Philosophy and Literature: Problems of a Philosophical Subdiscipline
But the full-strength causal hypothesis may be more than a fantasy of English teachers. The ordering of events is in the right direction: technological advances in publishing, the mass production of books, the expansion of literacy, and the popularity of the novel all preceded the major humanitarian reforms of the 18th century. . . . In the past century Erich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front, George Orwell’s 1984, Arthur Koestler’s Darkness at Noon, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, Elie Wiesel’s Night, Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five, Alex Haley’s Roots, Anchee Min’s Red Azalea, Azar Nafisi’s Reading Lolita in Tehran, and Alice Walker’s Possessing the Secret of Joy (a novel that features female genital mutilation) all raised public awareness of the suffering of people who might otherwise have been ignored.—Steven Pinker, The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined1
What is philosophy and literature? It is (or at least ought to be) a truth universally acknowledged that this is a question to which there are no easy answers. Does philosophy and literature constitute a subdiscipline of philosophy, as logic, epistemology, metaphysics, ethics, philosophy of science, and even philosophy of religion do? Alternatively: [End Page 471] ought it constitute a subdiscipline of philosophy if it does not already do so? What is the nature of the relationship between philosophy and literature and literary and philosophical studies? Where might its limits be located? These are some of the important questions that intellectuals who have worked in this field from its inception have sought to address. The answers yielded thus far by their combined efforts, however, have been unsatisfying. The purpose of this essay therefore is to attempt to shed further light on the nature of the field of philosophy and literature and its limits, with the accompanying hope that, as philosophy and literature gains in coherence, rigor, and organization, its credibility as a field will be raised in some modest measure among my philosophical colleagues.
In “Philosophy of Technology: Problems of a Philosophical Discipline,” Elisabeth Ströker identifies the “paradox of its continual beginning” as a condition from which the philosophy of technology, a relative newcomer among the philosophical subdisciplines, suffers.2 This paradox of its continual beginning consists in how each of the studies in the philosophy of technology appears to be best characterized as a sketch or an attempt. Philosophical debate is closer to a set of skirmishes than a sustained dialogue: there is no move toward a greater coherence, critical discussions on the same subject are hard to come by, and systematic elaborations and assessments remain conspicuous by their absence. Philosophy and literature, another late starter, would appear to suffer from the same paradox: the field lacks coherence and appears fragmented, each of its studies is best characterized as a sketch or an attempt, and critical discussions are at a premium.
How might philosophy and literature benefit from recognizing the condition from which it suffers? One hopes that purveyors of the field will leave off the sketches, attempts, and skirmishes, delineate the field and its limits, identify the common ground for discussion, and resolve the paradox of its continual beginning, with the further consequence that philosophy and literature will be taken more seriously as a philosophical subdiscipline (if it is not already considered as such).
To begin to address the opening question—“What is philosophy and literature?”—we might perhaps turn to the homepage of Philosophy and Literature, the namesake journal of the field in question, wherein we find a whole slew of references to the dialogue between literary and philosophical studies, the aesthetics of literature, philosophical interpretation of literature, and literary treatment of philosophy. Can we use this list of references to frame a response to the question? The answer would [End Page 472] be “probably not,” insofar as we would run the risk of falling foul of a definitional fallacy. The definiendum contains two key terms, “philosophy” and “literature,” and to include these terms as part of the definiens is to provide a circular definition. The definition would fail to explain the terms, leaving us back where we started. To avoid circularity, we could attempt the more gargantuan task of defining each of the two key terms (“philosophy” and “literature”) in turn, but even such a mammoth effort, if successful, would leave to be explained the nature of the conjunction (indicated by the “and”) between the two disciplines.
A further circularity at the conceptual level has been identified by Richard Shusterman; I will adapt it for the current discussion.3 If we conceive philosophy primarily in terms of definitional “what is” questions, then any attempt to define “literature” in order to answer the “what is literature?” question might nominally be classified as philosophy qua philosophy of literature. However, if we cannot deny that philosophy is literature, given the breadth of the concept of literature, how might we even attain an external (i.e., philosophical) perspective from which to pose the “what is literature” question?
