a g n i t i o the duke university undergraduate journal of philosophy

fall 2006 volume I :: issue I

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A G N I T I O The Duke Undergraduate

Journal of Philosophy

Editor-in-Chief Eric Weinstein

Faculty Advisor Andrew Janiak

Associate Editors Carolina Astigarraga

Tony Manela Matthew Rich

Editorial Board Members

Matt Danforth Melissa Fundora

Kyle Knight Josh Parker

Matthew Slayton Alex Wang

Jeremy Welch

The editors would like to thank the following people and organizations for helping to bring this project to fruition: Michael Ferejohn, Owen Flanagan, Güven Güzeldere, Janelle Haynes, Andrew Janiak, Moli Jones and The Publishing Place, David Sanford, Marissa Weiss, David Wong, the Philosophy Department, the Office of Student Activities and Facilities, the Student Organization Finance Committee, Duke Student Government, the Undergraduate Publications Board, the John Spencer Bassett Memorial Fund, and the Kenan Institute for Ethics. Agnitio is an Independent “C” publication of the Undergraduate Publications Board of Duke University. Previously published material and simultaneous submissions cannot be accepted. The anonymity of all authors is maintained throughout the review process. All correspondence, including submissions, should be directed via electronic mail to the Editor-in-Chief at eqw@duke.edu, or via standard mail to: Agnitio, Duke University, P.O. Box 93668, Durham, NC 27708-3668. This issue was made possible by financial contributions from the John Spencer Bassett Memorial Fund, the Duke University Philosophy Department, and the Kenan Institute for Ethics.

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table of contents :: agnitio Machiavellianism, Sociopathy and the Drive for Power 4 Leonardo Christov Moore Duke University Abstract: Past research indicates that Machiavellian behavior is a) a model of successful leadership based on observation and historical analysis b) a reliable metric for predicting character traits associated with dominant individuals c) the hallmark of a distinctive neurochemical and behavioral profile associated with power seeking in a social arena d) analogous to sociopathy in its negation of social influences or empathic considerations and e) shown with game theoretical and behavioral studies to be a stable evolutionary strategy with a corresponding niche within societal power structures. I review these findings to show that sociopathic moral development tends to produce Machiavellian tendencies, in accordance with studies of sociopaths’ social interactions, and that this individually-oriented behavior should be facilitated (and by extension encouraged) in determined environments. Grief and Moral Responsibility in Contemporary America (Excerpt) 19 Thomas Feulner Stanford University Abstract: Grievers are in general held to somewhat diminished standards of moral responsibility. While it is important to make allowances for people in a time of grief, these allowances can lead to the alienation of the griever from the community. In order to curb this alienation, societies need to employ non-moral social expectations of grievers in an effort to reinforce the griever’s status as a part of the community. Feeling that he is a part of the community will facilitate the griever’s reintegration into normal society. In contemporary American culture, these non-moral social practices are lacking, and grievers are the worse for it. Although practical solutions for changing the culture of grief in America are difficult to implement, there are some things we can do to better serve grievers in our communities. Hume on Belief in External Bodies 42 Wesley Holliday Stanford University Abstract: In Treatise 1.4.2, Hume advances an explanation of the origin of our belief in an external world. The present paper defends Hume’s account against various charges of question-begging but ultimately argues for an alternative account inspired by Hume’s own views on space, found in Treatise 1.2.3.

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from the editor :: agnitio When I first conceived the idea of publishing an undergraduate journal of philosophy at Duke during the spring of my freshman year, I didn’t think it would be difficult to pull off: a few pages of paperwork here, a handful of meetings there, and we’d have funding, a full staff, university support, and our first issue in hand by the following fall term.

That was just over two years ago, and admittedly, I was a little overambitious. It’s been a long time coming, but with the help of a number of faculty members and one of the more dedicated undergraduate staffs on campus, here it is: Agnitio. Newly approved by the Undergraduate Publication Board and Duke Student Government, Agnitio (Latin for “of knowledge” or “of recognition”) will serve as a local forum for the discussion of any and all philosophical issues and topics between undergraduates from across the country. Our inaugural issue contains academic writing from students at Duke University and Stanford University, and we are currently working as hard and fast as we can to get the word out and secure submissions from even more colleges and universities across the United States. As our resources increase, we hope to bring you lengthier, more varied, more engaging issues with every passing semester, and I hope this publication will continue to serve you and the Duke community long after our first staff has graduated.

I’ve found during my time at Duke that when you study philosophy, you end up

studying a little bit of everything – art, music, law, biology, physics, linguistics, women’s studies, and more – which I think renders Agnitio uniquely qualified to represent the myriad academic pursuits and interests of Duke University undergraduates. So read on about the neurobiological basis of behavior and its relationship to Machiavelli’s The Prince, the trauma and handling of grief in America, and how David Hume viewed the existence of external objects. Better yet, submit work of your own for our next issue, join the staff, or consider majoring or minoring in philosophy. As Socrates once said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.”

Let’s see what’s out there.

Eric Weinstein Founder, Editor-in-Chief

December 2006

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machiavellianism, sociopathy and the drive for power leonardo christov moore :: duke university

Introduction

Analyses of political and personal gain from Machiavelli’s The Prince to Sun Tzu’s The Art of

War have emphasized a set of character traits that define a successful leader. These include a talent

for manipulation, a cognitive, goal-oriented approach to social interactions, and an artful

employment of deceit and self representation to further one’s goals. Interestingly, the same traits

associated above with political success and material gain bear an intriguing resemblance to those

characterizing sociopathy. I will discuss the functional niche competitive power structures (i.e.

politics, marketing) have granted to character traits otherwise ascribed to an aberrant personality

disorder. Conversely, a parallel can be drawn between conditions favorable to cooperative and

selfish behavior, and those in public life which have characterized the emergence of sociopathic,

radically egoistic political behavior. I will first review the concepts of sociopathy, Machiavellianism

and the game theoretical “cheater”/“cooperator” paradigm. Then, I will discuss some of the

processes involved in decision making which allow for Machiavellianism to exist as a stable

evolutionary strategy. This will lead to an analysis of the environmental factors that grant a niche to

such a strategy, their relation to the establishment of norms in society, and the compatibility of the

sociopathic personality with the demands of Machiavellian behavior.

The teachings of Niccolo Machiavelli represent a careful analysis of centuries of political

turmoil in which only the most adept at attaining and maintaining power survived. In them he sets

out a set of tactics and character traits associated with a pragmatic approach to interpersonal

interactions, in which personal goals are set and given highest priority in all social considerations.

Strategies are reviewed only in terms of their cost and their benefit, hinging on exploiting societal

expectations to further personal gain. Contemporary research in game theory, primate studies,

sociology, empirical psychology and others have found correlates between “Machiavellian” character

traits and attractiveness, socioeconomic status and political success, all founded in the emotional and

rational mechanisms we employ in organizing group behavior. Within an environment that

encourages cooperation to preserve societal integrity, “Machiavellian” behavior presents an

alternative, “cheater” strategy that appears to be fueled by a deficiency or negation of the social

emotions that impel most of us towards prosocial behavior (under normative constraints). In game

theory, this personality type is characterized by a refined ability to exploit “cooperators” by

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transmitting appropriate, compliant intentions but performing otherwise. The pressure within

cooperative groups to detect and ostracize a “cheater” may select for those most successful at

interpersonal manipulation and deceit. Some authors propose that Machiavellianism prospers as an

adaptive strategy within environments largely populated by “mixed-strategy interactionists” whose

socialized expectations and adherence to norms make them prone to deceit and manipulation.

Contemporary research into political gain, game theory and interpersonal negotiation have caused a

renewed interest in Machiavellianism, as its principles have been associated with modern strategies

for material gain, and have presented interesting correlations to the loopholes provided by social

norms of interaction. Evidence points towards a strong role of social emotions in eventual

socialization, which upon careful analysis seem to promote a strategy of cooperation and prosocial

behavior based in empathy. In the case of sociopaths, characterized by a total lack of empathy or

affect in interpersonal relations, how does moral development proceed, and according to what

parameters? Empathy seems to sensitize the individual to other’s needs. In the absence of such

stimuli, i.e. in complete empathic ignorance, or blindness to others’ emotional states, how do goal-

oriented strategies develop? One could intuit that the strategies would be excessively egoistic, first of

all, with no reference to any but personal feelings or welfare. Second, social norms would present

none but operational constraints, with no emotional significance for the sociopathic individual. This

would imply that in interpersonal negotiations, an alternative route to cooperation would be pursued,

whatever the difficulties involved. Thus, success would depend highly on intelligence and education,

as supplements for social behavior unconditioned by social stimuli. Furthermore, as an individually-

oriented strategy, one would predict that its successful implementation would primarily result in

personal gain, whatever “gain” constitutes. If any tendencies toward self aggrandizement were to

factor in, this would probably result in a drive (sometimes successful) towards power and dominance.

Provided a suitable environment, it is conceivable that behavior like that of an intelligent sociopath

is ideally suited to achieving dominance within social organizations. These premises may seem like

idle speculation. However, there is a substantial body of evidence supporting each of these premises.

“So to clear himself in the minds of the people, and gain them entirely to himself, he desired to

show that, if any cruelty had been practiced, it had originated with him, but in the natural sternness

of the minister. Under this pretence he took Ramiro, and one morning caused him to be executed

and left in the piazza at Cesena with the block and a bloody knife at his side.” (Machiavelli 11)

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What is a sociopath?

“Goodness, evil, love, horror, none of these has any meaning or power to move him. He is

furthermore lacking an ability to see that others are moved. Despite his intelligence, he is colorblind

to this aspect of human existence. It cannot be explained to him because he cannot bridge the gap

of comparison…Though he may smile and assent when explained to, there is no way for him to

know that he has not understood.”

Sociopathy and psychopathy are used interchangeably, but sociopathy is often used as a term

to distinguish it from psychoticism or insanity (Pitchford 2001). They are insincere, manipulative,

and remorseless in their negative behavior, aimless, radically self-interested (Dancke 1985).

Common sociopathy is associated with impulsivity, an inability to plan ahead, reckless disregard for

the safety of others, consistent irresponsibility, deceitfulness, manipulativeness, lack of remorse, guilt

or shame and a failure to conform to social norms. However, sociopaths are not severely aberrant

criminal types or moral degenerates. Sociopaths are for the most part intellectually sound and

grounded in objective reality, though they tend to falsely represent themselves in response to the

perceived expectations of others. It is useful to distinguish in this respect sociopaths of high and low

intelligence and education, as these are correlated to the eventual employment of these character

traits, be it in remorseless property theft or political power. It is for this reason that some authors

make further distinction of discreet disorders associated with sociopathy, among them pathological

narcissism and Machiavellianism.

In parallel with Machiavellian principles, sociopaths tend to view other humans as objects,

presenting an overall lack of affect in interpersonal relation ships. Some authors extend sociopathy

to an ability to neutralize or negate any sense of conscience or future time perspective.

There is still some blurring between sociopathy as a genotype and as a conditioned behavior.

This is largely due to conflicting results regarding the origin and definition of sociopathy

Mealey (1998) distinguishes between primary and secondary sociopaths. A primary sociopath is

individually goal-oriented and aggressive. They are versatile in their social interactions, though they

are thoroughly unsocialized in the sense that they do not possess social emotions, e.g. guilt, shame,

remorse, etc. They also find difficulty in tasks where an anxiety response and avoidance are essential

to success, being less sensitive to aversive stimuli. Secondary sociopaths are socialized, and though

they possess no emotional deficit, still engage in aberrant behavior. They present normal anxiety

responses to aversive stimuli, with actions driven primarily by high reward conditions. For the

purposes of this essay, I will focus primarily on primary sociopathy as regarded within Mealey’s

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framework and most importantly the assumptions made in sociopathic behavior that can be

appreciated in Machiavellian thought. Since I am advocating a game theoretical viewpoint which

considers a biological niche for adaptive sociopathic behavior, it is pertinent to review sociopathy as

an evolutionary strategy, and not exclusively a result of abnormal or defective socialization (although

these have been shown to play a significant part).

There is possibly a heritable statistical correlation between criminality (a factor highly

associated with sociopathy, though this may not be a sociopath’s only niche in our society) “risk factors,”

which can be genetic (a criminal biological parent) and environmental risk (behavioral disturbance in

an adopted parent, single parent) – in accordance with studies with twins and studies relating single

parent childhood with sociopathy. Furthermore, sociopathy has been observed in subjects with

relatively normal childhoods (a dubious measure in and of itself, because of the uncountable factors

that influence an individual child’s development). There are statistically significant results supporting

a genetic factor (Mealey 1998). Criminality and sociopathy may share common heritable factors.

Some authors propose an antisocial “spectrum” (for a more extensive review of opposing theories

of sociopathy, see Mealey, 1998), which encompasses narcissism and Machiavellianism on one end,

with psychopathy and extreme personality disorders on the other.

The two threshold model (Mealey 1998) predicts empirical results concerning sociopathy

and criminality across genders. Women appear to have a strong genetic component, which ignores

environmental factors, while men seem to have a higher sensitivity to environmental factors which

selectively “canalize” their patterns of activity in later life, possibly in the direction of sociopathy.

The question is: why would sociopathy be the best strategy? What environmental cues might trigger

its development? Some possibilities are discussed further on.

Socialization is the process by which we acquire social emotions, which revolve around the

maintenance and transgression of social norms, conditioned and instinctive reactions to others’

emotional states, and appropriate responses to scenarios involving the aforementioned components.

These are fueled largely by empathy, our ability to assume others’ (perceived) emotional states.

Empathy has been theorized to encourage cooperation, and altruistic behavior, presumably an

adaptive strategy to ensure survival within group living environments. Since childhood there is in the

majority of the population (not just sociopaths) an aversive reaction to third party distress, namely

empathic distress, i.e. distress caused by identification with a distressed other, which is alleviated by

prosocial behavior (Pollack 1989).

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Social emotions are based on adaptive, expectation based behavior, correlated strongly with

establishing a reputation and observing others in their interactions. Within a society, norms are

chiefly aimed at establishing appropriate conduct in interpersonal relationships, which is based in

cooperation. Ubiquitous norms in social interaction (emphasis on trust and honesty) have been

successfully explained as predicative strategies, allowing one to form expectations about the future

behavior of others. Ostensibly oriented towards common gain, they reflect the manifestation of

individual interests within a group, to ensure every individual’s well-being. Socialization conditions

us to seek approval and avoid rejection, and by extension, abide by social norms. Inherent in this is

the conditional assumption that others will share your empathic conditioning and abide by identical

norms, thus granting you the assurance that the interaction will be in your favor.

