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Philosophical Issues, 23, Epistemic Agency, 2013
INTELLECTUAL AUTONOMY
Linda Zagzebski
University of Oklahoma
1. Introduction
According to a standard interpretation of philosophical history, Immanuel Kant revolutionized ethics by making the ultimate moral authority
one’s own rational will. I take that to be the heart of the idea of autonomy.
In this essay I will describe a view of the self according to which autonomy
properly applies in the intellectual domain on the same grounds as it applies
in the practical domain. I will explain why I believe that the power of reflective self-consciousness is more basic than any epistemic reasons—anything
that indicates to a reasonable person that some proposition is true. The argument is epistemological, not moral. The conclusion is that what we mean
by reason in its theoretical sense derives from reflective self-consciousness.
The authority of the self over the self is the natural right of the self to reflect,
which is to say, the natural right of the self to be a self. The authority of
reason over a person’s belief-forming activities, like the authority of reason
over a person’s practical action, is derivative from the natural authority of
the self.
2. Autonomy
2.1. A very short history of autonomy
In contemporary discourse, autonomy can mean a number of different
things, but I assume that the dominant idea is that of rational self-governance.
Autonomy has sometimes been identified with the different notion of independence, especially in political discussions, and that is one of the reasons
for the vilification of autonomy by those opposed to the individualism of our
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times. When autonomy is applied to the epistemic domain, it has sometimes
been equated with epistemic self-reliance, the analogue of political independence. For instance, Elizabeth Fricker describes intellectual autonomy as
follows: “This ideal type relies on no one else for any of her knowledge.
Thus she takes no one else’s word for anything, but accepts only what she
has found out for herself, relying only on her own cognitive faculties and
investigative and inferential powers (2006: 225).”1 This ideal raises a number of issues, but I find it particularly interesting that intellectual autonomy
should be identified with epistemic self-reliance when it is far from obvious
that autonomy and self-reliance are identified in the practical domain. My
purpose in this essay is to present a view of intellectual autonomy as a form
of autonomy, not simply self-reliance by another name.
In my opinion, autonomy is most interesting if it is a value that is
pre-moral. What I mean is that the idea of autonomy does not rest upon
any moral value, and it might be strong enough to be a constraint on our
understanding of what morality is. If I am right about that, that would
explain why the idea of autonomy can support the modern shift from viewing
morality as obedience to law to understanding morality as self-governance.
Self-governance was arguably an important value since the ancient Greeks,
so that is not what was new in the modern era.2 What Kant gave us was
the idea that morality is self-governance, the rules by which a rational being
governs itself. The additional premise is that morality comes in the form of
a command; it is the product of a will. So if morality comes in the form
of a command, and a person should not submit to any will but her own,
it follows that morality is a command I give myself. It gets its authority
from myself. The Kantian position on the nature of morality, then, follows
from the nature of autonomy as self-governance combined with the view that
morality comes in the form of a command.
Why would modern philosophers think, either on moral or pre-moral
grounds, that I should not submit to anything but my own rational will? In
the ancient and medieval periods, philosophers recognized two grounds for
authority—one Greek, one Judeo-Christian, both of which were modified
or even rejected in the modern West. The first way to ground authority was
in God, who created and governs the universe. The second way to ground
authority was in reason. For the Greeks, reason is intrinsically authoritative;
the authority of reason is self-evident. A person is self-governing in so far as
she has a share in the force of reason that governs the universe. But since an
individual person’s reason is limited, her authority to govern herself is also
limited.
In the last several centuries before Kant, I see two shifts in the way
philosophers thought of the ground of authority. The first shift was from
reason to the will. In the later Middle Ages there was a dispute between
those who accepted the ancient view that the source of authority is in the
divine reason, and those who claimed that the source of authority is in
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the divine will rather than the divine reason. Duns Scotus was one of the
earliest proponents of the latter view.3 The shift from reason to will as the
ground of authority had significant consequences since the relation between
the divine and human wills is quite different from the relation between the
divine and human reason. Our reason is arguably a share in the divine reason,
which is why a measure of self-governance for the ancients and medievals is
compatible with being governed by God. In contrast, our wills obviously do
not share in the divine will. A will by its nature is individual. The focus on
will cannot help but be a focus on the individual.
