Against the supposition that all people do and/or should have a narrative understanding of themselves, Strawson responds: I have no such understanding of
myself, yet I'm a full person, capable of moral experience, or anything else people should be capable of. Therefore the universal conclusions narrativists wish to draw are false. To fill in the imaginative picture of non-narrative experience, Strawson puts forward a character called the episodic. This picture remains sketchy, however. Strawson has responded most thoroughly to the objection that the episodic would be incapable of experiencing certain emotions or reactive attitudes, and thus of leading a fully moral life (see his “Episodic Ethics” in NUP). Here, I want instead to dwell on two much more banal examples and ask, first, whether the episodic could defer pleasure in the most basic of ways and, second, whether the episodic is capable of even basic prudential planning.
Dwelling on such cases will, I'll argue, reveal the episodic's psychology to be so convoluted that we would not recognize it as that of a person. Strawson's supposed counterexample26 to narrativity is a logical possibility, but an empty one. It is not a description of some people in our world, but a philosophical fiction. Like Super Spartans, Pleasure Monsters, or Philosophical Zombies, it might be useful in thought experiments meant to establish certain conceptual possibilities, but it isn't a
counterexample against claims made about real people.
To begin, it's necessary to make explicit an argumentative slight of hand that Strawson makes frequent use of in rebutting objections. Possessing an episodic or
26 Since Strawson admits that diachronic self-experience is not necessary to narrative self-experience, it's not true that any episodic would serve as a counterexample to narrativity. “Against Narrativity” is built around the idea that if episodic self-experience is anything other than a complete aberration, then narrative self-experience can't be universal, even as that elides certain admitted logical possibilities.
diachronic nature is not an all-or-nothing matter; rather, there is a spectrum between them. These “styles of temporal being are radically opposed, but they are not absolute or exceptionless” (AN, 430). This point is well taken, but it muddies Strawson's arguments enormously. It leads him to repeatedly respond to critics by saying, for example, “It's important […] that the Episodic sense of self is not absolute [….] Episodics vary greatly among themselves, from extreme to moderate, and one's general sense of one's temporal being may also vary considerably depending on what one is doing or thinking about, or one's chemistry or mood” (NUP, 91). If Strawson is allowed to respond that a
hypothetical episodic isn't necessarily an extreme case, that his or her sense of self is not necessarily without any diachronic element, then why shouldn't we worry that it is
exactly that lingering trace of diachronicity which allows this “episodic” to act in familiar ways? Elsewhere, he writes “It may be said that life without any significant sense of the relatively long-term continuity of the mental self is conceivable for aliens, but hardly possible for human beings. Strictly speaking, all I need for my argument is the formal possibility” (1999B, 140). This may be true in the context it is written, where Strawson is trying to establish a formal framework for thinking about the self. A merely formal possibility is not sufficient here, however, inasmuch as the episodic is put forward as a real counterexample. Only a full episodic would refute the program of narrativity. Thus in what follows below, the episodic does not figure him or herself, taken as a self, to exist for more than a few moments, even while understanding that he or she, taken as a whole human being, does continue to exist.
I turn now to my first example: the deferral of pleasure. Suppose that I'm running up against a deadline to submit a conference paper. Submissions are limited to 3,000 words, and my current draft is 5,000; I need to make cuts, and substantial ones. I find this to be tedious and not particularly worthwhile work, and I'd much prefer to set it aside and return to reading a novel. Yet I do think that presenting my work at this conference
would be pleasurable and worthwhile. So, unless I'm completely lacking in self-discipline that day, I buckle down and do the work. I tell myself that if I stop
procrastinating and put in these couple of hours of work now, I can soon get back to the pleasure of reading the novel. And I understand as well that attending the conference, which I want to do, will be possible only if I do this work now, and do it well. Such calculations are completely familiar. And for someone with even a moderately
diachronic sense of self, they are easy to make. In order to make possible greater future pleasure, we are willing to endure tedium now. Within Strawson's terms, how do we understand such a deferral of pleasure? If I am a diachronic, I figure that the self and human being (there's no disconnect between the two) who will attend the conference is the same as the self and human being who endures the tedium of cutting the paper—me.
If the pleasures of the conference will outweigh the tedium, then it's worth enduring.
Now let's try to imagine the calculations that a true episodic would have to make in such a familiar situation. The episodic figures that the self who would experience the pleasures of the conference would not be the same as the self who would suffer through the tedium of shortening the paper for submission. A straightforward calculation to defer pleasure is thus barred. A number of alternative pathways present themselves. Perhaps the episodic thinks it is worth his enduring the tedium of cutting the paper because it will allow someone (not him, figured as a self) the pleasure of attending the conference. His action is thus admirably charitable and un-self-centered. This is obviously incorrect, however. If there are a dozen spots available for presenters at the conference, then twelve papers will be accepted, even if his is not one of them. Furthermore, if the episodic were tempted to explain his behavior in charitable terms—he's helping someone else—surely his couple of hours could be spent helping others in more productive ways. The
calculations of pleasure deferral need to be self-centered.