We might begin again, this time with a different strategy. We could ask instead: what is not philosophy and literature? The logic behind this would run as follows: by identifying what do not qualify as philosophy and literature, we can rule out these entities through an iterative process of elimination and narrow the range of our considerations as we seek to better understand the nature of this highly vexed field and its limits. While this approach appears to be more promising, its guiding question is still too vague and underdetermined: it admits of such obvious and unhelpful responses as vacuum cleaners and non-Euclidean geometry. What we mean to ask is: what is not philosophy and literature but might plausibly be mistaken as such? By ruling out these similar but distinct entities (or what we might well call the “close relatives” of the field), we sharpen our sense of where the limits might lie with philosophy and literature. We find such a strategy broadly adopted by Richard Eldridge in his introduction to The Oxford Handbook of Philosophy and Literature; I will elaborate upon and refine this strategy as we proceed with our eyes on the prize: successfully moving philosophy and literature beyond the paradox of its continual beginning.4
Philosophy of literature is not philosophy and literature, although it is one of its close relatives. Philosophy of literature might be thought to refer to the philosophical treatment of issues raised by literature. Conceived as a branch of aesthetics (whose central question is “what is [End Page 473] art?”), philosophy of literature might be thought to have as its central question: what are the verbal arts and how might literature be thought to be a part of them? Roman Ingarden and Benedetto Croce are a couple of philosophers who have sought to address these central aesthetic questions.5 Conceived as a branch of metaphysics and/or philosophy of perception, philosophy of literature might be thought to have as its central question: what is the ontological status of a work of literature? For instance, two objects might exist, alike in all the relevant respects, whereas one may be recognized as a work of literature and the other not. In his story “Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote,” Jorge Luis Borges raises important questions about the ontological status of a work of literature in the case of indiscernibles.6 Borges has his fictional, French-symbolist protagonist succeed in composing (without simply copying word for word) two chapters and part of a third chapter of Cervantes’s literary masterpiece, Don Quixote. Arthur Danto is a philosopher who, in the wake of Borges’s story about Pierre Menard, has sought to wrestle with the implications of indiscernibles.7 The ontological status of a work of literature might well have aesthetic implications, and the aesthetic and metaphysical variants of philosophy of literature should not be thought of as mutually exclusive.
Besides its concern with the ontological status of a work of literature, philosophy of literature might be concerned in addition with the ontological status of possible worlds in fiction. Whereas the ontological status of a work of literature might have aesthetic implications, the ontological status of possible worlds could have epistemological implications (i.e., concerning the nature of the truth of possible worlds). Consider for instance the following statement: Sherlock Holmes lives at 221B Baker Street, London. How might such a statement be true, since Sherlock Holmes is a fictional private detective character created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle? David Lewis has taken this metaphysico-epistemological route in philosophy of literature; he is best known for his defense of modal realism, a position that attempts to provide an account of truth conditions in terms of possible worlds.8
We can examine an additional philosophy of language variant of philosophy of literature, as inaugurated by the linguistic turn, a development in early-twentieth-century Western philosophy that led to a focus on the relationship between philosophy and language.9 In the wake of this linguistic turn, we have seen greater philosophical attention devoted to the tools and techniques developed for literary criticism and literary theory. Last but not least, the philosophy of mind variant of philosophy [End Page 474] of literature is devoted to formulating a theory of the imagination and making sense of the fictional, make-believe, or pretend nature of propositions that a literary work invites us to imagine.10 Nonetheless, philosophy of literature would have to be recognized as a close relative, lying outside the limits that define our field of concern.
