus, curris”, the propositio implicits only produces one single assertion, since the relative corresponds to a pre-assertion. Thus, it is the equivalent, at the level of the underlying form, to a proposition conditionalis or hypothetical. Only in the second case can there be a “resolution” of the proposition implicita into the pair of this and that ‘propositio explicita, to wit, “homo currit,”  “homo est albus.”—and an equipolence between the complex proposition implicita and the conjunction of the first proposition explicita and the second proposition explicitta. Homo currit et ille est albus. So it is only in this second case of proposition irrestrictiva  that one can say that “Homo currit, qui est albus implies “Homo currit,” and “Homo est albus” and therefore, “Homo qui est albus currit.” The poor grave Romans are having trouble with Grecisms. The Grecist vocabulary of implication is both disparate and systematic, in a Griceian oxymoronic way. The grave Latin “implicare” covers and translates an extremely varied Grecian field of expressions ready to be botanized, that bears the mark of heterogeneous rather than systematic operations, whether one is dealing Aristotle or the Stoics. The passage through grave Roman allows us to understand retrospectively the connection in Aristotle’s jargon between the “implicatio” of the “propositio implicita,” sum-pepleg-menê, as an interweaving or interlacing, and conclusive or con-sequential implicatio, sumperasma, “συμπέϱασμα,” or “sumpeperasmenon,” “συμπεπεϱασμένον,” “sumpeperasmenê,” “συμπεπεϱασμένη,” f. perainein, “πεϱαίνein, “to limit,” which is the jargon Aristotle uses in the Organon to denote the conclusion of a syllogism (Pr. Anal. 1.15.34a21–24). If one designates as A the premise, tas protaseis, “τὰς πϱοτάσεις,” and as B the con-clusion, “to sumperasma,” συμπέϱασμα.” Cf. the Germanic puns with ‘closure,’ etc.  When translating Aristotle’s definition of the syllogism at Prior Analytics 1.1.24b18–21, Tricot chooses to render as the “con-sequence” Aristotle’s verb “sum-bainei,” “συμ-ϐαίνει,” that which “goes with” the premise and results from it. A syllogism is a discourse, “logos,” “λόγος,” in which, certain things being stated, something other than what is stated necessarily results simply from the fact of what is stated. Simply from the fact of what is stated, I mean that it is because of this that the consequence is obtained, “legô de tôi tauta einai to dia tauta sumbainei,” “λέγω δὲ τῷ ταῦτα εἶναι τὸ διὰ ταῦτα συμϐαίνει.” (Pr. Anal. 1.1, 24b18–21). To make the connection with “implication,” though, we also have to take into account, as is most often the case, the Stoics’ own jargon. What the Stoics call “sumpeplegmenon,” “συμπεπλεγμένον,” is a “conjunctive” proposition; e. g. “It is daytime, and it is light” (it is true both that A and that B). The conjunctive is a type of molecular proposition, along with the “conditional” (sunêmmenon [συνημμένον] -- “If it is daytime, it is light”) and the “subconditional” (para-sunêmmenon [παϱασυνημμένον]; “SINCE it is daytime, it is light”), and the “disjunctive” (diezeugmenon [διεζευγμένον] --  “It is daytime, or it is night.” Diog. Laert. 7.71–72; cf. RT: Long and Sedley, A35, 2:209 and 1:208). One can see that there is no ‘implicatio’ in the conjunctive, whereas there is one in the ‘sunêmmenon’ (“if p, q”), which constitutes the Stoic expression par excellence, as distinct from the Aristotelian categoric syllogism.Indeed, it is around the propositio conditionalis that the question and the vocabulary of ‘implicatio’ re-opens. The Aristotelian sumbainein [συμϐαίνειν], which denotes the accidental nature of a result, however clearly it has been demonstrated (and we should not forget that sumbebêkos [συμϐεϐηϰός] denotes accident; see SUBJECT, I), is replaced by “akolouthein” [ἀϰολουθεῖν] (from the copulative a- and keleuthos [ϰέλευθος], “path” [RT: Chantraine, Dictionnaire étymologique de la langue grecque, s.v. ἀϰόλουθος]), which denotes instead being accompanied by a consequent conformity. This connector, i. e. the “if” (ei, si) indicates that the second proposition, the con-sequens (“it is light”) follows (akolouthei [ἀϰολουθεῖ]) from the first (“it is daytime”) (Diog. Laert, 7.71). Attempts, beginning with Philo or Diodorus Cronus up to Grice and Strawson to determine the criteria of a “valid” conditional (to hugies sunêmmenon [τὸ ὑγιὲς συνημμένον] offer, among