In the century leading up to Kant, there was a second shift—from the
idea of the natural authority of reason to the idea of the natural authority
of the self. Kant brilliantly combined (a) the modern idea of the authority
of the self, (b) the ancient idea of the authority of reason, and (c) the later
medieval view that authority resides in a will. He argued that to be governed
by oneself and to be governed by reason are the same thing because the true
self is one’s own rational will.
But that does not yet tell us which is more basic. Is the point of the
Kantian view of autonomy that I should not submit to anything but my
rational will, or is it that I should not submit to anything but my rational
will? If it is the former, reason is still the primary authority, and there is no
explanation for why it should be my will that governs me rather than any
other rational will. If instead, autonomy means that I should not submit
to anything but my own rational will, my rationality is not sufficient to
explain why other wills do not have authority equal to or greater than mine.
Many modern philosophers will say that I do not need a justification for the
authority of my own will, but since philosophers before the modern period
did not see it that way, we need a defense for the shift from the idea that the
authority that needs no justification is reason to the idea that the authority
that needs no justification is the authority of the self over itself.
Christine Korsgaard offers such a defense. She argues that Kant’s answer
to our question is that the self’s authority over itself does not derive from
the authority of a rational will; rather, reason is authoritative because it is
the rules that the self must set to govern itself (Korsgaard 2009: xi). The
self just is a being with an executive function. It must take control of itself
because of the operation of self-consciousness. The rules of reason are the
rules of a self-conscious being. Korsgaard interprets the authority of reason
as derivative from the authority of the self-conscious self, the reverse of the
traditional view.
As I interpret the historical development of the idea of autonomy, then,
there was a progression from the ancient idea that authority over me resides
in reason, to the idea that authority resides in the rational will, to the idea
that authority resides in my rational will. The first two were rooted outside
the individual person, generally in the divine reason or will, with human
authority based on the human being’s submission to or imitation of the
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divine ground of authority. The third constituted a radical shift, although
Kant did not give up the idea that authority is grounded in universal reason.
What was radical was the idea that universal reason is attached to my own
will. I surmise that it was that feature that permitted later degeneration into
the view that my will, unconstrained by anything, including reason, is the
only authority over me.4
2.2. Intellectual autonomy and heteronomy
Let us now begin to look at what all this has to do with autonomy in
the intellectual domain. First, I think it is fair to say that even if the ultimate bearer of practical or moral authority is someone’s will, nobody but
Hobbes would say that the ultimate bearer of intellectual authority is a will.5
Nevertheless, we would expect there to be a close connection between intellectual autonomy and autonomy of the will, and a corresponding connection
between intellectual authority and practical authority.
Notice first that autonomy of the will presupposes autonomy of the
intellect. It is unlikely that we can autonomously make a choice unless the
beliefs upon which the choice is based are autonomous. This point does not
depend upon any particular view of autonomy, but only on the assumption
that choices depend upon beliefs. If it is good that acts are autonomous, at
least some of our beliefs ought to be formed autonomously. The conditions
of the mind upon which choice depends must be autonomous.
Notice also that the ways in which a will can be heteronomous according
to Kant have a parallel in the formation of beliefs. A will is heteronomous
in one way when it is controlled by a will outside of it. Similarly, an intellect
can be too greatly influenced or even controlled by someone else’s will. It
is plausible to say such an intellect is heteronomous. Intellectual coercion
is generally thought to be impossible, as Locke observed (see note 5), but
commercial and political advertising are common ways of pressuring people
to form particular beliefs even though the beliefs are not literally coerced.