Philosophy in literature seems to be another close relative. Sometimes also known as literature of philosophy, it concerns the literary treatment of philosophical ideas, issues, and themes. The De Rerum Natura of Lucretius, a didactic poem written in dactylic hexameter (the meter of the epic) to introduce Epicurean philosophy to his Roman audience, is an example of philosophy in literature. The Mahabharata, an epic poem written in sloka (the meter of the Indian epic) that deals with Indian philosophy and Hindu philosophy, counts as another example of philosophy in literature. Apart from philosophical poems, other forms of philosophical fiction (whether they might take the form of a novel or a play) and philosophical writings in the literary manner could be thought to constitute the rest of this field.11
Philosophy of literature, as we have seen, tends to mine literature and its ideas, issues, and themes for such wide-ranging subdisciplines of philosophy as aesthetics (the relation between literature and the verbal arts), metaphysics (the ontological status of a work of literature and/or possible worlds), epistemology (truth conditions in terms of possible worlds), philosophy of language (the tools and techniques that have been developed for literary criticism and literary theory), and philosophy of mind (the imagination and other mental states that are triggered by an engagement with literature). Philosophy in literature, on the other hand, is concerned with recasting philosophical ideas, issues, and themes in literary form. What both philosophy of literature and philosophy in literature have in common is the sense they convey of literature being put in the service of philosophical ends. Whether it be the ideas, issues, and themes of literature being mined for other philosophical subdisciplines or the form of literature being used as decorative ornament for philosophical ideas, issues, and themes, these close relatives inevitably cast literature as subordinate to philosophy. The relation between philosophy and literature is a conjunctive though subordinate one, as literature is made to depend upon philosophy as its raison d’être. The “and” in philosophy and literature, on the other hand, appears to signal a nonsubordinate conjunction, in which each discipline meets, informs, and (on occasion) contests the other discipline as a peer. [End Page 475]
By identifying the closes relatives of the field, we have come to sharpen our sense of what to expect as we approach the field of our concern from the outside. Philosophy and literature describes a conjunctive relation in which we find two disciplines. This conjunctive relation is not, however, a subordinate one (pace philosophy of literature and philosophy in literature) in which one discipline is used in service of the other. Rather, a nonsubordinate, conjunctive relation exists in which two disciplines meet, engage with, and (at times) contest one another. This double movement of engagement and contestation points to a certain tension at the heart of this conjunction between disciplines, which might plausibly be traced to the ancient quarrel between philosophy and poetry that we find described in book 10 of Plato’s Republic.12 Having defined justice and demonstrated it to be worthwhile in books 1–9 of the Republic, Socrates returns to the postponed question about the role of poetry in society in book 10. Socrates discusses with Glaucon why poets should be banished from his ideal and just city-state and adduces the following reasons in support of his claim:
i. Poetry is an imitative art that presents scenes that are far removed from reality;
ii. Poetry is an imitative art that appeals to the inferior part of the soul;
iii. Poetry is an imitative art that has the power to corrupt;
iv. Poets are imitators who know nothing of reality but only the appearance;
v. Poets are imitators who do not have knowledge, from either use or experience, of whether the things he or she portrays are good or bad.
Socrates concludes on the basis of these reasons that we have good grounds for dismissing poetry from the well-ordered and just city-state. It might appear that Plato has reduced the ancient quarrel between philosophy and poetry to nothing more than an open-and-shut case in which we are forced to choose between philosophy and poetry and convinced by the force of Socrates’s argument to favor the former over the latter. However, a couple of caveats are in order. In the first instance, Socrates does not include hymns to the gods and encomia of heroes in his condemnation of poetry.13 In the second instance, short of recanting his judgment about the banishment of poets, Socrates expresses regret and implies that he would be happy to readmit the poets if anyone could present a case in their defense. In other words, the disjunctive relation between the two disciplines is not a pure one; apparently the [End Page 476] just city-state would be happy to allow for the best possible case to be made for the goodness and truth of poetry in the face of Socrates’s attack on poetry as an imitative art. The burden of proof therefore falls on the advocate of poetry to demonstrate how poetry bestows not only pleasure but also benefit.
In the context of responding to both Socrates’s attack on poetry and his call for a case in the defense of poetry, the field of philosophy and literature must finally be defined. A well-reasoned response to the gauntlet thrown down by Socrates would have to address the following: (i) the forms of knowledge that literature makes available to us, and (ii) the ways in which literature might contribute to our moral improvement. In addressing the moral and the epistemological, such a response can face down both the moral objections raised by Socrates (e.g., that poetry has a power to corrupt; that poetry fosters and encourages feelings, appetites, and pleasures that we ought to restrain; that poetry appeals to the inferior part of the soul that hungers for a good cry) and his epistemological objections (e.g., that poetry imitates phantasms rather than the truth; that poets know nothing of reality but only the appearance).