other possibilities, the notion of emphasis [ἔμφασις], which Long and Sedley translate as “G. E. Moore’s entailment” and Brunschwig and Pellegrin as “implication” (Sextus Empiricus, The Skeptic Way, in RT: Long and Sedley, The Hellenistic Philosophers, 35B, 2:211 and 1:209), a term that is normally used to refer to a reflected image and to the force, including rhetorical force, of an impression. Elsewhere, this “emphasis” is explained in terms of dunamis [δύναμις], of “virtual” content (“When we have the premise which results in a certain conclusion, we also have this conclusion virtually [dunamei (δυνάμει)] in the premise, even if it is not explicitly indicated [kan kat’ ekphoran mê legetai (ϰἂν ϰατ̕ ἐϰφοϱὰν μὴ λέγεται)], Sextus Empiricus, Against the Grammarians 8.229ff., D. L. Blank, 49 = RT: Long and Sedley, G36 (4), 2:219 and 1:209)—where connecting the different usages of “implication” creates new problems. One has to understand that the type of implicatio represented by the proposition conditionalis implies, in the double usage of “contains implicitly” and “has as its consequence,” the entire Stoic system. It is a matter of to akolouthon en zôêi [τὸ ἀϰόλουθον ἐν ζωῇ], “consequentiality in life,” or ‘rational life, as Grice prefers, as Long and Sedley translate it (Stobeus 2.85.13 = RT: Long and Sedley, 59B, 2:356; Cicero prefers “congruere,” (congruential) De finibus 3.17 = RT: Long and Sedley, 59D, 2:356). It is akolouthia [ἀϰολουθία] that refers to the conduct con-sequent upon itself that is the conduct of the wise man, the chain of causes defining will or fate, and finally the relationship that joins the antecedent to the con-sequent in a true proposition. Goldschmidt, having cited Bréhier (Le système stoïcien), puts the emphasis on antakolouthia [ἀνταϰολουθία], a Stoic neologism that may be translated as “reciprocal” implicatio,” and that refers specifically to the solidarity of virtues (antakolouthia tôn aretôn [ἀνταϰολουθία τῶν ἀϱετῶν], Diog. Laert. 7.125; Goldschmidt, as a group that would be encompassed by dialectical virtue, immobilizing akolouthia in the absolute present of the wise man. “Implicatio” is, in the final analysis, from then on, the most literal name of the Stoic system. Refs.: Aristotle.  Anal. Pr.. ed. H. Tredennick,  in Organon, Harvard; Goldschmidt, Le système stoïcien et l’idée de temps. Paris: Vrin, Sextus Empiricus. Against the Grammarians, ed. D. L. Blank. Oxford: Oxford. END OF INTERLUDE. Now for “Implication”/“Implicaturum.” Implicatura was used by Sidonius in a letter (that Grice found funny) and used by Grice in seminars on conversational helpfulness at Oxford. Grice sets out the basis of a systematic approach to communication, viz, concerning the relation between a proposition p and a proposition q in a conversational context. The need is felt by Sidonius and Grice for ‘implicaturum,’ tdistinct from “implication,” insofar as “implication” is used for a relation between a proposition p and a proposition q, whereas an “implicaturum” is a relation between this or that statement, within a given context, that results from an EMISSOR having utterered an utterance (thereby explicitly conveying that p) and thereby implicitly conveying and implicating that q. Grice thought the distinction was ‘frequently ignored by Austin,’ and Grice thought it solved a few problems, initially in G. A. Paul’s neo-Wttigensteinian objections to Price’s causal theory of perception (“The pillar box seems red to me; which does not surprise me, seeing that it is red”).  An “implication” is a relation bearing on the truth or falsity of this or that proposition (e. g. “The pillar box seems red” and, say, “The pillar box MAY NOT be red”) whereas an “implicaturum” brings an extra meaning to this or that statement it governs (By uttering “The pillar box seems red” thereby explicitly conveying that the pillar box seems red, the emissor implicates in a cancellable way that the pillar box MAY NOT be red.”). Whenever “implicaturum” is determined according to its context (as at Collections, “Strawson has beautiful handwriting; a mark of his character. And he learned quite a bit in spite of the not precisely angelic temperament of his tutor Mabbott”) it enters the field of pragmatics, and therefore has to be distinguished from a presupposition. Implicatio simpliciter is a relation between two propositions, one of which is the