It is understandable that people sometimes complain that their autonomy is
violated, at least to some degree, by the use of such methods of influencing
belief. An amusing and more extreme view on coercion over belief is Robert
Nozick’s claim that rational persuasion is coercive, and philosophers are
guilty of coercing people’s minds. Nozick says:
The terminology of philosophical art is coercive: arguments are powerful and
best when they are knockdown, arguments force you to a conclusion, if you
believe the premises you have to or must believe the conclusion, some arguments
do not carry much punch, and so forth. A philosophical argument is an attempt
to get someone to believe something, whether he wants to or not . . . Why are
philosophers intent on forcing others to believe things? Is that a nice way to
behave toward someone? (Nozick 1981: 4–5)
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We may not all agree on whether anyone is entitled to influence the beliefs
of others by rational argument or any other method, but fortunately, we do
not have to settle that issue because the first kind of intellectual heteronomy
is relevant either way. Surely another person can unduly influence my beliefs,
and that can happen even when the other person is not claiming authority,
is not attempting to coerce my belief or to persuade me, and may even be
unaware of my existence. Of course, we will want to know what undue influence is, but it is plausible that it exists and that it is problematic for roughly
the same reason Kant gives for thinking that the first kind of heteronomy of
the will is problematic. If we are not fully rational when our wills are pushed
around, then we are not fully rational when our intellects are pushed around,
whatever “pushed around” amounts to. At least, there is a prima facie case
for the equivalence.
A will is heteronomous in the second way, according to Kant, when it
is determined by forces within the self other than reason—by inclination
or fancy. An intellect also can be determined by inclination or fancy, or
something other than reason, and there is a prima facie case for calling such
an intellect heteronomous. The value of intellectual autonomy that contrasts
with a heteronomous intellect in this sense is not very controversial. Nobody
denies that reason is good for the intellect, and that forming beliefs by
inclination or fancy is a bad idea. I think that we can expect, then, that
if autonomy is valuable, intellectual autonomy is also. Both of the ways in
which a will can be heteronomous according to Kant probably apply to the
intellect, and both ways are disvaluable.
So far we have nothing more than a couple of hints about the nature
of intellectual autonomy. In the next two sections I will return to the view
adopted from Korsgaard that reason derives from self-consciousness. Rather
than to give a Kantian argument for that position, I will give an epistemological argument that epistemic reasons derive from the powers of a self-reflective
being. This will lead to a view of intellectual autonomy that connects it with
autonomy in the practical domain.
3. The primacy of conscientious self-reflection
3.1. The exercise of self-reflection
What I mean by a self is the inner world of a person. When a self is
conscious, it is aware of the distinction between the subject and object of
consciousness, and in self-consciousness the subject is able to direct consciousness to itself. To be conscious of oneself includes consciousness of a
variety of mental states, including beliefs, desires, emotions, sensations, attitudes, judgments, and decisions, as well as imaginary versions of each. Some
of these states occur naturally. For instance, I think there is a natural desire
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for truth and a natural belief that the natural desire for truth can be satisfied,
so basic epistemic self-trust is natural. I think it is natural to have many other
beliefs, such as the belief that there are other persons with conscious states
similar to mine. Many emotions are no doubt natural as well. But most of
our particular beliefs, desires, and emotions are acquired.
Our mental states can sometimes conflict with one another. We experience conflict between our mental states as dissonance. It seems to me that
the experience of dissonance is basic. It cannot be explained or analysed in
terms of some other experience. I do not mean that conflict is defined by the
experience of dissonance since there can be conflict that is unconscious, but
we detect conflict through the experience of dissonance.
Many times when there is dissonance, the self automatically adjusts by
giving up one of the states that conflict. This often happens when there is
conflict between a belief and a perception. I believe that I turned off the
watering system, but then hear the sprinklers go on. I give up my belief
without any attention to the conflict. The conflict is short-lived and psychic
harmony is restored effortlessly and without conscious attention. I think that
the awareness of dissonance resolved without effort gives us our initial model
of what rationality is. I say that because I think that rationality is a property
we have when we do what we do naturally, only we do a better job of it. To
be rational is to do a better job of what we do anyway—what our faculties
do naturally.