It thus seems that—if he is capable of deferring pleasure—the episodic would
need to make a calculation routed through a consideration of himself figured as a whole human being, rather than a self. The episodic doesn't think that he, figured as a self, will reap the pleasures of attending the conference. But he understands that, figured as a whole human being, he will be the same at that time. He, in one sense, won't be there, but in another (seemingly weaker) sense will be, and that's enough to explain pleasure deferral. I take it that this is how Strawson would respond, though I am less than certain.
The response is unsatisfying, though it is difficult to elaborate why with sufficient care.
First, isn't it the case that if the episodic can appeal to his continuity (as a whole human being, rather than a self) so easily, he is still importantly “diachronic”? According to Strawson's narrowly stipulated sense, he isn't, because “diachronic” and “episodic”
apply to one's temporal sense of oneself as a self. But such a stipulation obscures rather than reveals the argumentative terrain. The episodic still views himself as an enduring entity, and narrativity for him (maybe for all of us) could apply at the level of the person or whole human being. Second, to what degree the episodic is supposed to identify with himself figured as a whole human being, rather than a self, is unclear. Figuring himself as a self is given privilege. But does he also think that he is a whole human being, of greater continuity? Or does he merely understand that, by the customs of a culture predominately peopled by diachronics, we are held responsible for actions committed by our bodies, even when they were not committed by the selves that we are now?
“Although there is a sense in which my primordial referential intention cleaves first and foremost to I*, my overall referential intention can equally well embrace both I* and GS, and when I am thinking about and mentioning myself in public I certainly and solidly mean GS, whatever else I mean” (NUP, 101). “I believe that the primary or fundamental way in which we conceive of ourselves is as a distinct mental thing [….] This is not to deny that we also naturally conceive of ourselves as mental-and-non-mental things, human beings considered as a whole” (1997, 3, emphasis added). The invocation of
“referential intention” in one case and use of the cognitive verb “conceive” in the other leaves unclear whether the episodic identifies himself as a person or only understands intellectually that it is the case (or even that it might not be the case, factually speaking, but that's how our culture operates).
Strawson has not offered up a sufficiently full picture of the episodic for me to be certain how to answer this question. Describing himself (not a complete episodic), he claims “I have [no] great or special interest in my past [….] Nor do I have a great deal of concern for my future.” And he writes that “it seems clear to me, when I am
experiencing or apprehending myself as a self, that the remoter past or future in question is not my past or future, although it is certainly the past or future of GS the human being”
(AN, 433). “I do not really think of [my past] as mine at all, in so far as 'mine' picks out me as I am now” (1999B, 141). These claims demonstrate that Strawson identifies himself with himself as a self. But they leave unclear whether he also identifies himself with himself as a human being, only in a different and weaker sense, or if that is not him.
As I argued above, I'm deeply skeptical that we have these two different kinds of experiences of ourselves, now as a self, now as a human being. Rather, the distinction seems to be a theoretical one, between two different judgments we make, using two different vocabularies of explanation, against varying metaphysical backgrounds.
Elsewhere Strawson writes “I make plans for the future […] But I experience this way of thinking of myself as utterly remote and theoretical, given the most central or
fundamental way in which I think of myself, which is as a mental self or someone”
(1999B, 141-142). This is the clearest suggestion we get that the episodic's
understanding of himself as a whole human being is merely theoretical and will have to be appealed to in that register.
If I try to imagine my way into the radical episodic's experience, the best I can come up with is something like the following. I experience myself as lasting but a few
moments. I understand that I have a special relationship to myself as a whole human being, and even the other selves, past and future, connected to that human being, inasmuch as we share memories and a body. Further, I understand that our world is organized around a conception of responsibility according to which I will be held to account for things I (as a self) didn't do. Hopefully, I avoid doing wrong because it's wrong, not out of fear of possible consequences. But should “I” have done wrong in the past, I understand that I can be held responsible now. In attempting to imagine my way into an episodic's experience, it seems to me that the episodic identifies himself with his present self alone. If his experience isn't to become diachronic, just at the level of the person, then his identification with himself as a whole human being must remain merely theoretical, based on custom.27
If that picture is right, let's try to imagine whether and how the episodic could defer pleasure, routing his calculation through a consideration of himself as a whole human being. He can't think that he'll forego pleasure now to reap pleasure later, because he won't be there later. Neither can he offer some charitable, utilitarian calculus to facilitate pleasures for a future self, not him but connected to him through the same human being. So why would the episodic endure the tedium of cutting 2,000 words from his conference paper, rather than turning to other, immediately available pleasures? He has no apparent reason to care about the pleasures future selves (not him) will experience.
Neither will setting the paper aside saddle future selves (not him) with unwanted
responsibilities.28 Might the episodic think to himself: “I don't want to do this, and doing so will bring me no pleasure. Yet I understand that it is good for me as a whole human being. I don't identify myself with this whole human being, but I understand that most
27 How an episodic, living in a diachronic culture ruled by such customs, could avoid being re-habituated into thinking of himself in straightforwardly diachronic terms, is a question Strawson never considers.
David Roochnik raised this excellent point in conversation.