consequence of the other (Quine’s example: “My father is a bachelor; therefore, he is male”). An equivalent of “implication” is “entailment,” as used by Moore. Now, Moore was being witty. ‘Entail’ is derived from “tail” (Fr. taille; ME entaill or entailen = en + tail), and prior to its logical use, the meaning of “entailment” is “restriction,” “tail” having the sense of “limitation.” As Moore explains in his lecture: “An entailment is a limitation on the transfer or handing down of a property or an inheritance. *My* use of ‘entailment’ has two features in common with the Legalese that Father used to use; to wit: the handing down of a property; and; the limitation on one of the poles of this transfer. As I stipulate we should use “entailment” (at Cambridge, but also at Oxford), a PROPERTY is transferred from the antecedent to the con-sequent. And also, normally in semantics, some LIMITATION (or restriction, or ‘stricting,’ or ‘relevancing’) on the antecedent is stressed.” The mutation from the legalese to Moore’s usage explicitly occurs by analogy on the basis of these two shared common elements. Now, Whitehead had made a distinction between a material (involving a truth-value) implication and formal (empty) implication. A material implication (“if,” symbolized by the horseshoe “⊃,” because “it resembles an arrow,” Whitehead said – “Some arrow!” was Russell’s response) is a Philonian implication as defined semantically in terms of a truth-table by Philo of Megara. “If p, q” is false only when the antecedent is true and the con-sequent false. In terms of a formalization of communication, this has the flaw of bringing with it a counter-intuitive feeling of ‘baffleness’ (cf. “The pillar box seems red, because it is”), since a false proposition implies materially any proposition: If the moon is made of green cheese, 2 + 2 = 4. This “ex falso quodlibet sequitur” has a pedigreed history. For the Stoics and the Megarian philosophers, “ex falso quodlibet sequitur” is what distinguishes Philonian implication and Diodorean implication. It traverses the theory of consequence and is ONE of the paradoxes of material implication that is perfectly summed up in these two rules of Buridan: First, if P is false, Q follows from P; Second, if P is true, P follows from Q (Bochenski, History of Formal Logic). A formal (empty) implication (see Russell, Principles of Mathematics, 36–41) is a universal conditional implication: Ɐx (Ax ⊃ Bx), for any x, if Ax, then Bx. Different means of resolving the paradoxes of implication have been proposed. All failed except Grice’s. An American, C. I. Lewis’s “strict” implication (Lewis and Langford, Symbolic Logic) is defined as an implication that is ‘reinforced’ such that it is impossible for the antecedent to be true and the con-sequent false. Unfortunately, as Grice tells Lewis in a correspondence, “your strict implication, I regret to prove, has the same alleged flaw as the ‘material’ implication that your strict implication was meant to improve on. (an impossible—viz., necessarily false—proposition strictly implies any proposition). The relation of entailment introduced by Moore in 1923 is a relation that seems to avoid this or that paradox (but cf. Grice, “Paradoxes of entailment, followed by paradoxes of implication – all conversationally resolved”) by requiring a derivation of the antecedent from the con-sequent. In this case, “If 2 + 2 = 5, 2 + 3 = 5” is false, since the con-sequent is stipulated not be derivable from the antecedent. Occasionally, one has to call upon the pair “entailment”/“implication” in order to distinguish between an implication in qua material implication and an implication in Moore’s usage (metalinguistic – the associated material implication is a theorem), which is also sometimes called “relevant” if not strictc implication (Anderson and Belnap, Entailment), to ensure that the entire network of expressions is covered. Along with this first series of expressions in which “entailment” and “implication” alternate with one another, there is a second series of expressions that contrasts two kinds of “implicaturum,” or ‘implicatura.’ “Implicaturum” (Fr. implicaturum, G. Implikatur) is formed from “implicatio” and the suffix –ture, which expresses, as Grice knew since his Clifton days, a ‘resultant aspect,’ ‘aspectum resultativus’ (as in “signature”; cf. L. temperatura, from temperare).  “Implicatio” may be thought as derived from “to imply” (if not ‘employ’) and “implicaturum” may be thought as deriving from “imply”’s doulet, “to implicate” (from L. “in-“ + “plicare,” from plex; cf. the IE. plek), which has the same meaning. Some mistakenly see Grice’s “implicaturum” as an extension and modification of the concept of presupposition, which differs from ‘material’ implication in that the negation of the antecedent implies the consequent (the question “Have you stopped beating your wife?” presupposes the existence of a wife in both cases). An implicaturum escapes the paradoxes of material implication from the outset. In fact, Grice, the ever Oxonian, distinguishes “at least” two kinds of implicaturum, conventional and non-conventional, the latter sub-divided into non-conventional non-converastional, and non-conventional conversational. A non-conventional non-conversational implicaturum may occur in a one-off predicament. A Conventional implicaturum and a conventional implicaturum is practically equivalent, Strawson wrongly thought, to presupposition prae-suppositum, since it refers to the presuppositions attached by linguistic convention to a lexical item or expression.  E. g. “Mary EVEN loves Peter” has a relation of conventional implicaturum to “Mary loves other entities than Peter.” This is equivalent to: “ ‘Mary EVEN loves Peter’ presupposes ‘Mary loves other entities than Peter.’ With this kind of implicaturum, we remain within the expression, and thus the semantic, field. A conventional implicaturum, however, is surely different from a material implicatio. It does not concern the truth-values. With conversational implicaturum, we are no longer dependent on this or that emissum, but move into pragmatics (the area that covers the relation between statements and contexts. Grice gives the following example: If, in answer to A’s question about how C is getting on in his new job at a bank, B utters, “Well, he likes his colleagues, and he hasn’t been to in prison yet,” what B implicates by the proposition that it is not the case that C has been to prison yet depends on the context. It compatible with two very different contexts: one in which C, naïve as he is, is expected to be entrapped by unscrupulous colleagues in some shady deal, or, more likely, C is well-known by A and B to tend towards dishonesty (hence the initial question). References: Abelard, Peter. Dialectica. Edited by L. M. De Rijk. Assen, Neth.: Van Gorcum, 1956. 2nd rev. ed., 1970. Glossae super Periermeneias. Edited by Lorenzo Minio-Paluello. In TwelfthCentury Logic: Texts and Studies, vol. 2, Abelaerdiana inedita. Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 1958. Anderson, Allan Ross, and Nuel Belnap. Entailment: The Logic of Relevance and Necessity. Vol. 1. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1975. Aristotle. De interpretatione. English translation by J. L. Ackrill: Aristotle’s Categories and De interpretatione. Notes by J. L. Ackrill. Oxford: Clarendon, 1963. French translation by J. Tricot: Organon. Paris: Vrin, 1966. Auroux, Sylvain, and Irène Rosier. “Les sources historiques de la conception des deux types de relatives.” Langages 88 (1987): 9–29. Bochenski, Joseph M. A History of Formal Logic. Translated by Ivo Thomas. New York: Chelsea, 1961. Boethius. Aristoteles latinus. Edited by Lorenzo Minio-Paluello. Paris: Descleé de Brouwer, 1965. Translation by Lorenzo Minio-Paluello: The Latin Aristotle. Toronto: Hakkert, 1972. Commentarii in librum Aristotelis Peri hermêneias. Edited by K. Meiser. Leipzig: Teubner, 1877. 2nd ed., 1880. De Rijk, Lambertus Marie. Logica modernorum: A Contribution to the History of Early Terminist Logic. 2 vols. Assen, Neth.: Van Gorcum, 1962–67.  “Some Notes on the Mediaeval Tract De insolubilibus, with the Edition of a Tract Dating from the End of the Twelfth-Century.” Vivarium 4 (1966): 100–103. Giusberti, Franco. Materials for a Study on Twelfth-Century Scholasticism. Naples, It.: Bibliopolis, 1982. Grice, H. P. “Logic and Conversation.” In Syntax and Semantics 3: Speech Acts, edited by P. Cole and J. Morgan, 41–58. New York: Academic Press, 1975. (Also in The Logic of Grammar, edited by D. Davidson and G. Harman, 64–74. Encino, CA: Dickenson, 1975.) Lewis, Clarence Irving, and Cooper Harold Langford. Symbolic Logic. New York: New York Century, 1932. Meggle, Georg. Grundbegriffe der Kommunikation. 2nd ed. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1997. Meggle, Georg, and Christian Plunze, eds. Saying, Meaning, Implicating. Leipzig: Leipziger Universitätsverlag, 2003. Moore, G. E.. Philosophical Studies. London: Kegan Paul, 1923. Rosier, I. “Relatifs et relatives dans les traits terministes des XIIe et XIIIe siècles: (2) Propositions relatives (implicationes), distinction entre restrictives et non restrictives.” Vivarium 24: 1 (1986): 1–21. Russell, Bertrand. The Principles of Mathematics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1903. implication, a relation that holds between two statements when the truth of the first ensures the truth of the second. A number of statements together imply Q if their joint truth ensures the truth of Q. An argument is deductively valid exactly when its premises imply its conclusion. Expressions of the following forms are often interchanged one for the other: ‘P implies Q’, ‘Q follows from P’, and ‘P entails Q’. (‘Entailment’ also has a more restricted meaning.) In ordinary discourse, ‘implication’ has wider meanings that are important for understanding reasoning and communication of all kinds. The sentence ‘Last Tuesday, the editor remained sober throughout lunch’ does not imply that the editor is not always sober. But one who asserted the sentence typically would imply this. The theory of conversational implicaturum explains how speakers often imply more than their sentences imply. The term ‘implication’ also applies to conditional statements. A material implication of the form ‘if P, then Q’ (often symbolized ‘P P Q’ or ‘P / Q’) is true so long as either the if-clause P is false or the main clause Q is true; it is false only if P is true and Q is false. A strict implication of the form ‘if P, then Q’ (often symbolized ‘P Q’) is true exactly when the corresponding material implication is necessarily true; i.e., when it is impossible for P to be true when Q is false. The following valid forms of argument are called paradoxes of material implication: Q. Therefore, P / Q. Not-P. Therefore, P / Q. The appearance of paradox here is due to using ‘implication’ as a name both for a relation between statements and for statements of conditional form. A conditional statement can be true even though there is no relation between its components. Consider the following valid inference: Butter floats in milk. Therefore, fish sleep at night / butter floats in milk. Since the simple premise is true, the conditional conclusion is also true despite the fact that the nocturnal activities of fish and the comparative densities of milk and butter are completely unreimmediate inference implication 419 4065h-l.qxd 08/02/1999 7:39 AM Page 419 lated. The statement ‘Fish sleep at night’ does not imply that butter floats in milk. It is better to call a conditional statement that is true just so long as it does not have a true if-clause and a false main clause a material conditional rather than a material implication. Strict conditional is similarly preferable to ‘strict implication’. Respecting this distinction, however, does not dissolve all the puzzlement of the so-called paradoxes of strict implication: Necessarily Q. Therefore, P Q. Impossible that P. Therefore, P Q. Here is an example of the first pattern: Necessarily, all rectangles are rectangles. Therefore, fish sleep at night all rectangles are rectangles. ‘All rectangles are rectangles’ is an example of a vacuous truth, so called because it is devoid of content. ‘All squares are rectangles’ and ‘5 is greater than 3’ are not so obviously vacuous truths, although they are necessary truths. Vacuity is not a sharply defined notion. Here is an example of the second pattern: It is impossible that butter always floats in milk yet sometimes does not float in milk. Therefore, butter always floats in milk yet sometimes does not float in milk fish sleep at night. Does the if-clause of the conclusion imply (or entail) the main clause? On one hand, what butter does in milk is, as before, irrelevant to whether fish sleep at night. On this ground, relevance logic denies there is a relation of implication or entailment. On the other hand, it is impossible for the if-clause to be true when the main clause is false, because it is impossible for the if-clause to be true in any circumstances whatever. Speranza, Luigi. Join the Grice Club! Strawson, P. F.. “On Referring.” Mind 59 (1950): 320–44.