Norms are enforced by explaining situations and feelings referential to a child and

expressions used by others to convey their feelings, especially in response to a normative

transgression. This serves as a clarification of social cues as well as a guide towards cue-appropriate

behavior, i.e. “She is crying because you hurt her with that ball. If you see that she is afraid and

doesn’t want to play, then don’t try to throw the ball” (Pollack 1989). An ability to control and

regulate emotional displays is essential.

Sociopathy is not a mere course of action, but a bias which affects the entire learning process

of the “afflicted” individual. That this bias exists early on provides further support for sociopathy as

an inheritable trait. Furthermore, there are basic developmental factors which may account for the

sociopath’s unique response to moral education and socialization.

Primary sociopaths are characterized by hypoaroused nervous systems, that is, a suboptimal

level of arousal which leads them to seek sources of greater arousal to compensate. In addition, it

causes them to be less sensitive to emotional expressions in others, to present difficulty in inhibiting

behavior in reward/punishment scenarios, and present overall difficulty in learning task contingent

on acquiring conditioned aversion, as sociopathic subjects present an early insensitivity to aversive

conditioning stimuli, in particular those associated with social conditioning. Furthermore,

experiments in galvanic skin response show a diminished autonomic response to authority figures

and other social cues. This occasions a learning deficit with regard to punishment and reward but no

intellectual deficit, though they will have a reduced ability to be socialized (Mealey 1998). Secondary

sociopaths are socialized, it is just that the process is defective, originates from an abnormal source,

or is subverted by the prospect of a sufficiently large reward.

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However, as literature would predict, explanations of others’ emotional states and aversive

conditioning towards norm abiding behavior would be relatively ineffective in socializing a

sociopath. And indeed primary sociopaths are characterized by both an inability to comprehend

(phenomenologically) or perceive social cues like emotion, as well as a resistance to aversive

conditioning and a subsequent inability to be socialized properly.

Social awareness has been discussed as a predicative tool. Lacking an emotional, empathic

component to social awareness, sociopaths may hinge their predictions and social analyses on solely

personal goals1, with a solely instrumental regard for the well-being or expectations of others. For a

sociopath, money and tangible rewards are more motivating than social reinforcers or promises of

future payoff. Thus, all goal-directed learning behavior will revolve around these goals rather than

the approval/disapproval conditioned cooperative behavior we commonly engage in, upheld by

majority opinion and the threat of punishment/ostracization. This suggests that a Machiavellian

disposition could arise as an alternate response to socialization in individuals lacking impelling social

emotions. This furthermore implies that a deficit in social emotions and phenomenological

insensitivity to social cues may, provided additional factors, result in a drastically different social role.

“I have pictured republics and principalities which in fact have never been known or seen, because

how one lives is so far distant from how one ought to live, that he who neglects what is done for

what ought to be done, sooner effects his ruin than his preservation.” (Machiavelli 22)

Machiavellianism and the Mach scale

Niccolo Machiavelli was a shrewd historical analyst who condensed his observations of political gain

and dominance into The Prince, a series of tactics designed for optimal achievement of personal goals.

Based on possible evidence for a Machiavellian character type, authors Christie and Geis (1970)

proposed a Mach scale, that is, a scale measuring the degree of a subject’s Machiavellianism. Based

on political analyses of power achievement (Machiavelli, Kautilya, Chinese legalistic philosophy)

(Madsen 1984), it attempted to establish characteristics of a successful power-seeker: Desire to win,

little concern for conventional morality, manipulativeness, low ideological commitment, suspicion,

etc. It was compiled using 71 object sentences from the The Discourses and The Prince, and is

successfully correlated with neurochemical metrics (whole blood serotonin levels in primates and

1 Though altruism is theorized to have an indirectly egoistic goal e.g. ensuring altruism in others and thus propagation of self and close relatives (Boree 1998).

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humans) (Madsen 1985, 1986) and behavioral results comparing predicted interpersonal traits with

those observed in high Mach scorers (Blumstein 1973) (Grover 1993). This furthermore points

towards a genetic component for the Machiavellian personality, though it may develop ‘artificially’ in

the right circumstances (which I shall discuss later). The Mach scale has proven as good an indicator

of management skill in corporations as in principalities, with successful application in general

machinations of group power structures (Siegel 1973).

Game theoretical approaches to exploitation and cooperation have shown tendency of

cooperators (in this case norm abiding interactors) to identify and ostracize defectors (in this case a

transgressor), often by observing their behavior with others. Each individual’s interactions, when

observed, are scrutinized for observance of social norms. Thus, each individual builds up a

reputation based on their past interactions which serves a predictor of future ones. Granted that

social cues serve to transmit intentions to comply, resist, etc. and respond in kind, there is a heavy

emphasis on consistency between transmitted intention and subsequent action. This ensures that an

interaction will not result in exploitation of either participant. Provided this consistency has been

observed in an interactor, their reputation will ensure their acceptance into the interaction.

Oftentimes, initiation into a group demanding cooperation involves allowing for defection at the

hand of the group to prove compliance with collective goals. However, these same models predict

that cooperative and defective strategies may exist together inside a metapopulation, essentially

because the tendency of cooperative groups (like a society) to shun defectors creates two alternatives

to success within the group: (Dugatkin, Wilson 1991) abide by social norms, or “cheat,”

transmitting a compliant intent but behaving with personal interests in mind. In experiments using a

simulated partner in a prisoner’s dilemma game (for a full description see Mealey, 1998), two

“cooperators” make threats or pressure a simulated partner to cooperate. The partner could present

four behaviors based on transmitted intent and subsequent action: he could transmit an intention to

comply or defy their attempts (compliant/defiant), and could subsequently do what was expected or

not (honest/dishonest). When the simulated partner showed himself to be defiant and subsequently

complied, he was subject to exploitation by the other two subjects. When he showed himself

compliant and subsequently did so, all were converted into mutual cooperators. Defiant intent

coupled with defiant behavior served to reduce threats to cooperate. Interestingly, compliant intent

coupled with subsequent defiance caused the two subjects to be exploited by the simulated partner.

“The personal, empathizing approach is more likely to make one susceptible to being exploited by

others who use impersonal cognitive approach” (Mealey 19). Thus we can see that an appropriate

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stated intention can cause others to engage in self defeating behavior, whether or not the partner

subsequently complies or not (Monteverde 1974).

Machiavellian behavior can be construed as a successful “cheater” strategy within a society

of “mixed-interactionists”: High Mach scorers can be described as possessing a “cool syndrome”.

They are resistant to social influences, manipulative and generally cognition oriented in their

interactions and others with a demonstrated interest in initiating and controlling structures.

Low Machs on the other hand, are a “soft touch”, susceptible to influence, social cues and

exploitation by others (Madsen, 1985). High Machs are better at accomodating their interactions to

suit personal goals as opposed to emotional attachment to a certain set of behaviors and roles. This

is referred to as “altercasting”, as opposed to “being oneself.” They do so by changing their

behavior to exploit the perceived expectations of another (but of course I love you. Want to come to my

place?), or conversely, influencing another’s behavior by alluding to that person’s expected or

desired role (but big boys don’t do that to their little sisters). Their ego creates and projects and

identity for alter to assume which will strengthen their personal goals (Blumstein 1973).

Deceit is thus employed to change reputation to that which is perceived to be expected, in

order to achieve goals of trusts and secured cooperation. Disbelief is the ability to detect deceit

according to circumstances and act accordingly. ‘Rational’ arguments are based on appealing to a

“common interest,” which requires accurate knowledge of others’ expectations and desires.

Changing a person’s emotional interpretation of a scenario can distort behavior and preferences, as

easily observed in the mass sociopathy exhibited by countries in a state of war (intolerance, outbursts

of xenophobic violence and irrational belief), largely a result of propaganda and other deceitful

tactics on the part of policy makers. Deception may also be a mechanism to resolve stress caused by

role conflicts. People may behave according to one role demand and state or create impression of

having acted according to another role demand (Grover 1993). Of most pertinence, we must

consider the role of emotion in influencing decision-making, as it proves a powerful tool for

manipulation and self-presentation. The cognitive emotional theory regards emotions as goal-related

changes of preferences and hierarchical goals that are maintained by overarching long lasting

emotional states – your mood. Emotions are in turn reliant on the individual’s interpretation of

their circumstances. In acting, a person will adopt a strategy, i.e. a course of action, and a scenario,

i.e. an expected future history based on the chosen strategy. To influence others’ behavior, these

must be changed through deceit, argument, etc. as well as careful attention to emotional expression

and perceived emotional expectations. For this reason, evoking an appropriate emotional response

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(by correctly influencing the individual’s interpretation of the scenario) in an interactor can change

their goals and priorities, as well as make the person more or less receptive to influence. Emotions

like love and hate can determine how promises, persuasion and other forms of “pre-play bargaining”

(the set, as it were, for the play of social negotiations) affect an interactor (Howard and Nigel 1993).

Thus, a person’s reputation and carriage may have a greater effect on others’ perception of them

than their actions. Trust being based on observation of others’ interactions, selective representation

can drastically bias a person’s willingness to comply or cooperate (as evidenced by FOX’s role in the

recent elections). As expected, high Machs’ public behavior is consistent with a teamwork

formulation, but employs tactics that facilitate personal task performance. The Machiavellian type

creates an appropriate ‘stage’ to make their bargaining in any social situation more effective, putting

on whatever face is necessary to achieve their ends and using teamwork only when necessary or

useful to personal use (Grover 1993).

Normative constraints, upheld by emotionally fueled social conditioning, are not applicable

in Machiavellian behavior. There is “nothing to prevent them from changing or lying about their

intentions” (Dugatkin et al. 2001).

Education seems to moderate the relationship between interpersonal manipulativeness

“Machiavellianism” and social attainment. In high educated males, Machiavellianism was associated

with high occupational prestige and income. Low education had an inverse effect (Turner, Charles F.

and Daniel C. Martinez 1977). Guides to survival in corporate world (and, as we’ve seen, politics)

emphasize personality’s importance in career attainment, as well as extol the advantages of being a

shrewd manipulator of people and power. IQ and parental status have been difficulty related to

variation in occupational status and income. This suggests that there are personality types that

predispose towards high and low status occupations and high and low income.

Fluctuations in whole blood serotonin levels are linked to power struggles in primates

(Vervet monkeys to be precise), with higher serotonin levels present in dominant than non

dominant primates. Furthermore, in situations where the alpha-male (dominant primate within social

hierarchy) was removed, higher cortisol (a hormone associated with stress) and serotonin levels were

observed among primates who later assumed the dominant role. In humans a similar pattern of

serotonin blood levels (consistently higher than low Mach’s) was observed in subjects whose

character traits were consistent with Machiavellianism and the ‘Type A’ personality (as determined

by their scores on the Mach scale) (Madsen 1985). Similarly, a distinctive pattern of high cortisol and

serotonin levels (associated with dominance and competitiveness) was in observed human subjects

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in competitive scenarios (Madsen 1986). While these results are not conclusive, they point towards a

possible physiological component of leadership and political behavior. Madsen proposes that a

distinct pattern of brain activity characterizes the disposition to seek power in social arenas.

However, this does not imply that a Machiavellian disposition is necessary or sufficient to

attain power in social arenas, only that it accompanies a marked tendency to attempt dominance.

The extent and effectiveness of a high Mach’s endeavors can vary from petty thievery to high

powered multinational transactions. Low and high level manipulators may have varying levels of

success. Success seems to imply a combination of high intelligence with Machiavellianism. High

Machs only prosper in situations which allow for improvisation and interpersonal manipulation.

Thus, they can feasibly be expected to fill such niches where they will prosper.

In summary, our basic emotions are based on strategies of approach/avoidance, which are

diversified and contextualized through social conditioning to produce social emotions. These are

based on the alleviation of empathic distress, appropriate emotional cues and reactions, and third

party norm enforcement. Norms serve as a regulator of social function in large groups, which seem

to encourage cooperative behavior. In a Darwinian sense, cooperation presents an evolutionarily

stable strategy dependent on predicting others’ behavior correctly on the basis of their expressed

intention, and pursuing interaction with those cooperators whose expressed intention will likely

match their subsequent behavior. Thus, interactors seeking gain from others can cooperate and

ensure mutual cooperation as well as enhanced reputation. On the other hand, they can also express

cooperation and enjoy the results without complying with societal expectations. However, this is

detrimental to reputation and hence to future interactions. So, a successful cheater is he that can

skillfully deceive and persuade. One reason this is possible is that much of our decision-making and

formation of trust depends on what we are able to observe about others (and is thus subject to

misrepresentation) as well as our emotional response to their person and actions, which can be

influenced by factors entirely unrelated to reason, and can furthermore bias our subsequent

interpretations of circumstances. Machiavelli himself pointed out that as long as a prince is well

regarded, and widely known as an “upstanding” person, their actions are really of no consequence. It

all depends on appearances. Thus, reputation depends on which norms are observedly followed, all

under the assumption of cooperation. The Machiavellian personality is characteristically indifferent

to social norms as such, and is subsequently impelled to seek individual gain above all else. This can

require a circumvention of social norms that must be successfully concealed or presented to avoid

ostracization. This implies that a successful Machiavellian personality will exploit assumptions of

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cooperativeness, skillfully represent himself and employ emotional manipulation based on a careful

evaluation of societal expectations. Norms themselves are usually imposed with goal of socialization

and cooperation. Insensitivity to the emotional compulsions upholding the norms makes these

norms an obstacle when they impede individual gain so they are circumvented. This strategy, when

successful, also results in exploitation as a group’s attempts can be subverted to an individual cause.

Furthermore, there are distinct patterns of neurochemistry that identify Machiavellian individuals as

well as developmental and genetic factors that may spur their drive towards power in social arenas.

Thus Machiavellianism is revealed as stable evolutionary strategy which exploits the quirks of human

interaction to subvert common defenses before normative transgressors. Its success as a dominating

tactic and the occurrence of Machiavellianism in powerful individuals indicates that there is a

societal niche for such behavior.

Furthermore, two points follow from this evidence that I will use to conclude:

First, as the reader may have noticed, traits evident in sociopathy bear a striking resemblance

to Machiavellianism, which is proposed as a characteristic personality type. Furthermore, sociopaths

are noted for their Machiavellian tendencies and, not surprisingly, an ability to exploit others and

dominate social arenas, though this is (like Machiavellianism) dependent on intelligence, education

and socioeconomic status. The lack of interpersonal affect typical to sociopaths and its

repercussions on socialization and moral learning can also shed light on the personality differences

that accompany Machiavellianism. Importantly, many aspects of moral learning can be influenced

independently of genetic heritage, and many deep-seated responses changed with behavioral

conditioning. Thus, it is not inconceivable that in the same manner individuals can be made to adopt

Machiavellian behavior through training and popular encouragement, sociopathy can be acquired or

developed during childhood. The dangerous consequence of this parallel is that sociopathy may fill

the same niche and achieve the same ends as Machiavellian behavior (indeed, perhaps the two are

only a matter of degree), meaning that a behavior we consider socially aberrant is encouraged and

facilitated in the very circles that govern our daily life.