A perfect exemplar of philosophy and literature may be found in the expansionist route that has been taken by a number of its purveyors. According to Edward Harcourt, expansionism is the claim that there is more to moral thinking than certain conventional conceptions allow for.14 In the first instance, if philosophy aims at conceptual clarification, philosophy and literature counts as moral philosophy to the extent that it provides conceptual clarification about moral thinking. As Sophie Grace Chappell points out, with reference to such literary examples as George Eliot’s Adam Bede, Matthew Arnold’s “Dover Beach,” G. M. Hopkins’s “God’s Grandeur,” and Sophocles’s Trachiniae, a moral outlook need not have any explicitly philosophical content to count as prima facie credible.15 Philosophy and literature demonstrates how moral philosophy, in its treatment of moral thinking as its subject, has limited itself to the analysis of moral concepts, to the neglect of moral understanding, moral attention, moral vision, and the moral imagination.16 In the second instance, moral experience comes with a certain (morally significant) “texture of being” that the literary form attends to in a way that plain moral philosophizing often cannot.17 If gestures, manners, habits, turns of speech, and turns of thought are recognized as morally significant (“HRSMP,” p. 163), then any moral philosophy that limits itself to the analysis of moral concepts (while claiming to be the study of things of moral significance) would itself stand in need of [End Page 477] conceptual clarification. The conviction that certain nontrivial truths (about moral epistemology and the moral significance of the texture of being, for instance) may be conveyed to us through literature has led Martha Nussbaum to maintain that certain truths about human life can “only be fittingly and accurately stated in the language and forms characteristic of the narrative artist.”18
We are now better placed to provide an adequate response to the opening question of this essay. In the first instance, philosophy and literature is not simply a free-for-all in which one uses works, both philosophical and literary in nature, to address an unrestricted set of themes, and play to a gallery whose broad sympathies extend across both these disciplines. Rather, we find that it has an agenda that has been determined from the outset by Socrates’s attack on poetry and his simultaneous willingness to reinstate the poets if anyone can present a case in their defense. Given the nature of Socrates’s attack, any carefully thought-out work of philosophy and literature would have to address such questions of morality and epistemology as:
i. What are the forms of knowledge that literature makes available to us?
ii. What are the ways in which literature might contribute to our moral improvement?19
Given the sorts of commitments we would expect philosophy and literature to assume when addressing the Socratic challenge, we could claim a fortiori that philosophy and literature would be metaethical rather than ethical in nature. It might even be usefully distinguished from first-order normative ethics by its avoidance of first-order normative commitments.20 Philosophy and literature would have as its metaethical intention the clarification of the limits between the moral and the nonmoral: it might for instance demonstrate how moral reason-giving might well take a literary form, thereby widening the scope for what counts as moral. Many putative purveyors of the field of philosophy and literature tend to betray a normative bias (typically for virtue ethics), to the extent that their position turns out to be first-order normative ethics in disguise. Given how philosophy and literature is concerned with second-order (what is morality and how might literature clarify the limits between the moral and the nonmoral) rather than first-order questions (what is “moral” and how, according to literature, ought we to act?), such positions as we find delineated in Raja Halwani would now count, sensu stricto, as normative ethics in disguise rather than as exemplars of the field in question.21 [End Page 478]
In addition, we can see now why philosophy of literature and philosophy in literature are close relatives that nonetheless remain distinct from the field in question: they neglect to address the moral and epistemological force of the Socratic challenge. What they have in common is the sense they convey of literature being put in the service of ends both philosophical and metaphilosophical, playing to a gallery whose broad sympathies extend across both disciplines. Philosophy and literature, on the other hand, appears to signal a nonsubordinate conjunction, in which each discipline meets, informs, and (on occasion) contests the other discipline as a peer, always with a view to provide a well-reasoned response to the gauntlet thrown down by Socrates.