implicaturum: a pragmatic relation different from, but easily confused with, the semantic relation of entailment. This concept was first identified, explained, and used by H. P. Grice (Studies in the Way of Words, 1989). Grice identified two main types of implicaturum, conventional and non-conventional (including conversational). An emisor is said to conversationally implicate that p in uttering x, provided that, although p is NOT logically implied by what the emisor explicitly communicates, the assumption that the emisor is attempting cooperative communication warrants inferring that the emisor is communicating that p. If Grice utters “There is a garage around the corner” in response to Strawson’s saying, “I am out of gas,” Grice conversationally implicates that the garage is open and has gas to sell. Grice identifies several conversational maxims to which cooperative conversationalists may be expected to conform, and which justify inferences about what the emisor implicates. In the above example, the implicaturums are due to the maxim of conversational relevance. Another important maxim is the maxim of conversational fortitude  (“Make your contribution as informatively strong as is required”). Among implicatura due to the Maxim of conversational fortitude is the scalar implicaturum, wherein the utterance contains an element that is part of a quantitative scale. Utterance of such a sentence conversationally implicates that the emisor does not believe related propositions higher on the scale of conversational fortitude or informativeness. E. g. an emisor who says, “Some of the zoo animals escaped,” implies that he does not believe that that most of the zoo animals escaped, or that every animal of the zoo animals escaped. Unlike a conversational implicaturum, a conventional implicaturum is due solely to the semantics of the expression. An emisor is said by Grice to conventionally imply that p, if the semantics of the expression commits the emisor to p, even though what the emisor explicitly communicates does not entail that p. Thus, uttering, as the Tommies did during the Great War, “She was poor but she was honest” a Tommy implicates, but does not explicitly convey, that there is a contrast between her poverty and her honesty.

impositum: a property of terms resulting from a convention to designate something. A term is not a mere noise but a significant sound. A term designating extralinguistic entities, such as ‘tree’, ‘stone’, ‘blue’, and the like, are classified by the tradition since Boethius as terms of “prima impositio,” first imposition. A term designating another term or other communicative items, such as ‘noun’, ‘declension’, and the like, is classified as terms of ‘secunda imposition,’ second imposition. The distinction between a terms of ‘prima impositio’ and ‘secunda impositio’ belongs to the realm of written and spoken language, while the parallel distinction between terms of first and second ‘intentio’ belongs to the realm of the soul. A ‘prima intentio’ (intentio re re), frst intention is, broadly, thoughts about trees, stones, colours, etc. A ‘seconda intention’ (intention de sensu), second intention, is a thought about a first intention. Refs.: H. P. Grice, “De sensu implicaturum.”

infinitum -- cantor, G. Grice thought that “I know there are infinitely many stars” is a stupid thing to say -- one of a number of late nineteenthcentury philosophers including Frege, Dedekind, Peano, Russell, and Hilbert who transformed both mathematics and the study of its philosophical foundations. The philosophical import of Cantor’s work is threefold. First, it was primarily Cantor who turned arbitrary collections into objects of mathematical study, sets. Second, he created a coherent mathematical theory of the infinite, in particular a theory of transfinite numbers. Third, linking these, he was the first to indicate that it might be possible to present mathematics as nothing but the theory of sets, thus making set theory foundational for mathematics. This contributed to the Camus, Albert Cantor, Georg 116   116 view that the foundations of mathematics should itself become an object of mathematical study. Cantor also held to a form of principle of plenitude, the belief that all the infinities given in his theory of transfinite numbers are represented not just in mathematical or “immanent” reality, but also in the “transient” reality of God’s created world. Cantor’s main, direct achievement is his theory of transfinite numbers and infinity. He characterized as did Frege sameness of size in terms of one-to-one correspondence, thus accepting the paradoxical results known to Galileo and others, e.g., that the collection of all natural numbers has the same cardinality or size as that of all even numbers. He added to these surprising results by showing 1874 that there is the same number of algebraic and thus rational numbers as there are natural numbers, but that there are more points on a continuous line than there are natural or rational or algebraic numbers, thus revealing that there are at least two different kinds of infinity present in ordinary mathematics, and