With this in mind, it is difficult to resist a small allusion to game theory, Machiavellianism

and politics (Mealey 1998). Basically, there are certain factors which will enhance or decrease the

amount of cooperation within a given microenvironment, exemplified by the classic prisoner’s

dilemma. These largely reflect our weaknesses when it comes to discerning a person’s reputation, as

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well as the effect of societal retribution for normative transgressions. Cooperation increases: as the

amount of individuals increases ; non-random association of individuals increases; error in memory

or recognizing an individual decreases; potential loss from cooperation decreases; potential gain for

defector (transgressor) decreases; frequency of punishment against defectors increases; cost for

punished increases and the cost for punishers decreases. In plain terms, people will tend to act more

selfishly with increased competition, as well as with people they are not as familiar with or when the

consequences of their actions are far removed from them and their kind. Also, as the risk of

punishment for such behavior goes down, egoistic behavior will be more facilitated. When we take

this to the political arena, we see an interesting trend which may simultaneously simulate sociopathic

behavior. The distance between a person in a dominant position and the people whose cooperation

they must secure allows for successful misrepresentation, further aggravated by the fact that facial

expression, reputation, attractiveness (none of which reliably portray future behavior) are all strong

determinants in the attitudes and behaviors of political constituents. Furthermore, the

competitiveness of such an arena and emphasis on Machiavellian traits for success does nothing but

increase the probability of and place for sociopathic behavior, simply because the cooperative

behavior we seek in our interactions is a sure downfall for anyone in a position to compete. As

Machiavelli rightly pointed out, “One prince of the present time, whom it is not well to name, never

preaches anything else but peace and good faith, and to both he is most hostile, and either, of he had

kept it, would have deprived him of reputation and kingdom many a time” (Machiavelli 26).

Last, and most interesting (or frightening), egoistic behavior is largely constrained by societal

disapproval and third party norm reinforcement. However, what occurs when this behavior is that

of an individual with high authority and following? A personality driven to pursue individual goals

with no concern for others’ welfare, coupled with the impulse to avoid detection as a “cheater”, is

suddenly placed in a position where disapproval and retribution (frequency of punishment) are no

longer relevant. Despite the presence of social emotion (and presumably some deficit in these,

assuming our hypothetical leader is not already sociopathic but merely Machiavellian), an absence of

retribution and a devoted following can give way to a pseudosociopathy of sorts – “absolute power

corrupts absolutely”, and possibly the emergence of new norms. Norms are, of course, products of

those in power with the object of remaining there (Axelrod, 1986), and not something introduced

easily or without force.

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“The innovator has for enemies all those who take the lead in the introduction of a new order of

things. Because the innovator has for enemies all those who have done well under the old conditions,

and lukewarm defenders in those who may do well under the new. This coolness arises partly from

fear of the opponents, who have the laws on their side…Hence it is that all armed prophets have

conquered, and the unarmed ones have been destroyed.” (Machiavelli 9)

While I fear I may be going too far with my speculations, is it unreasonable to theorize some

relationship between norms encouraging cooperation, those in power who impose them, and the

disregard for norms present in a personality type ideally suited for attaining power? Perhaps this is a

response to populations where cooperation is necessary for societal integrity, yet perfect cooperation

is not possible in such large numbers without leadership. From here one could venture into many

theories regarding ruling classes, their rise and their fall that I can no longer pursue with this essay.

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grief and moral responsibility in contemporary america (excerpt) thomas feulner :: stanford university

Introduction

In 1999, Amy Engel was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia. At that time, we were

sophomores in high school and good friends. Over the course of her treatment, remission, and

relapse we fell in love. During our senior year of high school she was pronounced terminal. She

asked me if I would marry her before she died, and I said I would. She went into a coma shortly

afterward, and died before we could be married. This is how I came to know grief.

Following Amy’s death, my attitudes and behavior changed drastically. I no longer cared

about school, so I skipped whenever I felt like it. I had quit smoking, but I started again and

smoked more than I ever had before. I was rude to my friends, and I even started using foul

language with my mother.

No one knew what to do with me. My parents didn’t know, my teachers didn’t know, the

school administration didn’t know. Most importantly, I didn’t know, so I just did whatever I felt like.

My father had caught me smoking once in junior high and told me I’d never smoke in his house as

long as I lived there, but suddenly he let me smoke on the back porch every day after school.

Gonzaga Prep had a strict policy regarding attendance—a single unexcused absence was grounds for

detention and more than one in a week warranted Saturday School. I had missed nearly twenty

classes in a week-and-a-half by the time I was even called into the dean’s office.

Eventually I got into Stanford and left my hometown of Spokane, WA. Once I was away

from there, I was able to really start the healing process. Now, four years later, I am curious about

what happened to me. I feel like I was failed in some way. Of course if anyone had told me to stop

skipping school or stop smoking, I would have said horrible things to him and made him feel awful

about himself, but on the other hand, it doesn’t seem like the people who just let me be did me any

favors.

Let me here say that my family, friends, teachers, and administrators did not fail me

intentionally. They truly believed that the best they could do for me was leave me alone to sort

through my emotions, or they didn’t have any idea what to do, so they did nothing for fear of

making things worse for me.

Nevertheless, by doing nothing, they isolated me. What I needed as a griever was to be

brought back into the community. Part of what does that work is obligations to other people, so by

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“leaving me be” my parents and teachers were allowing me to isolate myself. At that point I had

fewer resources to help myself than they had to help me, so this was obviously bad for me.

Furthermore, allowing me to withdraw from the community was bad for them, too. It is bad for a

community to have anti-social people who don’t take obligations and expectations seriously.

Obligation is one of the ways we recognize our attachments to people. Without obligations,

my attachments to people weakened, which was bad for me and for them. On some level, though,

this comes with the territory of grief. We give people leeway, which is important to their recovery.

However, the community’s expectations of me diminished as well, which completed the cycle of

isolation. Treating grief as an all-purpose excuse, combined with the change in other people’s

expectations of me, resulted in my being cut off from virtually all of my interpersonal relationships.

I intend to show, through philosophical analysis and the use of case study, that current

American society is not equipped to deal effectively with grievers. This is problematic because at

some point or another virtually all citizens will grieve. I will argue that we are in need of some

social constructions that will keep the griever rooted in the community, despite the leeway he is

given in his obligations to others. I think that a system of non-moral expectations of grievers is

an essential step in this process, and I intend to show that strict social expectations for grievers

can be both useful and helpful to them.

In Chapter 2 I will examine the basic philosophical understanding of diminished ethical

standards. This should inform our reasons for treating grief as exculpatory and allowing grievers

certain leeway in some basic ethical obligations. The problem with these diminished ethical

standards is that they tend to remove the griever from the community, which can result in feelings

of alienation or abandonment. However, I do not intend to argue that we should not allow grievers

moral leeway. My claim is that a better conception of grief and a more clearly defined idea of what

diminutions of our ethical standards we have reason to make for grievers can inform us as to how

we should treat grievers as a community. I think we should certainly give allowances to people in

grief, as long as we are careful about how and when we do this, and the bond between the griever

and the community is establish by social expectations.

Moral obligations are of course not the only domain of interpersonal interaction of course. A

great many non-moral obligations and interpersonal expectations structure our relationships with

other people. These norms and expectations are also important to the reintegration of a grieving

person into his life with others. Chapter 3 will focus on these non-moral expectations in an attempt

to that social practices can keep a griever in touch with the community even though his moral status

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had changed somewhat. These nonmoral social practices can help facilitate the eventual

reintegration of the griever into the moral community.

In Chapter 4 I more clearly define the problems with the grief culture in contemporary

America. The chapter relies heavily on a cross-cultural analysis of grief and mourning that was done

in 1976 by Rosenblatt et al. The findings of this study support my claim that the ritualization of grief

can often be extremely useful to the griever. The rest of the chapter is dedicated to designing a

better system for treating grievers than the current system, which I experienced in Spokane,

Washington in 2001.

The paper concludes with a discussion of practical suggestions for improving the situation of

grievers in contemporary American society. The state of grief culture in America today does not

meet the needs of grievers. Although the implementation of practical changes to grief culture would

be extremely difficult, I believe that there are some things we can do. Not the least of which is

recognizing the need for change in America’s grief culture.

Editor’s note: Due to limitations of space, Chapter 2 will not be reproduced here. Notations have been renumbered

both to reflect this change and to conform to the numbering system of this journal.

Grief and Non-moral Expectation

3.1 Social Expectation

Grief tends to elicit special treatment of a wide range of social expectations, going far

beyond moral expectations narrowly construed. In Chapter 3, I will attempt to go beyond the moral

concerns regarding grief, which we discussed in Chapter 2, by examining more general social

concerns. Non-moral social expectations will play a key role in the successful reintegration of

grievers into the community.

One example of a non-moral expectation that grievers can fail to meet, often without

consequence, is rudeness. In general, rudeness is unacceptable in pleasant society, and someone that

cultivates a rude personality is blamed for doing so, even when her actions are not immoral, strictly

speaking. Possible consequences of such non-moral blame include exclusion or marginalization.

However, a griever, on the other hand, can get away with being rude quite a lot before attention is

drawn to it.

Consider a case in which one of my high school peers offers me advice on a math problem.

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Instead of listening, I tell her that I don’t care what she has to say and walk away. Under normal

circumstance, she would probably be indignant and insulted to say the least, but if she is told about

the loss I have suffered with Amy’s death, she will likely forgive my rudeness and feel pity for me

instead of anger. This is an example in which a griever is not held strictly to non-moral expectations.

On the other hand, social expectations that are put into place when a person enters a period

of grief can be very useful. For instance, a dress code for grievers can both inform the community

that a particular person is in grief and also give the griever a sense of community with other people

that have grieved before him whom he saw wearing bereavement attire. Moreover, non-moral social

expectations specific to grievers can facilitate the reintegration of the griever into the moral

community and also explain a griever’s other questionable actions, such as being rude.

3.2 Grief Etiquette

In most cultures there is some type of etiquette in place for mourning. This etiquette

informs grievers about how to mourn. This can be anything from social regulations on how a griever

dresses to a prohibition against eating certain types of food.

In her famous book on etiquette (as revised in 1965), Emily Post outlines the strict etiquette

to which grievers were held in America at the turn of the century. According to Post, a widow in

mourning would wear black for six months. In rare circumstances a widow may choose to wear

mourning clothes for life. Mothers who have lost a grown child would wear black for six months to

a year. Sisters and daughters would wear black for one season.

Every man in mourning would put a black band on his hat and on the left sleeve of his

clothing. He would also wear black shoes, gloves, socks, and ties, and white instead of colored

linen. The sleeve band would be between three and a half and four and a half inches and should

be made of dull cloth.

Although these regulations have been relaxed substantially in the last few generations, it is

important to note that they did once exist in American cultures and do still exist in many other

cultures. In Chapter 4, I will go into further detail about the changing face of grief in America,

and the consequences of this phenomenon. I will also make the argument that rituals are vital to

the bereavement process. I will then set up a system of bereavement practices that will be more

beneficial to the griever and indeed the entire community. Before I can move onto these

arguments, however, I must establish the interaction between moral responsibility and social

expectations that will be vital to my arguments about contemporary America.

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3.3 Grief and Social Practices

In her book of etiquette, Post confirms the trend away from ritualization in contemporary

America. According to Post, until about 1940 “regulations about dress were definitely prescribed

according to the precise degree of the relationship to the mourner.”2 Post also claims that no other

change in social practices has been as great as the change in the expectations of grievers.

The griever’s dress code likely fell out of style because our society in general has moved away

from rigidity in social practices. In the interest of freedom, so it seems, this grief etiquette has been

substantially relaxed in the last few generations. Perhaps this is again in some respects, but there is

also a cost. As in my own case, the cost for the griever can be substantial—he can be left at sea in

his own community.

Let’s return once again to my experience of grief. In general, people wanted to give me

emotional space and had essentially no idea how else to help me. There was no ritual that I could

identify with because there was not a ritual I’d seen others go through before me. Of course, I’d

seen funerals and crying, but it all stopped there. This resulted in my feeling alienation. My friends

and family didn’t question my actions in general, and if they did, I could make them feel guilty and

shut them up very easily. Thus, I was free to smoke cigarettes all I wanted, break rules at school, and

dress any way I liked. For the most part people let me be, and I acquired the largest amount of

license I’d ever known.

The cost of these freedoms was tremendous. No one forced me to reintegrate into the

community. I effectively isolated myself to the point that, as a result of my grief, I no longer felt part

of any community at all. I didn’t feel part of the community at home, at school, in my scout troop,

or even my Christian youth group. I didn’t feel part of the moral community or the social

community. This cost far outweighs the additional freedoms I enjoyed as a result of Amy’s death. In

some ways, the actions of the community even encouraged me to privatize my grief, or keep it to

myself because crying is seen as a sign of weakness. Giving a griever their space can be important,

but promoting the privatization of grief can become an act of abandonment.

Even though it is permissible to treat grief as an excuse for failing to meet moral and social

expectations, there’s a general human need to engage with other people in a community that has a

pattern of norms and to be held in the community by these norms.

Social norms, such as a dress code for grievers, can help grievers feel that they are still a part of the

normal community and aids in the reintegration process, which is essential to overcoming grief. 2 Post, 335.

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It may seem at first like a dress code for grievers would isolate them, placing them in stark

contrast to the rest of the community. It doesn’t at first seem plausible that singling out a griever

would be to his benefit. In reality, however, a dress code can make the griever feel more a part of the

community. When a griever follows the same social practices as everyone else he has seen grieve, he

finds his niche in the community as a griever and doesn’t feel abandoned. It is exactly the singling

out of the griever that makes him feel like he has found his special place in the community and has

not been abandoned by the community at all. Furthermore, if a dress code were generally recognized

as a special sign of the emotional state the griever is in, the symbol would preemptively constitute

social recognition, and social recognition, which I will come back to in Chapter 4, seems to me to be

one of the primary needs of grievers.