That is not to say that there cannot be an overlap between philosophy and literature and its close relatives: while philosophy of literature and philosophy in literature might be thought to lie outside the limits that define what we mean by philosophy and literature, the boundaries between the field in question and its close relatives remain fuzzy and traversable. Take, for instance, how we might imaginatively resist a literary work in which we find described female infanticide or the torturing of kittens. Unlike other literary works—where initial puzzlement might give way to a stable reading of the work that allows us eventually to imagine and accept their propositions—because of imaginative resistance our inability to engage imaginatively with the work persists long after we have finished reading it.22 When it comes to imaginative resistance, we might be “less willing” to let the possible worlds that literary works invite us to imagine deviate from the real world in the morally relevant aspects.23 Therefore, the difficulty we experience when invited to imagine morally deviant possible worlds might (i) make our moral commitments appear psychologically necessary, or (ii) raise skepticism about the existence of possible worlds that deviate from the real world in the morally relevant aspects.24 Efforts to make sense of the fictional, make-believe, or pretend nature of propositions, a theory of the imagination (and how it breaks down), and the ontological status of possible worlds would normally be classified as philosophy of literature. However, given the phenomenon of imaginative resistance, such work would certainly have much relevant insight to offer in the cognate field of philosophy and literature.
A final (related) remark is opportune here: Iris Murdoch, one of the standard-bearers of philosophy and literature, famously declared that to do philosophy is to explore one’s own temperament while at the same attempting to discover the truth. The metaphilosophical import of her dictum is well-taken: my attempt to delineate the field of philosophy and [End Page 479] literature and its limits, identify the common ground for discussion, and resolve the paradox of its continual beginning might well have resulted in a particular conception of philosophy and literature (metaethical and post-Socratic) that has been influenced by my temperamental inclinations and academic training across both these disciplines. Perhaps the ultimate truth about philosophy and literature, despite my best intentions, lies elsewhere. My hopes, however, remain: to persuade my allies in temperament in the field to leave off the sketches, attempts, and skirmishes that are characteristic of a late starter among the philosophical subdisciplines; and to raise the credibility of this field among my philosophical colleagues as it gains, I hope, in coherence, rigor, and organization. That aspiration in itself should be worth something.
1. Steven Pinker, The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined (New York: Viking, 2011), p. 177.
2. Elisabeth Ströker, “Philosophy of Technology: Problems of a Philosophical Discipline,” in Philosophy and Technology, ed. Paul T. Durbin and Friedrich Rapp (Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1983), pp. 323–36.
3. Richard Shusterman, “Philosophy as Literature and More Than Literature,” in A Companion to the Philosophy of Literature, ed. Garry L. Hagberg and Walter Jost (Indianapolis: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010), pp. 7–21.
4. Richard Eldridge, “Introduction: Philosophy and Literature as Forms of Attention,” in The Oxford Handbook of Philosophy and Literature, ed. Richard Eldridge (Oxford: Oxford University Press: 2009), pp. 3–18.
5. See Benedetto Croce, The Essence of the Aesthetic, trans. Douglas Ainslie (London: Heinemann, 1921); and Roman Ingarden, The Literary Work of Art, trans. George G. Grabowicz (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1973).
6. Jorge Luis Borges, “Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote,” in Ficciones, ed. and trans. Anthony Kerrigan (New York: Grove Press, 1962), pp. 45–55.
7. See Arthur Danto, The Transfiguration of the Commonplace: A Philosophy of Art (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1981); and B. R. Tilghman, “Danto and the Ontology of Literature,” The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 40, no. 3 (1982): 293–99.
8. David Lewis, “Truth in Fiction,” American Philosophical Quarterly 15, no. 1 (1978): 37–46.
9. For further reading about the linguistic turn, see Richard Rorty, The Linguistic Turn: Essays in Philosophical Method (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992). [End Page 480]
10. See Gregory Currie, The Nature of Fiction (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990); and Kendall Walton, Mimesis as Make-Believe (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1990).
11. For further examples of philosophical fiction in the form of a novel, see Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea, trans. Alexander Lloyd (New York: New Directions, 2007); Albert Camus, The Stranger, trans. Matthew Ward (New York: Vintage International, 1988); and Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment, trans. Constance Garnett (New York: Dover Thrift Editions, 2001). For further examples of philosophical fiction in the form of a play, see William Shakespeare, Hamlet, ed. G. R. Hibbard (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987); and Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead (New York: Grove Press, 1967). Examples of philosophical writings in the literary manner may be found in Søren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, trans. Alastair Hannay (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1985); Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra, trans. Thomas Common (New York: Dover Publications Inc., 1999); and Jacques Derrida, Glas, 2 vols. (Paris: Denoël/Gontheier, 1981).