consequently demonstrating the need for a mathematical treatment of these infinities. This latter result is often expressed by saying that the continuum is uncountable. Cantor’s theorem of 2 is a generalization of part of this, for it says that the set of all subsets the power-set of a given set must be cardinally greater than that set, thus giving rise to the possibility of indefinitely many different infinities. The collection of all real numbers has the same size as the power-set of natural numbers. Cantor’s theory of transfinite numbers 0 97 was his developed mathematical theory of infinity, with the infinite cardinal numbers the F-, or aleph-, numbers based on the infinite ordinal numbers that he introduced in 0 and 3. The F-numbers are in effect the cardinalities of infinite well-ordered sets. The theory thus generates two famous questions, whether all sets in particular the continuum can be well ordered, and if so which of the F-numbers represents the cardinality of the continuum. The former question was answered positively by Zermelo in 4, though at the expense of postulating one of the most controversial principles in the history of mathematics, the axiom of choice. The latter question is the celebrated continuum problem. Cantor’s famous continuum hypothesis CH is his conjecture that the cardinality of the continuum is represented by F1, the second aleph. CH was shown to be independent of the usual assumptions of set theory by Gödel 8 and Cohen 3. Extensions of Cohen’s methods show that it is consistent to assume that the cardinality of the continuum is given by almost any of the vast array of F-numbers. The continuum problem is now widely considered insoluble. Cantor’s conception of set is often taken to admit the whole universe of sets as a set, thus engendering contradiction, in particular in the form of Cantor’s paradox. For Cantor’s theorem would say that the power-set of the universe must be bigger than it, while, since this powerset is a set of sets, it must be contained in the universal set, and thus can be no bigger. However, it follows from Cantor’s early 3 considerations of what he called the “absolute infinite” that none of the collections discovered later to be at the base of the paradoxes can be proper sets. Moreover, correspondence with Hilbert in 7 and Dedekind in 9 see Cantor, Gesammelte Abhandlungen mathematischen und philosophischen Inhalts, 2 shows clearly that Cantor was well aware that contradictions will arise if such collections are treated as ordinary sets. 

prædicatum: Grice on the praedicatum/impraedicatum distinction – an impredicative definition is the definition of a concept in terms of the totality to which it belongs. Whitehead and Russell, in their “Principia Mathematica” introduce ‘im-predicative’ (earlier, ‘non-predicative,’ which Grice prefers) prohibiting an impredicative definition from conceptual analysis, on the grounds that an impredicative definition entails (to use Moore’s jargon) a paradox – which Grice loves. An impredicative definition of the set R of all sets that are not members of themselves leads to the self-contradictory conclusion that R is a member of itself if and only if it is not a member of itself. In Grice’s rewrite: “Austin’s paradoxical dream was to create a ‘class’ each of whose member was such that his class had no other member.” To avoid an antinomy of this kind in the formalization of logic, Whitehead and Russell first implement in their ramified type theory the vicious circle principle, that no whole (totum) may contain parts (pars) that are definable only in terms of that whole (totum). The limitation of ramified type theory is that without use of an impredicative definition it is impossible to quantify over every item, but only over every item of a certain order or type. Without being able to quantify over every item generally, many of the most important definitions and theorems of classical philosophy cannot be formulated. Whitehead and Russell for this reason later abandoned ramified in favour of simple type theory, which avoids a logical paradox without outlawing an impredicative definition by forbidding the predication of terms of any type (object, property and relation, higher-order propertiy and relations of properties and relations, etc.) to terms of the same type.

correctum: there’s‘corrigibility’ (=  correctum) and ‘incorrigibility’ – “The implicaturum is that something is incorrigibile it cannot be corrected – but Chisholm never explies ‘by whom’”! (Grice uses ‘exply’ as opposite of ‘imply’).  Who is corrigible? The emissor. “I am sorry I have to tell you you are wrong.” On WoW: 142, Grice refers to the ‘authority’ of the utterer as a ‘rational being’ to DEEM that an M-intention is an antecedent condition for his act of meaning. Grice uses ‘privilege’ as synonym for ‘authority’ here. But not in the phrase ‘privileged access.’ His point is not so much about the TRUTH (which ‘incorrigibility’ suggests), but about the DEEMING. It is part of the authority or privilege of the utterer as rational to provide an ACCEPTABLE assignment of an M-intention behind his utterance.