A dress code for grievers is a constant reminder of the diminished expectations society will

set up for the griever, and even the diminished ethical standards to which people will hold the

griever. Excuses don’t have to be made explicit if etiquette is kept up, because they are assumed as

a result of the outward signs of grief that the griever wears. Presumably, when these signs

disappear, the griever returns to normal-functioning status in society. Thus, the non-moral

expectations of grievers (i.e. - social norms) can include the outward expression of the underlying

moral (and other social) responsibilities that the griever is for a time excused or exempted from.

3.4 The Interaction of Moral and Non-moral Expectations

In terms of moral responsibility, grief best fits the mold of a blanket excuse. The idea of a

blanket excuse seems to have some inherent problem in the context of moral responsibility: how is a

blanket excuse removed? This is particularly problematic with grief in that emotionally exhausted

people, or people under duress, sometimes feel indignant about their suffering, which can lead to a

tendency to avoid reintegrating into the moral community. For example, my father once accused me

of “playing the grief card,” by which he meant using Amy’s death in bad faith to avoid an obligation

of some kind. Grievers might not feel an incentive to rejoin the moral community, which can make

the entire concept of a blanket excuse problematic. This is where social expectation comes in.

When a person enters a period of grief, we place him somewhat outside the moral

community. However, it is in the best interests of the griever’s psychology and of society to

encourage reintegration. Social expectation, then, is the process by which reintegration can be

encouraged. If the griever is allowed to exist outside the moral community but is still being held to

strict social norms, he is not outside the social community. Furthermore, if he has witnessed other

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grievers adhering to social norms, he would be that much less likely to consider himself outside the

social community. This is essential to reintegration. Status as a part of the social community can

stimulate reintegration into the moral community by curbing feelings of abandonment and alienation.

Grievers can take hold of the existing societal constructs that are in place for their benefit, and these

constructs will keep them effectively rooted in the social community. The tendency to avoid

reintegration into the moral community will be significantly weakened if the griever doesn’t feel

alienated from the community in general.

A black armband is not going to keep a griever from breaking a promise or being rude. The

purpose of the black armband is to establish recognition of the griever by the community such that

when a man with a black armband breaks a promise, the presence of an outward symbol of his grief

gives us a reason to explore his intentions and the possibility of an excuse. The purpose of adhering

to strict non-moral norms is not to create fewer excuses for the griever directly, but rather to

lubricate the communication between the griever and members of the community and keep the

griever as a part of the social community while he is temporarily isolated from the moral community.

The long-term goal here is reintegration of the griever into the community as a fully responsible

moral agent.

Non-moral norms facilitate the communication between grievers and the community in two

ways. First, the psychology of the griever changes when he has been recognized, and a dress code

constitutes recognition because society has set up a construct that singles out grievers. As a

recognized griever he is less likely to feel left at sea and more likely to think that other members of

the community are on his side. Secondly, the adherence to non-moral norms can help take the focus

off the griever’s special moral status, which will help to ease the griever back into his status as a

moral agent. In this way, strict etiquette and non-moral norms can smooth the process of

reintegration and the elimination of the blanket excuse. This smoothing results in a better experience

of grief for the griever.

Grief in American Culture

4.1 Introduction

Rituals … define death, the cause of death, the dead person, the bereaved, the relationships

of the bereaved with one another and with others, the meaning of life, and major societal

values. Not engaging in rituals or having them shortened or undermined can leave people

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at sea about how the death occurred, who or what the deceased is, how to relate to others,

how to think of self and much more.3

This is to say that while these rigid rituals may seem of little use to contemporary Americans,

the rituals serve an important purpose that is left completely unfulfilled by the current state of grief

culture, or lack thereof, in America. In this chapter I will show how societies in which the customs

and etiquette surrounding bereavement are regimented tend to have fewer problems, particularly

with feelings of abandonment and loss of control.

In the late 1980s, Douglas Wood Hollan and Jane C. Wellenkamp began their fieldwork

with the Toraja people of South Sulawesi in Indonesia. Between 1991 and 1996, Hollan and

Wellenkamp published various articles and studies of Toraja funeral practices and bereavement

customs.

The Toraja people are an ethnic community of mountain-dwelling wet-rice farmers in

Sulawesi, Indonesia. The Toraja are well known in Indonesia, and increasingly so in the world,

for their elaborate death practices. The period between the death of a member of the community

and the burial can last from weeks to months, and in rare cases even years.4 This time is the most

strictly regulated by cultural norms. Practices include abstinence from certain foods, wearing

black, and caring for the body of the deceased from death until burial. Even the expression of

grief itself is regulated.

Wellenkamp writes, “There are certain restrictions regarding when and where one can

wail. For example, wailing should occur only in proximity to the deceased or …some

representation of the deceased such as an effigy.”5

According to Hollan and Wellenkamp, after the funeral is finally complete, taboos are lifted

from all family members except those closest to the deceased.6 The exception is the white saris that

the women (in particular widows) wear for one year. The taboos for those closest to the deceased do

not in general last longer than one year, although sometimes widows and widowers will carry on the

3 Rosenblatt, Paul C. "Grief in Small-Scale Societies." Death and Bereavement Across Cultures. London: Routledge, 1997. 27-51. P. 33. 4 During the period between the death and the funeral, the Toraja refer to the deceased as if he were sick or asleep, but not dead. Only after the funeral do they refer to the deceased as dead. 5 Hollan, Douglas Wood, and Jane C. Wellenkamp. The Thread of Life: Toraja Reflections on the Life Cycle. Honolulu, Hawaii: University of Hawaii Press, 1996. P. 219, #26. 6 Hollan, Douglas Wood, and Jane C. Wellenkamp. Contentment and Suffering: Culture and Experience in Toraja. New York: Columbia University Press, 1994. P. 127.

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customs for the rest of their own life.

The system of cultural grief management that I experienced personally was strikingly

different from that of the Toraja, and, in my opinion, much less useful to me, as the bereaved. My

clothing didn’t change. I was not held by anyone to my daily routine. In fact, I was not required to

exhibit any outward signs of grief, and I felt that exhibiting my emotions outwardly would be out of

place and make others feel uncomfortable.

It has been said that Jackie Kennedy, by means of her impeccable composure at the

nationally televised funeral of her husband, “set mourning back a hundred years.”7 Others say she

gave a generation of Americans a model of fortitude in the face of terrible loss.8 This disagreement

among Americans is further evidence of the state of grief in America. Such a gap between judgments

of a griever’s emotional state seems to indicate that grief culture is far from uniform in America. I

am of the opinion that Jackie Kennedy’s stoicism gave Americans a model for the privatization of

grief, which I argue is bad for both the griever and the community.

4.2 Grief in Contemporary America

Over the last few generations there has been a stark decline in the ritualization of grief in

America. While the causes for this decline are numerous, our country’s diversity, fueled by the

freedoms we enjoy, seems to me to be the most obvious contributor.

As a result of the kind of cultural diversity we have in America, there is a lack of uniformity

within subgroups. The lack of uniformity within the distinct bereavement practices of each subgroup

can result in confusion about how to treat grievers, which is what I experienced first hand. Unlike

many other countries that have been primarily influenced by a few cultures, America is a melting pot

of many different ethnic groups with even more different cultural backgrounds. In order to promote

continued strict observance, grief rituals need to be passed on from generation to generation. While

this ancestral continuance is common in other parts of the world, diversity undermines the process

in America.

Subgroup practices in America tend to break down over time because subgroups aren’t as

isolated from each other. The youth of each generation that is born in America tend to integrate

more and more with the surrounding cultures, whether this be by process of intermarriage or simply

“adoption” by a group of friends that have different cultural values than one’s subgroup (and most

7 Schiff, Harriet Sarnoff. The Bereaved Parent. New York: Crown Publishers, 1977. P. 16. 8 McGoldrick, Monica, et al. "Mourning in Different Cultures." Living Beyond Loss: Death in the Family. Ed. Froma Walsh and Monica McGoldrick. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1995. 176--206. P. 177.

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likely one another). Some subgroups have proven to be long-standing, but in general, the

convergence of so many traditions results in a loss of uniformity within subgroups. The reason for

this is related to freedom.

In America, freedom is often seen as a prima facie good. Thus, the freedom to stop attending

church or temple is a right that all American citizens have and can exercise. Exercising this right is

exercising freedom, which we think of as a good thing, though many cultures within America might

think that breaking from tradition is bad. Once uniformity within the subgroup is gone, holding on

to the idea of strictness in cultural practices becomes much more difficult.

In 1991 Froma Walsh and Monica McGoldrick published Living Beyond Loss, which is a guide

for dealing with grief in family therapy. According to Walsh and McGoldrick, the diversity of

cultural traditions and beliefs in America make it difficult for therapists to treat grief effectively.

They argue that a therapist must know the cultural context of the griever in order to be useful in

overcoming grief. In the process of writing this book, McGoldrick points out that “funeral rituals

have been taken over and commercialized by the funeral industry.”9 This in some ways can limit the

prominence of cultural traditions in that the contemporary American mode of operation after to the

death of a loved one is deferring to the funeral home director.

Furthermore, the American workplace has an important effect on grieving rituals. Because

Americans are often forced to return to their jobs too quickly, the emphasis on dealing with grief is

downplayed. According to McGoldrick, “the allowable leave for bereavement in the workplace

(usually one to three days) severely limits the performance of traditional practices of various cultural

groups toward death and mourning.10

In the next section, I will discuss features of grief that seem to occur across cultures.

Presumably, these features show up again and again because communities have found them useful

and helpful to grievers over many generations.

4.3 Grief Across Cultures

In 1976 Paul C. Rosenblatt, R. Patricia Walsh, and Douglas A. Jackson published a study in

which they sampled grief rituals and the behavior of grievers in seventy-eight societies from around

the world. Obviously many of those cultures have changed a great deal since 1976, and in some

cases no longer exist at all, but, as Rosenblatt et al. explain, this does not make their study any less

9 McGoldrick et al., 178. 10 McGoldrick et al., 178.

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valid. The stated purpose of this study was to characterize the human species and the societies of

that species with respect to grief and mourning. To do so Rosenblatt et al. recorded the presence of

eighty-five variables across the cultures they studied.11

According to Rosenblatt et al., their publication has four primary aims: (1) to identify some

of the needs, emotions, beliefs, and problems in social relations that are fundamentally human [or

universal to the species] in reaction to a death; (2) to identify some of the cultural responses to the

needs and problems that a death creates; (3) to understand the death customs that occur commonly

in other societies; and (4) to get perspective on what goes on in the United States when a death

occurs.12 Rosenblatt et al. claim, and I agree, that the best study to address these aims is a cross-

cultural study of bereavement practices and grief experiences.

Rosenblatt et al. claim that this study is important because there is an increasing

dissatisfaction among Americans regarding their experiences of grief, which has resulted in a great

demand for death education and counseling. By putting American society into the perspective

provided by a large mass of ethnographic descriptions of grief and mourning, Rosenblatt et al. hope

to yield interesting insights into grief and mourning for Americans.

The variables in this study are extensive and attempt to provide a general view of how well

grievers cope with their grief, given the practices of their specific society. Rosenblatt et al. recorded

the presence of eighty-five variables across the cultures they studied, and they would be the first to

admit that characterizing emotional experience fully is impossible. Nevertheless, the types of

behavior they have screened for can give us the most accurate picture of mourning in these cultures

that we have available.

The first and most obvious element of bereavement13 that Rosenblatt et al. discuss is crying.

Of the seventy-three societies that could be rated on crying, crying was present in seventy-two. This

seems to be extremely convincing evidence that crying is a part of the human condition and not just

a part of cultural tradition. They then turned to anger, aggression, and fear as emotional responses to

death. Their conclusions about the emotional prevalence in grief were twofold: (1) it seems basically

human for emotions to be expressed in bereavement, and (2) American emotional responses to

11 It is important to note that at times some information on one or more of the cultures Rosenblatt et al. studied was unavailable or contradictory. This doesn’t invalidate the study in my mind, but it does result in some confusing numbers. For example, if 72 out of 73 cultures did X, assume the other 5 cultures provided insufficient information. 12 Rosenblatt, Paul C., R. Patricia Walsh, and Douglas A. Jackson. Grief and Mourning in Cross-Cultural Perspective. New Haven, CT: HRAF Press, 1976. Pgs. 4-5. 13 I use “grief” and “bereavement” interchangeably.

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death seem to be like those of people in most other cultures.14 Furthermore, dispositions toward

anger and aggression are less common in cultures with what they call “ritual specialists.”15 In

American culture this role could be played by anyone from physicians and nurses to clergymen and

funeral directors.

Rosenblatt et al. next discovered two reactions to the death of a loved one that they deemed

“fundamentally human.” The first is having ghost beliefs or cognitions, which Rosenblatt et al.

define loosely as perceptions of the manifestation (ghost, spirit, apparition) of specific deceased

persons. The second is responding to familiar stimuli in ways that would only be appropriate if the

deceased were alive. I remember an example of this from my own experience: after Amy’s death I

would sometimes dial the number of her private line, although I knew she wouldn’t answer.

American society, as it turns out, is not as effective in helping the griever to overcome these

responses as other societies.

According to the study, grievers are most effectively helped to overcome both ghost

cognitions and inappropriate stimuli responses by two methods. Each of these methods has an

effect on both reactions: (1) separation from or alteration of familiar cues that remind the bereaved

of the deceased and (2) funeral ceremonies that encourage the termination of ties to the deceased.16

American custom seems to undermine both of these healthy responses by means of three basic

societal constructs, which can be very problematic for the griever.

Americans first of all tend to deny of the possibility of ghost cognitions. This can lead to

feelings of alienation for the griever. If a griever has a ghost cognition of his dead lover, and he

doesn’t believe in ghosts, he might think he is crazy. He would be likely to draw back into himself,

privatizing his grief. Such privatization not only impedes the integration process considerably, but it

also causes the griever to feel even more helpless. One possible solution to this problem is

informing people about the phenomenon so that when they have a ghost cognition, they know that

(whether ghosts are real or not) ghost cognitions are a common occurrence amongst grievers.

Secondly, the scarcity of customs in the United States to help the bereaved break ties with

the deceased results in an unhealthy preoccupation with the dead. Funerals in America are more

focused on the deceased and less focused on encouraging the termination of these ties. This point

may seem at odds with the first point about believing grievers who say they’ve seen a ghost, but the

14 Rosenblatt et al., 21. 15 Rosenblatt et al., 47. 16 Rosenblatt et al., 49.

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two are actually quite in line. A community can be supportive of a griever’s ghost cognitions, while

at the same time encouraging him to break ties with the deceased.