12. Plato, Republic, trans. Allan Bloom (New York: Basic Books, 1968).
13. Elsewhere in the Phaedrus, Socrates reserves special mention for poetry that flows from madness inspired by the gods (or divine inspiration). He identifies four kinds of divine madness and the four gods presiding over them: prophetic (Apollo), initiatory (Dionysus), poetic (Muses), and erotic (Aphrodite and Eros). In all four cases, the divinely inspired person is able to accomplish what might be impossible for someone who is sane. If we take the greatest blessings to flow from divine inspiration, then poetry inspired by the Muses might well be added alongside hymns to the gods and encomia of heroes to the list of poetic exceptions. Plato, Phaedrus, trans. Alexander Nehamas and Paul Woodruff (Cambridge: Hackett Publishing Company, 1995).
14. Edward Harcourt, “Literature, Moral Thinking, and Moral Philosophy,” in Intuition, Theory, and Anti-Theory in Ethics, ed. Sophie Grace Chappell (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), pp. 210–28. The purpose of this paper is not to address the objections raised by Harcourt apropos of philosophy and literature but simply to borrow his characterization of this field, which is highly apt for the discussion at hand.
15. Sophie Grace Chappell, “Ethics Beyond Moral Theory,” Philosophical Investigations 32, no. 3 (2009): 206–43.
16. For further reading on moral imagination, see Melvin Chen, “Is Ethics Nonsense? The Imagination, and the Spirit against the Limit,” Philosophy and Literature 39, no. 1 (2015): 172–87.
17. Cora Diamond, “Having a Rough Story about What Moral Philosophy Is,” New Literary History 15, no. 1 (1983): 163; hereafter abbreviated “HRSMP.”
18. Martha Nussbaum, Love’s Knowledge (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990), p. 5. It should be noted that the claim laid out by Nussbaum is a strong one that one need not take to be constitutive of philosophy and literature. Rather, if philosophy and literature wishes to be considered seriously as a philosophical subdiscipline, it has simply to provide an adequate defense of the following: that (i) there is more to moral thinking than certain conventional conceptions allow for (the expansionist thesis), and (ii) the truth of (i) is demonstrated in literature (with potential recourse to philosophy as its exegetical ally). [End Page 481]
19. It may be argued that literature contributes to our moral improvement by making us more finely aware of how narratives work. Elsewhere, I have argued that the narrative is the central medium through which we make sense of and communicate our lives and their attendant hopes and cares. For a plausible link between philosophy and literature and the feminist ethics of care, see Melvin Chen, “Care, Narrativity, and the Nature of Disponibilité,” Hypatia 30, no. 4 (2015): 778–93.
20. For further reading about the distinction between metaethics and normative ethics, see Andrew Forcehimes, “On L. W. Sumner’s ‘Normative Ethics and Metaethics,’” Ethics 125, no. 4 (2015): 1142–44.
21. Raja Halwani, “Literary Ethics,” Journal of Aesthetic Education 32, no. 3 (1998): 19–32.
22. This phenomenon has been identified as hermeneutic recalibration and is commonplace in magic realist novels, wherein we are invited to imagine propositions that have as their setting an otherwise realistic environment with magical elements. Hermeneutic recalibration shares the phenomenology of imaginative resistance but differs in that the reader’s resistance is temporary rather than persistent. See Shen-yi Liao, “Moral Persuasion and the Diversity of Fictions,” Pacific Philosophical Quarterly 94, no. 3 (2013): 269–89.
23. Kendall Walton, “Morals in Fiction and Fictional Morality,” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, supp. vol. 68 (1994): 35.
24. For further reading about the psychological necessity of our moral commitments, see Julia Driver, “Imaginative Resistance and Psychological Necessity,” Social Philosophy and Policy 25, no. 1 (2008): 301–13. [End Page 482]