28 In a different example, it would be cruel for him to make flippant promises, thereby saddling a future self with responsibilities, and we can explain his doing so by saying that he avoids acting cruelly.
everyone else does. There's no reason for me to care about the future fate of myself as a whole human being, except mediated by this external understanding of myself. If I set the paper aside now, someone assuming the ways of the world will think me imprudent.
It's not actually imprudent, since the future doesn't affect me, but I don't want to suffer that censure, even if it won't occur until later, when I won't even be around anymore. It would transgress the memory of who I am. So I'll edit the paper.” Such a thought process would be bizarre and pathetic. One can't imagine anyone partaking of it, and were someone to do so, it doesn't seem like it would actually be successful in motivating the deferral of pleasure.29 Yet it's not an exaggeration of the machinations Strawson ascribes to the episodic: “I am and now experience myself as myself*, who was not there in the past, but I am also GS, and I know this, and I know that others know this, and I know that I am for others fundamentally GS, the continuing person and human being, and there is for this reason alone a straightforward respect in which that is how I primarily figure myself when I am engaged with others” (NUP, 101).
Perhaps, then, the true episodic can't defer pleasure. The expression “live in the moment” is usually exaggerated, but maybe in his case it is not. But wouldn't someone who truly couldn't defer pleasure, even for a few moments, lead a miserable, bestial existence? One unrecognizable as human?30 An ability to defer and calculate pleasures over a span of time greater than the passing moment is necessary to experience
practically any pleasures at all. The strangeness of the episodic becomes even more apparent if we consider my second banal example: routine prudential planning.
“As for my practical concern for my future, which I believe within the normal range (low end), it is biologically—viscerally—grounded and autonomous in such a way
29 As Korsgaard writes, “When the person is viewed as an agent, no clear content can be given to the idea of a merely present self” (114). Korsgaard is here responding to Parfit, whose work hovers as an important influence behind Strawson.
30 See too Richard Wollheim's argument that for a person “to disregard his future states […] ignores or denies a constitutive feature of what it is to lead the life of a person,” namely, “self-concern” (236).
that I can experience it as something immediately felt even though I have no significant sense that I* will be there in the future” (AN, 434). What does Strawson mean by this?
Suppose, crossing the street one day, a blaring horn brings Strawson back from his distraction in thought. Glancing up, he sees a truck bearing down on him, and jumps out of the way. Why, we might ask, does he? Or more pressingly, why would the radical episodic? Why should the episodic be concerned—at all—about “his” or “her” future, if he or she won't exist then? Strawson suggests that an appeal to visceral, biological instinct is enough. When jumping out of the way of an oncoming truck, no prudential calculation is made. The diachronic doesn't think “I want to remain alive in the future, therefore I'll jump out of the way.” Neither does the episodic think, “I know it won't be me who will survive this possible accident, but being an ethical person, I might as well exert this minimal effort to save that future self who won't be me.” Rather, both are instinctually primed to avoid harm without thinking.
Restricted to immediate cases like the dangers of oncoming traffic, Strawson's response is compelling. But is instinct sufficient to explain the wider practical concern for the future we recognize in every person, even those most committed to living in the moment? Elsewhere Strawson tries, implausibly, to extend hard-wired biology to more distant concerns, explaining that he feels anxiety concerning a lecture he is writing now to give in several months time, “even though [he has] no sense that it will be [him]* that will be giving the lecture” (1999B, 142). Perhaps this works in cases when the episodic's planning for the future is motivated by something like anxiety, rather than rational
concerns. It doesn't work when the episodic then overcomes what must be judged irrational anxiety (since he believes it won't be him who will give the lecture), or in the countless cases were we act concerning our futures not on the basis of inarticulate drives, but fully cognitive concerns. Consider again very simple cases. Would a full episodic keep groceries around the house? Would he take water along on a desert hike? Visceral
biology can only explain that the episodic would eat when hungry, drink when thirsty, and so forth. It can't explain why the episodic would rationally plan for even the near future. Nor, again, can a normal appeal to self-interest. If the episodic thinks that he as a self is transitory, then there's no future self that's him to have concern for. I bring water along on a desert hike because I know I will be thirsty later. The episodic, by contrast, would seemingly have to think: “I'm not bringing this water along for me. I'm bringing it along for that future self who won't be me. I don't owe him anything, but it takes so little effort to help out, why wouldn't I? It would be uncharitable not to.” Or: “I understand that I won't be around to drink this water later, but other people will think I and that future self are the same, so I might as well play by society's rules, even though doing so won't benefit me, since I'll be gone by then.” As with pleasure deferral, this seems logically possible, but so distant from any actual description of someone's motivations as to be pure fantasy.
These convolutions might seem ridiculous, a bit of parody. I don't mean them to be. That is to say, I don't mean to exaggerate their absurdity as a rhetorical ploy aimed at undercutting the notion of the episodic. Rather, I think they are the most restrained
These convolutions might seem ridiculous, a bit of parody. I don't mean them to be. That is to say, I don't mean to exaggerate their absurdity as a rhetorical ploy aimed at undercutting the notion of the episodic. Rather, I think they are the most restrained