In fact, Rosenblatt et al. claim that their results suggest that remarriage in the United States

should be facilitated by customary disposal of the personal property of the deceased, customary

change of residence, and the placing of a temporary or permanent taboo on the name of the

deceased.17 According to their research, societies in which these three elements are present have a

much higher remarriage rate.18 Rosenblatt et al. even suggest the putting aside the personal property

of the deceased and placing a taboo on the name in the deceased in all instances of grief in the

United States.19 In general, these practices are completely absent in the United States. However,

clearly the adoption of practices like the ones Rosenblatt et al. describe, no matter how beneficial

they might be, would be difficult to promote. I will return to this problem in my discussion of

practical implications in Chapter 5.

The third aspect of bereavement aid that is lacking in America is the customary time-limiting

of mourning. Rosenblatt et al. found that in most societies that had final ceremonies, which are

observed a time period after the funeral, the termination of grief (after the final ceremony) was more

successful than the termination of grief was in societies without a final ceremony. These time limits

were socially induced and recognized, which was essential to their success. A griever who creates his

own timeline for recovering from grief would likely have less success than a griever who is born into

a culture in which this time-limiting of grief is already present.

The results of Rosenblatt et al.’s research suggest that a limitation of the time-period of

mourning can be valuable in the successful recovery and reintegration of the bereaved. They also

found that most Americans do not experience a socially induced, customary time-limiting of

their grief and are therefore more likely to experience prolonged grief.20 This finding might be

further substantiated by the fact that more divorcees in the United States remarry than widows,

even when age is held constant.

In general, I have avoided the subject of religion in my discussion of bereavement practices,

primarily because there are many diverse religious traditions in the United States, and so they follow

the same paradigm as the subgroup rituals that I have discussed. The prominence of Christianity in

17 Rosenblatt et al., 81. (While I find the usefulness of a name taboo suspect personally, their data suggests that it helps grievers reintegrate into normal society.) 18 The success of these remarriages was not observed by Rosenblatt et al., although I think it would be an important factor in interpreting this data. 19 Rosenblatt et al., 85. 20 Rosenblatt et al., 96.

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America, however, should not be ignored. Rosenblatt et al. were aware of the fact that the

prominence of Christianity in American may have a substantial effect on bereavement practices, so

they looked into this possibility in other cultures. In general, they found the opposite of their

intuition: “Although one might casually assume that Christianity would have a most profound effect

on the death customs and [death] ideology of a society, our data suggest to the contrary that the

impact of Christianity lies principally in its impact on property and on women.”21 Based on this data,

which was accumulated through the comparison of Christian and non-Christian interviews,

Rosenblatt et al. speculate that the prevalence of Christianity in America is not a factor of

overwhelming importance in understanding grief and mourning in America or considering possible

changes in American mourning customs.

The research of Rosenblatt et al. confirms my speculation that the grieving process can go

more smoothly with an amount of socially constructed ritualization. According to Rosenblatt et al,

“an increase in the ritualization of grief and mourning activities might also help to educate

[contemporary Americans] and thereby reduce uncertainty about proper bereavement behavior.”22

Uncertainty about proper grieving behavior can cause people to privatize their grief, which is

detrimental to both the griever and the community. The study showed that an increase of

acceptance of the griever’s ghost cognitions,23 customs that help the bereaved break ties with the

deceased, and a customary time-limiting of mourning can all be beneficial to the griever, and thus

indirectly, to the community. This conclusion is in line with my theory that grievers in contemporary

America would be better served with a more regimented social construct for dealing with grief.

These social constructs, although they are non-moral, can put the griever in a place to heal and

reintegrate into the moral community.

4.4 The Needs of Grievers

Across cultures, grievers seem to have certain needs that speak to the human condition.

Rosenblatt et al recognized some of these needs. It can be reasonably assumed that when a basic

need of grievers shows up in many unrelated cultures around the world, there is something more

to that need than can be explained by cultural peculiarities. I identify three general needs of the

griever that most grievers seem to exhibit at some point in the grieving process: (1) the need to

have grief recognized, (2) the need to express emotions outwardly in some manifestation, and (3)

21 Rosenblatt et al., 104. 22 Rosenblatt et al., 115. 23 By “acceptance” I mean society’s acceptance that ghost cognitions are a common feature of grief.

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the need to feel like a member of the community (despite reduced moral responsibility).

The need to be recognized by the community is the first need of grievers that I have

identified. Even though our society has dropped the wearing of black bands in general, close-knit

groups who share a common grief still carry on similar customs. When a basketball player dies, his

team might wear a black band or his number to commemorate him. This expresses the need of

grievers to have their grief recognized by a group, and even shared on some level with that group.

Cultures around the world exhibit these kinds of outward signs. In the case of the Toraja tradition

(and the former American tradition) the signal for grief is a change in griever’s attire. The Tamil

people in India remove a bindi to signify grief. The importance of having one’s grief recognized

seems intuitive, as well. Often we want others to recognize our emotions and empathize with us.

The ability to express emotions outwardly is the second need of grievers. Although many

cultures have an expectation of members’ being able to control emotion, grief is one important

exception. Indeed, in some cultures, such as the Tamil, women are required to cry at the funeral

ceremonies of family, friends, and even acquaintances.24 The goal here is both to encourage the

outward expression of emotion and to unite the community in a way that makes the griever feel

more a part of that community. The expectation that grievers hide their emotions and keep

themselves from crying can often result in the kind of privatization of grief that can be so

detrimental to the griever. This is the same sort of problem with privatizing grief that I mentioned

with the ghost cognitions. A griever’s questioning of his sanity or his normality based on his ghost

cognitions can cause him to privatize his grief in the same way that hiding his emotions can. This all

seems to suggest that grievers should not keep to themselves, but rather have as much open

interaction with the community as possible.

The need for recognition and the need for expression are deeply connected in grievers. It is

the recognition of one’s grief by the community that gives permission for the expression, and, in

turn, it is through the expression of grief that the griever gets recognition. For instance, we might

think it odd to see someone crying in public, but if he is dressed in bereavement attire, we could

reasonably assume he has come from a funeral. On the flip side, the expression can be a path to

recognition. When a griever is able to express his grief outwardly, the community is in a better

position to recognize him and empathize than if he keeps his emotions to himself. In fact, when a

griever feels he is not being adequately recognized, he might act out by displaying an excessive

24 Clark-Decès, Isabelle. No One Cries for the Dead: Tamil Dirges, Rowdy Songs, and Graveyard Petitions. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2005.

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amount of emotion. This can also be unhealthy in that he is deepening his state of grief as a means

of being recognized. Immediate recognition, however, as accomplished through dress codes for

mourners, can help to balance this reaction.

The third need that is most evident in human grievers is the need to be part of the

community, despite their reduced moral responsibility. I have already mentioned some practices that

help to fulfill this need, and in general, most cultures seem to recognize that reintegration of the

griever into the community is a goal. This need, too, is closely tied to the other two. Recognizing the

griever as such and allowing him to express his grief openly will make him feel more of a part of the

community and can help facilitate reintegration.

The amount of time that passes between the onset of grief and the reintegration of the

griever depends on both the individual and cultural norms. I do not believe there is a normative

timeline for reintegration. The mere existence of a time limit on grief will give the griever a gauge for

his progress. Grievers that fall far outside the social norm (i.e. not grieving at all, grieving acutely for

five years, etc.) should be encouraged to seek professional help. More likely than not their grief is

“complicated,” and they will need help beyond the basics of what society can provide. The goal of

time-limiting is not quick reintegration or slow reintegration but successful reintegration.

I have thus identified three basic needs that seem to be present in all human grievers around

the world, regardless of their cultural heritage. In 4.6, I will attempt to develop a system by which

these needs can be met more effectively in contemporary American culture than they have been,

particularly in my instance of grief in 2001. The basis of this system will be the ritualization of

bereavement practices. Before developing this system, however, it will be useful for me to make an

argument for why society has an incentive as well as an obligation to have a system for the

reintegration of grievers.

4.5 The Relationship Between Society and Grievers

It seems immediately apparent to me that since the majority of people in a given society will

experience grief at some point in their lives, society should have some responsibility to the

management of grief. Whether society exists to benefit the individual, the community, or the species,

it seems that society must have an obligation to have a hand in the reintegration of grievers.

However, let me make a case for why this reintegration is good for a community in general, and why

communities actually have an incentive to develop a system for aiding grievers in the reintegration

process.

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In a community in which there is no emphasis on reintegrating grievers, grief acts as an

alienating force upon the griever. Feelings of abandonment are often present during grief as a direct

result of the deceased leaving the life of the bereaved. These feelings of abandonment can lead to

alienation. For example, the griever might feel that no one else in the community understands him

or has gone through what he is going through. This alienation can be self-reinforcing in a cyclical

way in the sense that the further privatized the grief becomes the more alienated the griever will feel

from the rest of the community. This results in even greater feelings of abandonment, which causes

further privatization, and so on, and so on.

These feelings of abandonment and alienation, along with the tendency to privatize grief, will

only be reinforced by a lack of societal consideration of the griever’s loss. One by one, each member

of the community will enter a bereaved state, and although some will be able to pull themselves out

without the aid of social construct, others will find this much more difficult. A person in grief is in

general of less use to society than a person who is not grieving. Non-grievers are more productive,

happier, and more likely to contribute the community atmosphere.

In addition, active participation of community members in the grief of others functions as

a reassurance that when their time to grieve comes, they will not be left out in the cold either. This

perpetuates the reintegration process and lessens the alienating effect that grief can have on the

griever.

The continuance of grief and the failure to reintegrate effectively into society is bad for

grievers and it’s bad for the community at large. A system in which the community recognizes,

empathizes with, and accepts the griever is more beneficial to the community as well as the griever.

As Rosenblatt et al. have demonstrated, and I have experienced first-hand, non-moral social grief

practices in contemporary America could be drastically improved. Thus, American society in

particular not only has an obligation to reintegrate grievers, but also and incentive for doing so

because reintegrating grievers is good for the entire community.

4.6 Developing a System

As Americans, we do in general allow grievers an amount of time before we expect them to

“move on.” Whether this means beginning to keep promises again or some other type of

recognition by the community of the griever’s status as a full moral agent, the period of time in

question is far from defined. This is exactly what Rosenblatt et al. criticized about American

culture’s present lack of time-limiting customs for grief.

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Many cultures in which a specific period of mourning is set have a more effective process of

reintegration. Furthermore, such a period of mourning informs society as to when it is acceptable to

hold grievers to specific social expectations and moral considerations once again.

A system of bereavement that involves a mourning period sets up a timeline for the griever.

This timeline moves toward reintegration, which grounds the entire process for the griever.

Whether the griever follows this timeline strictly or not, its mere existence helps the bereaved to

gauge his progress. The end of the mourning period is a return to normality. Stopping the process

prematurely, on the other hand, can result in privatizing grief. Prolonging the process can delay

reintegration.

Remember in 4.4 I identified three general needs that most grievers seem to exhibit at

some point in the grieving process: (1) the need to have grief recognized, (2) the need to express

emotions outwardly in some manifestation, and (3) the need to feel like a member of the

community. The following is a system for the regulation of grief that meets the needs I

established in 4.4, or at least does a better job than the system I went through. This system is

highly theoretical, and I will not get into practical suggestions for changing grief in America

today until Chapter 5.

The first need of grievers, the need to be recognized, is perhaps the easiest to fulfill. In order

to more effectively recognize grievers as such, we should return to some form of bereavement dress

code like that described in Emily Post’s book. One of the most important findings that Rosenblatt et

al. made in the cross-cultural comparison is that an increase in the ritualization of grief can help

grievers can help “reduce uncertainty about proper bereavement behavior.”25 Although we will

sacrifice something, perhaps some sort of freedom from social norms, the benefits for grievers in

the long run will far outweigh the loss of freedoms. It is important to note that these freedoms are

not freedoms that a griever has a right to, but rather freedoms that are given to him because his

friends and family don’t know what to do for him, as in my case. Recognition will also help to lay

the groundwork for new standards of outward expression of grief.

Ritualization of the outward expression of grief has been on record since the elaborate

rituals of ancient Greece, at which grievers were expected to wail and beat their breasts at the funeral

ceremony.26 Today in America, most attendees at a funeral will attempt to choke back tears or hide

25 Rosenblatt et al., 114. 26 Alexiou, Margaret. The Ritual Lament in Greek Tradition. Rev. Dimitrios Yatromanolakis and Panagiotis Roilos. 2nd ed. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2002.

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their grief from others. This is an unhealthy practice because it deliberately impedes a basic need of

grievers. It should be normal to cry at a funeral in all cultures because crying in response to the loss

brought about by death is a natural part of the human condition. Cultures in which this is too

awkward may even need to adopt strict requirements for the display of emotion. Some cultures

around the world already have these in place. As I have mentioned about Tamil culture, women are

required to cry at the funeral; for the Toraja, grievers are only allowed to cry in front of the body or

an effigy. Both these cultures have some type of regulation on crying that isn’t “in your bedroom by

yourself.” The outward expression of grief should not be an embarrassment—it should be present

and accepted in American society. In the same way that recognition aids the outward expression of

grief, this expression can bring about a normal and healthy recognition of the griever and his

situation.

More established and explicitly governed non-moral practices would better meet the needs

of grievers to feel like part of the community. Non-moral regulations can help the griever to

reintegrate into the community, even when he just wants to put his head in the sand. As I have

already mentioned, the wearing of particular clothing, such as black arm bands, will both help the

griever have his grief recognized and also help him feel like part of the community because he will

see others with the armband and remember times that still others had to wear one. Also, the

establishment of outward expressions of grief can help to make the griever feel like part of the

community in that he is able to cry out loud with other grievers, or he is used to the crying that takes

place at funerals because he has seen it before.

By drawing a great deal from the study and conclusions of Rosenblatt et al., I have

identified the most prominent needs of grievers and laid out a system for better meeting these

needs. For the most part, these arguments appeal to the intuition. The implementation of this

system, on the other hand, is much less intuitive and much more complicated. In the next chapter,

I will attempt to give some practical suggestions for how we can go about changing the culture of

grief in America today.

Practical Application

Three kinds of sanctions that can be applied to back up social expectations: legal sanctions,

moral sanctions, and non-moral social practice sanctions. Legal sanctions use the enforcement

provided by the state and are implemented through the passing of laws. Moral sanctions rely on

personal interactions between individuals and expect universal adherence. Non-moral social practice

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sanctions, which also rely on the force of interpersonal relations, do not expect universal adherence,

and exist within a particular subgroup or under specific conditions.

Legal sanctions on grief would be difficult to support. In general, grief is so varied from

subgroup to subgroup that the establishment of laws that accommodate all subgroups would be very

difficult. However, I do have one legal recommendation, the implementation of which I would find

plausible: giving grievers a set amount of time off from work that is sufficient to grieve.