commensuratum:  There’s commensurability and there’s incommensurability – “But Protagoras never explies what makes man commensurable – only implies it!” In the philosophy of science, the property exhibited by two scientific theories provided that, even though they may not logically contradict one another, they have reference to no common body of data. Positivist and logical empiricist philosophers of science like Carnap had long sought an adequate account of a theoryneutral language to serve as the basis for testing competing theories. The predicates of this language were thought to refer to observables; the observation language described the observable world or (in the case of theoretical terms) could do so in principle. This view is alleged to suffer from two major defects. First, observation is infected with theory – what else could specify the meanings of observation terms except the relevant theory? Even to perceive is to interpret, to conceptualize, what is perceived. And what about observations made by instruments? Are these not completely constrained by theory? Second, studies by Kuhn, Paul Feyerabend, and others argued that in periods of revolutionary change in science the adoption of a new theory includes acceptance of a completely new conceptual scheme that is incommensurable with the older, now rejected, theory. The two theories are incommensurable because their constituent terms cannot have reference to a theory-neutral set of observations; there is no overlap of observational meaning between the competitor theories; even the data to be explained are different. Thus, when Galileo overthrew the physics of Aristotle he replaced his conceptual scheme – his “paradigm” – with one that is not logically incompatible with Aristotle’s, but is incommensurable with it because in a sense it is about a different world (or the world conceived entirely differently). Aristotle’s account of the motion of bodies relied upon occult qualities like natural tendencies; Galileo’s relied heavily upon contrived experimental situations in which variable factors could be mathematically calculated. Feyerabend’s even more radical view is that unless scientists introduce new theories incommensurable with older ones, science cannot possibly progress, because falsehoods will never be uncovered. It is an important implication of these views about incommensurability that acceptance of theories has to do not only with observable evidence, but also with subjective factors, social pressures, and expectations of the scientific community. Such acceptance appears to threaten the very possibility of developing a coherent methodology for science.

consistens: “There’s consistens, and there’s inconsistens.” – H. P. Grice. The inconsistent triad, most generally, any three propositions such that it cannot be the case that all three of them are true. More narrowly, any three categorical propositions such that it cannot be the case that all three of them are true. A categorical syllogism is valid provided the three propositions that are its two premises and the negation (contradiction) of its conclusion are an inconsistent triad; this fact underlies a test for the validity of categorical syllogisms, which test are thus called by Grice the “method of” the inconsistent triad.

dependens – independens -- independence results, proofs of non-deducibility. Any of the following equivalent conditions may be called independence: (1) A is not deducible from B; (2) its negation - A is consistent with B; (3) there is a model of B that is not a model of A; e.g., the question of the non-deducibility of the parallel axiom from the other Euclidean axioms is equivalent to that of the consistency of its negation with them, i.e. of non-Euclidean geometry. Independence results may be not absolute but relative, of the form: if B is consistent (or has a model), then B together with - A is (or does); e.g. models of non-Euclidean geometry are built within Euclidean geometry. In another sense, a set B is said to be independent if it is irredundant, i.e., each hypothesis in B is independent of the others; in yet another sense, A is said to be independent of B if it is undecidable by B, i.e., both independent of and consistent with B. The incompleteness theorems of Gödel are independence results, prototypes for many further proofs of undecidability by subsystems of classical mathematics, or by classical mathematics as a whole, as formalized in ZermeloFraenkel set theory with the axiom of choice (ZF ! AC or ZFC). Most famous is the undecidability of the continuum hypothesis, proved consistent relative to ZFC by Gödel, using his method of constructible sets, and independent relative to ZFC by Paul J. Cohen, using his method of forcing. Rather than build models from scratch by such methods, independence (consistency) for A can also be established by showing A implies (is implied by ) some A* already known independent (consistent). Many suitable A* (Jensen’s Diamond, Martin’s Axiom, etc.) are now available. Philosophically, formalism takes A’s undecidability by ZFC to show the question of A’s truth meaningless; Platonism takes it to establish the need for new axioms, such as those of large cardinals. (Considerations related to the incompleteness theorems show that there is no hope even of a relative consistency proof for these axioms, yet they imply, by way of determinacy axioms, many important consequences about real numbers that are independent of ZFC.) With non-classical logics, e.g. second-order logic, (1)–(3) above may not be equivalent, so several senses of independence become distinguishable. The question of independence of one axiom from others may be raised also for formalizations of logic itself, where many-valued logics provide models.