There seems to be some room in the theory of moral responsibility for a person’s gradual

instatement (or in the case of grief, reinstatement) as a morally responsible agent. Young children are

sometimes offered the blanket excuse of being a child because they are still in the process of

developing full moral agency. As a child develops, we hold him gradually more and more responsible

until he eventually reaches the point of being a fully responsible moral agent. This seems to run

parallel in some ways for grief as well as adolescence. Just as different children develop at different

rates, we can reasonably expect different grievers to recover at different rates. The difference

between the current state of childhood and the current state of grief in America is that we have a

standard period of time, namely eighteen years, after which we expect a child to be a fully capable

moral agent. This seems rather arbitrary, and it! is, but laws must sometimes be arbitrary to serve

their purpose in society. Just as we as a nation have decided that a child becomes fully morally

responsible at the age of eighteen, we must also decide somewhat arbitrarily how long grievers

should have off work.

The analogy between children and grievers, although it has some intuitive value, doesn’t

get us very far in terms of developing a legal mandate. I don’t think it would be realistic or even

useful to treat grievers like we treat children under eighteen. What I would propose is a set of laws

that govern a griever’s return to work, which is an important part of reintegration in our culture.

Laws similar to those governing maternity leave could be a good model on which to base our legal

time-limiting (in some sense) of grief. According to the Family and Medical Leave Act, which

became effective August 5, 1993, employers must grant an eligible employee up to a total of twelve

workweeks of unpaid leave in a twelve-month period for the birth of a son or daughter, and to

care for the newborn child.27 That said, some employers also offer up to two months paid leave

for mothers, with an option of an additional two months unpaid.

Grievers, on the other hand, are currently given between one to three days off work. Clearly

27 “The Family and Medical Leave Act.” U.S. Department of Labor: Employment Standards Administration Wage and Hour Division. 1994May 13, 2006 http://www.dol.gov/esa/regs/compliance/whd/1421.htm.

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they are therefore returning to work in a bereaved state. Perhaps if we let them have more time to

grieve, the final period of their grief would be better defined.28 It is to the griever’s benefit to return

to work at an appropriate time. If a griever returns to work too early, he can end up privatizing his

grief in an effort to focus on his job. Alternatively, if he does not return to work soon enough, he

can become so burdened under the weight of his own grief that he is unable to heal.

Moral sanctions are the second type of sanctions. As I explained in Chapter 2, the moral

responsibility of a griever is diminished, which would make giving grievers additional moral

sanctions absurd. Furthermore, I think grievers should be excused from some (relatively minor)

moral obligations while they grieve.

In our dealings with grievers we tend to give them blanket excuse for failing to meet some

moral obligations, which normally expect universal adherence. The universal applicability of moral

norms in general can be harnessed to facilitate the meeting of the cross-cultural needs of grievers,

which I identified in 4.4, through the social ritualization of grief practices. The griever is afforded a

distinct social that includes being placed under a blanket excuse from certain minor moral

obligations. But since the excuse is temporary, and the obligations in question are otherwise held to

be universally obligatory, rituals will provide some socially recognized time frame for reintegration of

the griever into the moral community. This path through the ritualized mourning period can then

symbolize to the griever his path back into full integration in the social world more generally, and

not just in the moral context. Grievers have a special need for social reintegration, which I

demonstrated in Chapter 4. That need may sometimes be at odds with their own powerful desires,

which may be distanced from the grievers own best interest precisely by the distorting effects of

grief; however, this need can be met by a ritualized mourning period.

Most of the recommendations for developing a system of sanctions for grievers that I made

in Chapter 4 were of the non-moral social practice variety because these offer the most plausible

implementation and can be used as a means of reintegrating the griever into the moral community.

However, while I think it essential to return to some form of a bereavement dress code, I do not

find it plausible to make this any sort of mandate. The same is true for encouraging the outward

expression of grief. These types of changes would need to take place on a purely social level, which

is very difficult to accomplish.

Short of putting up billboards across the country encouraging people to dress in black and cry

28 Although the sanctions I’m suggesting here would be imposed on employers, the benefits accrued would be primarily those of the griever.

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openly when they are grieving, I don’t see any way to make this impact directly.

The diversity of American culture and the freedoms we enjoy make it difficult to mandate

non-moral social practice sanctions for grief. However, perhaps some people can be convinced by

this paper to change how they personally react to grief and how they treat those around them who

are grieving. My disappointment at the state of grief in contemporary America is not just my own. If

more attention can be paid to grief in America, I am confident that the same conclusions about what

our culture lacks and how we need to change it can be made by others. Grief in America is not

beyond repair.

References

Alexiou, Margaret. The Ritual Lament in Greek Tradition. Rev. Dimitrios Yatromanolakis and

Panagiotis Roilos. 2nd ed. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2002.

Austin, J. L. "A Plea for Excuses." Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 57 (1957): 130.

Belitsky, R., and S. Jacobs. “Bereavement,Attachment Theory, and Mental Disorders.”

Psychiatric Annals 16 (1986): 276--280.

Clark-Decès, Isabelle. No One Cries for the Dead: Tamil Dirges, Rowdy Songs, and

Graveyard Petitions. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2005.

Engel, G. L. "Is Grief a Disease?" Psychosomatic Medicine 23 (1961): 18-22.

“The Family and Medical Leave Act.” U.S. Department of Labor: Employment Standards

Administration Wage and Hour Division. 1994May 13, 2006

<http://www.dol.gov/esa/regs/compliance/whd/1421.htm>.

Fortenbaugh, William W. Aristotle on Emotion: A Contribution to Philosophical Psychology, Rhetoric, Poetics,

Politics, and Ethics. 2nd ed. London: Duckworth, 2002.

Hart, Herbert Lionel Adolphus. Punishment and the Elimination of Responsibility, 1962.

Hollan, Douglas Wood, and Jane C. Wellenkamp. The Thread of Life: Toraja Reflections

on the Life Cycle. Honolulu, Hawaii: University of Hawaii Press, 1996.

Hollan, Douglas Wood, and Jane C. Wellenkamp. Contentment and Suffering: Cultureand Experience in

Toraja. New York: Columbia University Press, 1994.

---. The Thread of Life: Toraja Reflections on the Life Cycle. Honolulu, Hawaii:

University of Hawaii Press, 1996.

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Kant, Immanuel. “I.” Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals. Ed. Hill, Thomas E., Jr. and Arnulf

Zweig. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002.

McGoldrick, Monica, et al. "Mourning in Different Cultures." Living Beyond Loss: Death in the Family.

Ed. Froma Walsh and Monica McGoldrick. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1995.

176--206.

Murdock, George Peter, and Douglas R. White. "Standard Cross-Cultural Sample." Ethnology

VIII.4 (1969): 329-69.

Nussbaum, Martha Craven. The Therapy of Desire: Theory and Practice in Hellenistic Ethics.

Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994.

---. Upheavals of Thought: The Intelligence of Emotions. Cambridge; New York: Cambridge

University Press, 2001.

Post, Emily. Etiquette; the Blue Book of Social Usage. 11th rev. Ed. New York: Funk & Wagnalls, 1965.

Rosenblatt, Paul C., R. Patricia Walsh, and Douglas A. Jackson. Grief and Mourning in Cross-Cultural

Perspective. New Haven, CT: HRAF Press, 1976.

Rosenblatt, Paul C. "Grief in Small-Scale Societies." Death and Bereavement Across Cultures.

London: Routledge, 1997. 27-51.

Schiff, Harriet Sarnoff. The Bereaved Parent. New York: Crown Publishers, 1977.

Strawson, P. F. "Freedom and Resentment." Freedom and Resentment. London:

Methuen, 1974.

Wallace, R. Jay. Responsibility and the Moral Sentiments. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1994.

- 41 -

hume on belief in external bodies wesley holliday :: stanford university

Editor’s note: Notations have been renumbered to conform to the numbering system of this journal.

Part of Hume’s grand ‘science of the human mind’ is an enterprise to discover the origins of

some of our most fundamental beliefs: our belief in cause and effect, in the self, in right and wrong.

In Treatise 1.4.2, Hume turns to our belief in external bodies and seeks to explain how humans acquire

this central belief.29 The explanation Hume gives is one of the most complicated of any in the

Treatise. Perhaps realizing the complications involved, Hume entirely omitted this material in the

later Enquiry, where he takes our belief in external bodies as a starting point for discussion:

It seems evident, that men are carried, by a natural instinct or prepossession, to repose faith

in their senses; and that, without any reasoning, or even almost before the use of reason, we

always suppose an external universe, which depends not on our perception, but would exist,

though we and every sensible creature were absent or annihilated. (Enquiry 151)

In the Treatise, Hume ventures to explain just how we are carried to suppose such an “external

universe.” The purpose of this paper is to clarify Hume’s explanation and to assess its merits.

Hume’s discussion in Treatise 1.4.2 must be understood within the parameters of his

existing science of the human mind. In particular, Hume wants to explain our belief in an external

world given a core tenet of his theory of ideas, that “every thing, which appears to the mind, is

nothing but a perception, and is interrupted, and dependent on the mind” (14).30 Thus, Hume

wants to explain our belief in an external world given the falsity of naïve realism; according to Hume,

what we are directly and immediately acquainted with in perception are not external, material

bodies, as the naïve realist believes, but rather internal, psychological states—impressions or ideas.

Of course, most people, being naïve realists, are not aware of this:

29 Section 1.4.2 is entitled “Scepticism with regard to the senses.” It may be a surprise, then, that much of the section is not occupied with sceptical arguments as such, but rather with an account of the origin of our belief in external bodies. Hume remarks in the first paragraph, “We may well ask, What causes induce us to believe in the existence of body? but ‘tis in vain to ask, Whether there be body or not?” This remark is a bit misleading, though; while in 1.4.2 Hume does not make the ontological move of denying that external bodies exist, he does, having transitioned into a sceptical mood later in the section, make the epistemological move of arguing that our belief in external bodies is not justified. In this way, the title is appropriate. 30 Hereafter, unless otherwise noted, all references to the Treatise refer to paragraph numbers in section 1.4.2.

- 42 -

‘Tis certain, that almost all mankind, and even philosophers themselves, for the greatest part

of their lives, take their perceptions to be their only objects, and suppose, that the very being,

which is intimately present to the mind, is the real body or material existence. ‘Tis also

certain, that this very perception or object is suppos’d to have a continu’d uninterrupted

being, and neither to be annihilated by our absence, nor to be brought into existence by our

presence. (38)

What Hume wants to explain in Treatise 1.4.2 is the origin of our belief in a “continu’d and

uninterrupted being” that is “neither to be annihilated by our absence, nor to be brought

into existence by our presence.” Note that in accounting for the origin of this belief, it is

not question begging for Hume to take it as a fact of human nature that “no beings are

ever present to the mind but perceptions” (47). Hume’s task is to show how, given this fact,

the average person manages to arrive at a belief in external bodies. What Hume must not

do, of course, is attribute a belief in this fact to the average person, who surely does not make

such philosophical distinctions:

That I may avoid all ambiguity and confusion on this head, I shall observe, that I here

account for the opinions and belief of the vulgar with regard to the existence of body; and

therefore must entirely conform myself to their manner of thinking and of expressing

themselves. Now we have already observ’d, that however philosophers may distinguish

betwixt the objects and perceptions of the senses; which they suppose co-existent and

resembling; yet this is a distinction, which is not comprehended by the generality of mankind,

who as they perceive only one being, can never assent to the opinion of a double existence

and representation. (31)

Hume’s assumption here is essentially negative: “the vulgar” do not make the distinction between

perceptions and objects. Barry Stroud claims that by assuming this, Hume is in effect undercutting

his own explanation of the vulgar belief in external objects:

So Hume would seem to be saying only that the vulgar are originally in the position of

making no distinction between perceptions and enduring objects. It is not that they have the

philosophical concept of a perception, and then apply it to trees, stones, and other objects,

- 43 -

but simply that they think they see and feel trees and stones and other objects, and do no

think of them as ‘perceptions’ in the philosophical sense at all. But what does that come to?

Thinking we see and feel trees and stones presumably involves thinking that the very things

we perceive continue to exist unperceived. So our being in the vulgar position, so

characterized, would require that we already have the idea of continued, unperceived

existence… [Hume] provides no description of the state of the vulgar consciousness before

the acquisition of the idea of continued and distinct existence. (Stroud 106)

If Stroud is right that saying the vulgar make no distinction between perceptions and objects is

already tantamount to saying they believe in the continued and distinct existence of objects, then

Hume’s account gets us nowhere. However, it is not clear to me that the two are tantamount.31

Hume’s point is just that the vulgar never, in the course of the development of their beliefs, make

the distinction between perceptions and objects; the vulgar experience the passing show of

perceptions and never think to themselves that what they are immediately presented with is but one

existence of two in a relation of resemblance and causation. But there must be an additional step for

the vulgar to come to think that what they are immediately presented with is a tree or a stone where

these very vulgar concepts of ‘tree’ and ‘stone’ imply continued and distinct external objects. It is

precisely this additional step in the belief formation process of the vulgar that Hume wants to

account for. To be sure, Hume does say that the vulgar think they see and feel trees and stones and

insofar as the concepts ‘tree’ and ‘stone’ imply continued and distinct existence, Hume is attributing

to the vulgar a belief in continued and distinct existence. But this is what he wants to explain; it is not

his starting point. Though this fact may be somewhat obscured by Hume’s language, it is ultimately

borne out by the logic of Hume’s strategy itself, which has essentially the following form:

(a) Start with facts about what is immediately presented to the vulgar in perception

(b) Observe that the vulgar never make the ‘double existence’ distinction

(c) Show how, given (a) and (b), the vulgar come to believe in the continued and distinct

existence of objects, i.e., come to believe that what they are acquainted with in perception are trees

and stones—real bodies independent of their minds.

31 Kemp Smith also convicts Hume of question-begging, as he claims that “it is being assumed that the mind, ab initio, views eachperception as ‘an object’.” (Kemp Smith, p. 481). I do not think this is being assumed, however entangled Hume’s use of the terms‘object’ and ‘perception’ may be (note Hume’s warning about these terms in paragraph 31). Nor do I agree with Kemp Smith that“The ‘natural belief’ in independently existing bodies is already presupposed in the mechanism which is used to account for it”(ibid.). We will see that it is not, I think, when I reconstruct Hume’s account below.

- 44 -

The point of (b) for Hume’s discussion is just that if the vulgar started out holding the

double existence view, the explanation of their belief in an external world would be entirely

different. But of course, the vulgar do not start out holding the double existence view. Nor do they

ever arrive at the view. Hume explains the reasoning by which philosophers arrive there, involving

reflection on the relativity of perception (45-47), but the vulgar do not reflect in this way. Premise

(b) is not the same as the premise that the vulgar believe in the continued and distinct existence of

objects, so pace Stroud, Hume is (as we shall see more clearly later) giving an explanation of how

that belief made its way into a vulgar consciousness that lacked it in the first place.

The explanation Hume ultimately gives follows the sort of explanations Hume uses

elsewhere in accounting for the origins of our beliefs. He asks whether the idea in question could

have arisen from the senses or from reason or from the imagination.32 For reasons I will explain, Hume

concludes that it is neither from the intrinsic content of sensory perceptions nor from any chain of

reasoning that we get the idea of the continued and distinct existence of bodies. Rather, the culprit is

‘the imagination’, by which Hume has in mind here not so much the creative faculty of the artist, but

rather a faculty that operates on our ideas via the natural and primitive dispositions of our minds; as

we shall see, Hume explains how such dispositions of the imagination carry us with a sort of inertial

force to the belief in the continued and distinct existence of that with which we are presented in

perception—a belief which Hume considers a fiction (36), or, as we might say, a figment of the

imagination. In this case, Hume thinks that our imagination is unduly influenced by what he calls the

“constancy” of our perceptions. The basic idea of constancy is simple:

These mountains, and houses, and trees, which lie at present under my eye, have always

appear’d to me in the same order; and when I lose sight of them by shutting my eyes of

turning my head, I soon after find them return upon me without the least alteration… This

is the case with all the impressions, whose objects are suppos’d to have an external existence.

[emphasis added] (18)

So the impressions that exhibit constancy are the ones that are taken to be external objects. Stroud

chastises Hume here for talking about “mountains” and “houses” and “trees,” since such language

already implies external objects (Stroud 100), but it is clear from the italics in the passage above that

Hume means the impressions that the vulgar will take to be “mountains” and “houses” and so forth. 32 That the idea may be innate is of course not an option for Hume, as he has already rejected the doctrine of innate ideas (Treatise,1.1.1, 12).

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Below I will reconstruct in detail Hume explanation of just how the constancy of our impressions

works through the imagination to give rise to the belief in external objects; first, though, I will note

another explanation that Hume considers but concludes will not do the job. Hume realizes that the

constancy of our perceptions:

…is not so perfect as not to admit of very considerable exceptions. Bodies often change

their position and qualities, and after a little absence or interruption may become hardly

knowable. But here ‘tis observable, that even in these changes they preserve a coherence,

and have a regular dependence on each other; which is the foundation of a kind of reasoning

from causation, and produces opinion of their continu’d existence. When I return to my

chamber after an hour’s absence, I find not my fire in the same situation, in which I left it:

But then I am accustom’d in other instance to see a like alteration produced in a like time,

whether I am absent or present, near or remote. This coherence, therefore, in their changes

is one of the characteristics of external objects, as well as their constancy. (19)

Using this notion of coherence, Hume gives a stab at an explanation of the vulgar belief in external

objects by attributing to the vulgar a sort of inference to the best explanation: the coherence of our

perceptions is best explained by the hypothesis of an external world. Hume hears a noise like that

of his door opening, though he is not looking at the door (20). Hume then reasons that “I never

have observ’d, that this noise cou’d proceed from anything but the motion of a door; and therefore

conclude, that the present phaenomenon is a contradiction to all past experience, unless the door,

which I remember on t’other side the chamber, be still in being” (ibid.). Hume goes on:

I am accustom’d to hear such a sound, and see such an object in motion at the same time. I

have not receiv’d in this particular instance both these perceptions. These observations are

contrary, unless I suppose that the door still remains, and that it was open’d without my

perceiving it; And this supposition…acquires a force and evidence by its being the only one,

upon which I can reconcile these contradictions. (Ibid.)

The last sentence shows the character of this explanation using coherence as an inference to the best

explanation. I will return to this inference later, for I think there is much to it, but I will note here

that of this sort of explanation, Hume says, “I am afraid ‘tis too weak to support alone so vast an

edifice, as is that of the continu’d existence of all external bodies” (23). Hume does not say why the

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explanation is too weak, but he does say, “we must join the constancy of their appearance to the

coherence, in order to give a satisfactory account of that opinion” (ibid.). I now turn to Hume’s genetic

explanation of our belief in external bodies in terms of the constancy of our perceptions.

Consider the following sequence of perceptions33:

(i) A1A

2A

3A

4A

5A

6A

7A

8A

9

Each token “A” stands for a distinct but resembling perception-token.34 Their different

subscripts indicate their distinctness, while their belonging to the perception-type A indicates the

qualitative similarity of their intrinsic content. What gives us the sequence of A’s here is the passage of

time. This requires, on Hume’s theory, some perceptible change (Treatise, 1.2.3, 7). However, it

seems at least implicit in Hume’s talk of the “invariableness” (1.4.2, 30) of what I am calling the A-

perceptions that we need not get a sense of time here through any perceptible variation in the

content of the A’s themselves; rather, it seems plausible that Hume would say we get a sense of time

from perceptible variation elsewhere in our total experience.35 Against a background of changing

perceptions, the A-perceptions appear invariable in time. So, for example, against a background of

changing perceptions of various sounds, my visual table-perceptions appear invariable in time.36 So

far, so good. Hume’s next move is to say that as a matter of psychological fact, we (mistakenly)

interpret the A-sequence above in (i) as:

(ii) A1

A1

Thus, we take there to be something that persists numerically identical through time, rather than a

series of (at best) qualitatively identical, though distinct, A-tokens (29-31). That is how we form

the idea of identity: given (i), we naturally come to believe (ii).37

The next part of Hume’s story involves what happens when a sequence of A’s gets

temporarily interrupted, as below: 33 In using the notation below, I am following Stroud (1977). 34 The perceptions I have in mind here are specifically impressions, but I will talk of ‘perceptions’ so that my use matches Hume’s language in T 1.4.2. 35 I owe this point to Graciela De Pierris. 36 The point is just that if all my perceptions had no perceptible variation, I would have no feeling of the passage of time. 37 Stroud thinks this is no explanation at all of how we form the idea of identity, but that Hume has already assumed we have the idea of identity to begin with. Stroud writes, “we could not ‘imagine…a change in the time without any variation or interruption in the object’ unless we already had the idea of the invariableness and uninterruptedness of an object. But that is just the idea of identity forHume” (Stroud, p. 104). But why can’t Hume say that when we are presented with a color patch that we survey in time “without our discovering in it any interruption or variation” (29) [emphasis mine] and “without any break of the view” (30), we then get the idea ofidentity. Of course Hume should not say that we can spontaneously imagine such a perceptual episode if we have never had anyexperience of the sort, but is Hume really saying that we get the idea of identity prior to any such experience? Hume’s account of the origin of our idea of identity deserves a second look, I think, but I will set these points aside, as they are astray of my main purpose.

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(iii) A1A

2A

3 ////////// A

4A

5A

6

Hume remarks that sequences such as (iii) abound in our lives: “I survey the furniture of my

chamber; I shut my eyes, and afterwards open them; and find the new perceptions to resemble

perfectly those, which formerly struck my senses” (35). As noted, this is what Hume calls the

constancy of our perceptions. And he suggests that our being presented with such constancy is

the key to our forming a belief in continued and distinct existences. To see this, though, we

must take a step back. First, consider the case in which there is no noticeable variation among

the A-perceptions in (i) above. Such a sequence of invariable perception-tokens puts the

imagination in a particular disposition: the imagination runs very smoothly and easily through

such a sequence (3336). But Hume also observes that “whatever ideas place the mind in the

same disposition or in similar ones, are very apt to be confounded” (32).38 The moral Hume

draws is that a sequence of resembling though not totally invariable perception-tokens puts the

imagination in the same sort of disposition as a sequence of invariable ones. Thus, we mistake

the latter for the former and again interpret what is in fact a sequence of distinct perception-

tokens as the persistence of a single thing. But now, in a crucial move, Hume says the same

thing about a sequence like A1A

2A

3 ////////// A

4A

5A

6; in virtue of its constancy, this

interrupted sequence also puts the imagination in a similar disposition of smooth passage, like

that of uninterrupted sequences of highly resembling perception-tokens (35). As a consequence,

we mix up (iii) A1A

2A

3 ////////// A

4A

5A

6 with (i) A

1A

2A

3A

4A

5A

6A

7A

8A

9, so that just as,

given (i), we assumed a numerically-identical A persisting through time, now, given (iii), we

take the A after the interruption to be numerically-identical to the A before the interruption

(even though, again, they are at best qualitative-identical). We might represent this situation as

follows. We get (iii) and believe (iv):

(iii) A1A

2A

3 ////////// A

4A

5A

6

(iv) A1

////////// A1

We are thus led to think it is the very same A after the interruption as before (36); however, Hume

says we also realize that such an interruption is incompatible with “perfect identity” (ibid.). This

situation creates a tension in the mind. We first took what we were presented with before the

interruption to be a single A persisting through time.39 We then went on to take what we were

38 Thus, the imagination not only associates resembling ideas in the mind but also resembling dispositions of the mind (32). 39 Of course, we do not think of it as an “A.”

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presented with after the interruption to be that same A. However, now we realize the fact of the

interruption, which raises a problem: if the end of the left-hand A-sequence in (iv) were taken to

mean the end of the existence of A1, then after the interruption, on the right-hand side, we could not

be presented again with the same A1—it would have to be a new and distinct A

2, as below:

(v) A1

////////// A2

We resolve this “contradiction” (36, 24) between (v) and (iv) by believing that the interruption did

not, after all, mean the end of the existence of the original A1. A

1 must have continued to exist during

the interruption, even while we were not perceiving it (ibid.):

A1

( ) A1

Here the brackets indicate what is unperceived; the arrows between the brackets indicate our idea

of the persistence of A1 while unperceived. The belief we form from this idea40 is just the belief

that Hume had hoped to explain, the belief that objects continue to exist while unperceived. It is

then but a short step, for Hume, to the belief that there is a whole external world of such objects,

which “would exist, though we and every sensible creature were absent or annihilated” (Enquiry

151).

We might recap Hume’s explanation as follows:

Given

A1A2A3A4A5A6A7A8A9

we believe

A1

A1

Then, given the similarity of the dispositions the imagination is place in by

A1A2A3A4A5A6A7A8A9

and

A1A

2A

3 ////////// A

4A

5A

6

we are led to confuse the two and thus to interpret the latter (much like we did the former) as

A1

////////// A1

But we reflect on the interruption, which suggests the contradictory

A1

////////// A2

40 According to Hume’s theory of belief, a belief is simply “a lively idea related to or associated with a present impression” (Treatise,1.3.7, 5). Thus, in this case, the idea of continued existence becomes a belief in continued existence by acquiring “a force and vivacity from the memory of these broken impressions [what I have called the A-impressions], and from that propensity, which theygive us, to suppose them the same” (1.4.2, 24).

- 49 -

a contradiction we resolve by supposing

A1

( ) A1

In this way, given facts about the constancy of our perceptions, Hume shows how we come to

believe that that which is presented to us in perception continues to exist while unperceived and

thus that there is an “external world” that is not annihilated when we stop perceiving.

But does Hume’s explanation in terms of constancy do the trick? Some critics think not, due

to supposed question begging at several points in Hume’s account. I have already indicated two

instances in which such charges seem to me mistaken. But dwelling on such criticisms distracts

from an important philosophical issue, which is whether the constancy of our perceptions is really

what gives us the belief in an external world. In what follows, I will raise some doubts.

Recall that Hume’s interest in constancy is that it may give us the belief in continued existence.

Once we have this belief, Hume thinks we get the belief in distinct existence too:

The two questions concerning the continu’d and distinct existence of body are intimately

connected together. For if the objects of our senses continue to exist, even when they are

not perceiv’d, their existence is of course independent of an distinct from perception. (2)

This inference from the constancy of our perceptions, like the precedent from their

coherence, gives rise to the opinion of the continu’d existence of body, which is prior to that

of its distinct existence, and produces that latter principle. (23)

These passages and others (44) suggest a strategy for discovering the origin of our belief in external

bodies: first, trace the origin of our belief in continued existence; then, show how that belief naturally

produces the belief in distinct existence, as suggested above. Hume appears to adopt just this strategy.

However, the appearance may be somewhat deceiving here, for the way in which Hume ultimately

caches out “continu’d existence” does not fit so perfectly into this strategy.

The problem is that Hume treats the issue of continued existence, in terms of the presumed

identity of objects over time while unperceived, too closely with the issue of distinct existence, in

terms of an external world that would exist even if we were all annihilated. Note the difference

between: (a) a world of external objects in which objects exist while unperceived; and (b) a world of

external objects in which the same objects that existed while perceived continue to exist while

unperceived and while perceived again. Belief in (a) certainly seems necessary for belief in an

external world. However, belief in (b), which is what observations of constancy (and coherence) are

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relevant to, seems not to be necessary for belief in an external world. Suppose I leave my study for a

moment and upon returning find it totally rearranged. In fact, suppose all the ‘objects’ are totally

different (and that this drastic change exhibits no coherence). My reaction, I think, would be to

suppose that some mischief or magic had occurred in the external world, not that those objects were

actually inside my mind. Perhaps I would question my memory. Or perhaps I would wonder if I had

been transported somewhere. But I do not think that I, as one of the vulgar, would conclude that

these very objects that I seem to pick up and weigh in my hand are actually inside my mind, when

they seem so clearly outside of me.41 If I had been born into such a world, in which objects

seemed to be ever-shifting while unperceived, the objects seen at any given time would still seem to

me perfectly external to my mind; and as external, they are not part of my mind, and are thus distinct

from my mind. Now, I may well come to believe in a law of nature connecting, e.g., my closing my

eyes with objects out there changing, but I would still think in terms of objects out there. Such

considerations suggest that at best constancy leads to a belief in the continued existence of the same

objects, though that belief in sameness does not seem necessary for the belief in an external world.

We would be lead to that belief in an external world, even if constancy failed to obtain.

However, while constancy may not be necessary for the production of the belief in an external

world, it may in fact be what produces it. To show otherwise, or at least that more than constancy is

involved, we must show that constancy is not sufficient to produce the belief. To do so, we may use

an argumentative move from Hume’s own playbook. Before introducing his own view on external

bodies, Hume criticizes the views of Descartes and Berkeley, according to which we form the belief

in external bodies because certain impressions strike our minds independently of our wills (16).

Hume points out that bodily feelings strike our minds independently of our wills also, so this

account will not due. The problem for Hume is that considerations of bodily feelings cut both ways,

against his proposal as much as against Descartes’ and Berkeley’s. Consider: can pains exhibit

constancy? It seems they can: my pain gets interrupted—I get distracted—but then I attend to it

again and it is there with just the same awful character as before:

A1A

2A

3 ////////// A

4A

5A

6

Here each “A” stands for a resembling, pain impression-token. The question is: if I am one of the 41 I might convince myself that I was having the most massive, stable, and convincing hallucination. However, if this phenomenon persisted very long, without any signs of malfunction of my senses, I would probably discount this hypothesis. What it would take to make me entertain the hallucination hypothesis more seriously, despite the fact that everything around me seems so real, would perhaps be the testimony of others. But I do not think that a failure in constancy alone, without any contrary human testimony or signs of sensory malfunction, would convince me of the hallucination hypothesis.

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vulgar, do I conclude that it is the act of re-attending that suddenly brought into being a new pain

after the interruption? Or, do I suppose that I am merely re-attending to the same pain after the

interruption, like re-opening my eyes to the same desk? Either way we answer, there is a problem for

the constancy account. If the qualitative similarity of the pain-impression after the interruption and

the pain-impression before the interruption lead to the belief that there is just one continued pain all

along, from which I am momentarily distracted, then constancy, which gives us the belief in identity

across an interruption in perception, is not sufficient to produce a belief that something is external to

me, since pains are not external to me by Hume’s own lights. On the other hand, if the qualitatively

similarity of the pain-impression after the interruption and the pain-impression before the

interruption does not lead to the belief that there is just one continued pain all along, then why should

the qualitative similarity of a table-impression after an interruption and a table-impression before an

interruption lead to a belief that there is just one continued table all along? The answer, it seems,

would have to be that we treat tables differently with respect to interruptions than we do pains,

taking the former to persist identically while unperceived, while not the latter. But then why do we

do that? If it is because we believe that tables but not pains persist unperceived that we treat

interruptions in table-impressions differently than interruptions in pain-impressions, then facts

about how we treat interruptions cannot be used to explain our belief that tables but not pains

persist unperceived. That would be circular. But then the explanation in terms of constancy across

interruptions falls apart.

The option remains to deny that bodily feelings exhibit constancy, or at least the requisite

degree or kind of constancy. Hume says just this with respect to coherence:

…we may observe, that tho’ those internal impressions, which we regard as fleeting and

perishable, have also a certain coherence or regularity in their appearances, yet ‘tis of

somewhat a different nature, from that which we discover in bodies. Our passions are found

by experience to have a mutual connexion with and dependence on each other; but on no

occasion is it necessary to suppose, that they have existed and operated, when they were not

perceiv’d, in order to preserve the same dependence and connexion, of which we have had

experience. The case is not the same with relation to external objects. (20)

Kemp Smith remarks on this passage in a footnote: “Hume, it may be argued, is here begging the

whole question…” (Kemp Smith, p. 471). Hume certainly has not explained in what respect the

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internal impression are “of a somewhat different nature”; nor has he explained why it is not necessary

to suppose that the internal impressions “have existed and operated, when they were not perceiv’d,

in order to preserve the same dependence and connexion” (20). Without such explanations, the

account amounts to saying that constancy and coherence with respect to external impressions is a

mark of existence while unperceived, while constancy and coherence with respect to internal

impressions is not a mark of existence while unperceived. But, of course, then constancy and

coherence are not doing the explanatory work that needs to be done.

These considerations seem to me to suggest that constancy is neither necessary nor sufficient

for our belief in distinct existences. But if constancy is not the crucial phenomenon that leads to our

belief in distinct existences, then what is? Here there may be an explanation that follows naturally

from Hume’s explanation of how we form our ideas of space:

The table before me is alone sufficient by its view to give me the idea of extension. This idea,

then, is borrow’d from, and represents some impression, which this moment appears to the

senses. But my senses convey to me only the impressions of colour’d points, dispos’d in a

certain manner. If the eye is sensible of any thing farther, I desire it may be point out to

me.But if it be impossible to shew anything farther, we may conclude with certainty, that the

idea of extension is nothing but a copy of these colour’d points, and of the manner of their

appearance. (Treatise 1.2.3, 4)

This suggests an explanation of our belief in distinct existence in terms of the way we interpret the

visual field of colour’d points spatially. Here is the explanation, which Hume himself considers and

rejects (we will consider why in due course): the patches of colored points I take to be tables appear

spatially outside of the patches of colored points I take to be my body (they certainly do not appear

inside the color patches I take to be my body, or beneath the color patches I take to be my skin, or

anything of the sort). But I also take my viewpoint to originate, in some sense, behind my eyes (as well

as behind the color patch that I take to be the side of my nose). The result is that whatever color

patches appear external to the color patches I take to be my body get mistaken for being external to

my mind, where in fact all these color patches are actually inside my mind, assuming

naïve realism is false. Thus, belief in external objects arises from the spatial phenomenology of

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perception itself.42 However, Hume might think we have not shown enough here:

…we may observe that when we talk of real distinct existences, we have commonly more in

our eyes their independency than external situation in place, and think an objects has a

sufficient reality, when its Being is uninterrupted, and independent of the incessant

revolutions, which we are conscious of in ourselves. (1.4.2, 10)

Even if we grant this point, the explanation inspired by Hume’s views on space can account for

independency as well as externality. Taking a hint from Hume, when I close my eyes, not only do I

continue to feel my body in space but also I continue to hear sounds in spatial orientation, the best

explanation of which is the existence of the objects that I have always found to be the “causes” of those

sounds, despite my having closed my eyes. But if neither closing my eyes nor even covering my ears

(I can do this and still feel objects) seems to wipe the objects out of existence, then, by a natural bit

of analogical reasoning, I conclude that neither would my ceasing to sense with all my sense

organs.43 I finally come to the conclusion in a full-blown, continuously and distinctly existing

external world. Even if all sensible creatures were annihilated, that world would still exist.

As it turns out, Hume considers an explanation of the sort I have just sketched—and rejects

it. Hume first observes that, “To begin with the SENSES, ‘tis evident these faculties are incapable of

giving rise to the notion of the continu’d existence of their objects, after they no longer appear to

the senses. For that is a contradiction in terms, and supposes that the senses continue to operate,

even after they have ceas’d all manner of operation” (3). Hume’s point is well taken, but this is no

problem for the view I sketched above, for according to that view, the belief in distinct existence

comes first, followed by the belief in continued existence; the senses give the appearance of the

externality of bodies, which, perhaps together with their independence from our wills, convinces us

(the vulgar) that these “bodies” are not part of our minds and thus have a distinct existence from our

minds. But then, following Hume, “if their existence be independent of the perception and distinct

from it, they must continue to exist, even tho’ they be not perceiv’d” (2). Thus, a proponent of this

account will be willing to go along with Hume’s conclusion that the senses, “if they have any

influence in the present case, must produce the opinion of a distinct, not of a continu’d existence;

42 A more complete explanation along these lines would of course include discussion of the spatial nature of other sensory modalities in addition to vision. 43 Here I am merely hypothesizing about how I, qua one of the vulgar, might naturally come to believe in an external world. I am not, of course, arguing that any of this actually supports that belief.

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and in order to that, must present their impressions either as images and representations, or as these

very distinct and external existences” (Ibid).

Can the senses produce the opinion of distinct existence by presenting their impressions

as images and representations of distinct existences? Hume thinks not, for the intrinsic content of a

particular perception never suggests a second, unperceived existence to which it stands as a

representation (4). Of course, this does not mean that the senses cannot give rise to the vulgar

belief in external bodies, since we have already seen that the vulgar do not hold such a ‘double

existence’ view.

So, can the senses produce the opinion of distinct existence by presenting their

impressions as those very distinct and external existences? Again, Hume thinks not:

If our senses, therefore, suggest any idea of distinct existences, they must convey

theimpressions as those very existences, by a kind of fallacy and illusion… Now if the

sensespresented our impressions as external to, and independent of ourselves, both the

objects andourselves must be obvious to our senses, otherwise they cou’d not be compar’d

by thesefaculties. The difficulty, then, is how far we are ourselves the objects of our senses.

‘Tis certain there is no question in philosophy more abstruse than that concerning identity,

and the nature ofthe uniting principle, which constitutes a person. So far from being able

by our senses merely todetermine this question, we must have recourse to the most

profound metaphysics to give asatisfactory answer to it; and in common life ‘tis evident

these ideas of self and person are neververy fix’d nor det! erminate. ‘Tis absurd, therefore,

to imagine the senses can ever distinguish betwixt ourselves and external objects. (5-6)

Here Hume may be correct that in philosophy there is no question more abstruse than that of the

person. But, of course, we are trying to account for the origin of the vulgar belief in external objects.

For the vulgar, who take themselves to see their bodies and to see objects as external to their bodies,

nothing could be less abstruse than the distinction between self and external objects. Hume seems to

anticipate this suggestion, however, and dismisses it on other grounds:

To begin with the question concerning external existence, it may be said, that setting aside the

metaphysical question of the identity of a thinking substance, our own body evidently

belongs to us; and as several impressions appear exterior to the body, we suppose them also

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exterior to ourselves. The paper, on which I write at present, is beyond my hand. The table is

beyond the paper. The walls of the chamber beyond the table. An in casting my eye towards

the window, I perceive a great extent of fields and building beyond my chamber. From all

this it may be infer’d, that no other faculty is required, besides the senses, to convince us of

the external existence of body. But to prevent this inference, we need only weigh the three

following considerations. First, That, properly speaking, ‘tis not our body we perceive, when

we regard our limbs and members, but certain impressions, which enter by the senses; so

that the ascribing a real and corporeal existence to these impression, or to their objects, is an

act of the mind as difficult to explain, as that which we examine at present. (9)

Hume’s first “consideration” is beside the point. The vulgar believe, as Hume must realize given his

other remarks, that when they regard their limbs, they are regarding real, corporeal limbs. What they

are really regarding, unbeknownst to them, is irrelevant to the genetic account of the vulgar belief.

Certainly, if we started out believing that when we regard our limbs, all we are regarding are certain

impressions, then our ascribing a real and corporeal existence to those impressions would be

difficult to explain; however, we do not start out believing that. We start out as naïve realists.

Against the view that “as several impressions appear exterior to the body, we suppose them

also exterior to ourselves” (9), Hume gives two more arguments:

Secondly, Sounds, and tastes, and smells, tho’ commonly regarded by the mind as continu’d

independent qualities, appear not to have any existence in extension, and consequently

cannot appear to the senses as situated externally to the body… Thirdly, Even our sight

informs us not of distance or outness (so to speak) immediately and without a certain

reasoning and experience, as is acknowledg’d by the most rational philosophers. (Ibid)

As for the second argument, Hume’s phenomenological claim that sounds and smells do not appear

external to the body seems wrong. They certainly do not appear inside the body, in the way that a

pain in the gut does (even smell seems to come from outside). And even if we take taste not to be

external, this seems perfectly compatible with other senses contributing to the belief in external

objects. Now, as for the third argument, perhaps Hume is correct that our sight does not inform us

of distance or outness without some reasoning and experience. But the account I have given in

terms of what appears outside of us can happily allow that reasoning and experience helps us arrive

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at that sense of ‘outside of us’. It is the account in terms of constancy (and coherence) alone that

rejects the role of reasoning in our formation of the belief in external objects.44

The upshot of this discussion seems to be that the explanation of our belief in external

bodies in terms of the spatial phenomenology involved in perception is more promising than Hume

takes it to be, while Hume’s favored explanation in terms of the constancy of our perceptions has

troubles that he does not sufficiently appreciate. However, this survey of Treatise 1.4.2 hardly does

justice to all the intricacies of Hume’s position. I only hope to have shed some light on this difficult

section and to have suggested some questions for further study. Moreover, while I have focused on

Hume’s account of the origin of belief in external bodies, in 1.4.2. Hume also displays a normative,

epistemological concern with the justification (or lack thereof) for various beliefs about external

objects. Especially worthy of attention is Hume’s analysis of why philosophers, having realized the

falsity of naïve realism, adopt a double existence view (i.e., representative realism) rather than an

outright phenomenalist view (52-57). Hume boldly answers that philosophers hold on to a double

existence view, which he takes to have no rational recommendation over phenomenalism, simply

due to a conviction in a mind-independent external world that is a holdover habit from their earlier

days as naïve realists.45 46 This and many other insights from Treatise 1.4.2 have fallen beyond the

scope of this paper. A more complete study of Hume’s account of our belief in external bodies—of

both its genetic and justificatory aspects—is an important task, but one for another time.

44 Hume does so based on, first, the plausible claim that the vulgar do not seem to arrive at the belief through any chain of reasoningand, second, the more puzzling claim that, given the falsity of the vulgar view that the very things they see and feel, i.e., impressions,have a distinct and continued existence, “this sentiment…as it is entirely unreasonable, must proceed from some other faculty thanthe understanding” (p. 193). What is puzzling about this latter claim is that Hume seems to rule out the possibility that theunderstanding could produce any false belief. Perhaps, though, that is just Hume’s point: it is only when another faculty, like theimagination, interferes with the operation of the understanding that the understanding can be involved in a falsehood. This is a difficult issue of interpretation, though, and I do not pretend to understand it fully here. 45 It is fascinating to note here Berkeley’s suggestion in his Dialogues that he was defending common sense with his phenomenalism.What he was doing, in fact, was defending the common sense conviction in our direct contact with ultimate reality (even though thatultimate reality had become mental in Berkeley’s hands). That direct contact with ultimate reality is something that the double existence view removes, when it gives us the ‘veil of perceptions’. However, Hume’s insight was that the double existence view also retains something from common sense, namely, our common sense conviction in a mind-independent ultimate reality, an ultimate reality that would exist even if every sensible creature were annihilated. In this way, Berkeley and Hume may be read as suggesting that each of the philosophical views of perception, phenomenalism and the double existence (or representative) view, retains something from the common sense position. 46 See Enquiry, p. 152-155 for what is perhaps an even clearer statement of this argument than in the Treatise.

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References

Hume, David. Enquiries Concerning Human Understanding and Concerning the Principles ofMorals, ed.

Selby-Bigge, L.A. and P.H. Nidditch. Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1975.

Hume, David. A Treatise of Human Nature, ed. Selby-Bigge, L.A. and P.H. Nidditch. Oxford: The

Clarendon Press, 1978.

Kemp Smith, Norman. The Philosophy of David Hume. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 1941.

Stroud, Barry. David Hume. New York: Routledge, 1977.

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