Sometimes there is conflict that is not automatically resolved. If we are
aware of dissonance, we typically feel a need to resolve it by giving up one of
the components of the self that creates the dissonance, and we may not want
to do so. Some forms of dissonance do not need to be resolved; we can get
along well enough with the dissonance. This often happens with conflicting
desires, or with a desire that conflicts with a belief. I believe that I will go
on a trip tomorrow, but I do not want to go. I am aware of the dissonance
between the belief and the desire, but I do not feel an urgency to give up
either the belief or the desire the way I do when I am aware of conflicting
beliefs. Nonetheless, it is better if dissonance is resolved. Conflict between
desires or between a belief and a desire can also be resolved unconsciously,
and the experience of the resulting harmony gives us a model of a kind of
rationality that is desirable for the same reason we desire harmony in our
beliefs: We naturally desire and attempt to achieve a harmonious self.
When we are aware of a conflict within the self, we might find it hard to
give up either side to the conflict, but may make the judgment that a certain
one ought to be given up. This situation often occurs when a decision conflicts
with a set of beliefs. We may judge that we ought to change the decision, but
find it difficult. Perhaps we are able to do so after a struggle; we call that
continence. Perhaps we are not able to do so and we call that incontinence
or akrasia. Akrasia is often called moral weakness, but the weakness need
not have anything to do with morality. Indeed, one can be akratic when what
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one judges one ought to do is opposed to morality (Davidson 1970). A mild
form of akrasia exists as long as the conflict exists and we are aware of the
dissonance but do not resolve it. A stronger form of akrasia occurs when we
resolve the conflict in favor of the wrong side to the conflict—what we judge
we ought not to do.
I have proposed that we begin reflection with a model of what we ought
to do to resolve conflict, which is, very roughly, what we would do if we were
doing it automatically and without effort. What we do reflectively builds
upon a base in what we do pre-reflectively. Of course, part of the point
of reflection is to change some of what we do pre-reflectively, but reflection operates on processes that already exist in our pre-reflective state. We
judge ourselves reflectively with the pre-reflective experience of successful
resolutions of conflict.
My position, then, is that there is a connection between rationality and
our reflective judgment of what produces harmony in the self. I have added
the idea that there is a connection between rationality and what people do
automatically. I think we would have a lot of trouble distinguishing rational
from irrational behavior were it not for the experience of making an automatic adjustment when there is dissonance in the states of the self. Of course,
I am not suggesting that rationality should be defined by such behavior. But
what we do automatically gives us our initial standard of rationality, a standard for what it is to make the adjustment in the self correctly. The criterion
works only if there is a close connection between the way the self naturally
operates and what the self ought to do. That means that there is a connection
between the natural and the normative, in particular, a connection between
the self as it naturally operates and the way it should operate.
When parts of the self adjust automatically, no executive is needed. The
self exercises its executive function when we have to make up our mind.
Choice in action involves an executive function, but other changes in the
self do also. Sometimes resolution of dissonance within the self requires the
exercise of the executive function of the self. It does so when the resolution
of dissonance does not occur automatically. The executive self can also be
called an agent. The self is an agent in its role of taking charge of itself,
correcting itself, and thereby becoming a more harmonious self, and hence,
in some deeper way, more of a self. A self-conscious being has an executive
function in virtue of being a self. This is the sense in which the self has
natural authority over itself.
I have no objections to someone who says that the reflective ability
of the self to monitor and change in the way I have described shows the
centrality of the will in our psychology, but I find it misleading to use the
term “will” for the executive function I have described. I do not maintain
that the self-reflective regulation of the self involves changing states of the
self “at will,” and I think that our power to act is not a good model of the
reflective powers of the self, which are broader and generally weaker than
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the power to perform basic acts. My preference, then, is not to say that the
ultimate authority over a self is the will. Rather, the natural authority of
the self over the self is the power of the executive function of self-reflective
consciousness.
3.2. Beliefs and the reflective self
Let us look now at a deep kind of dissonance produced by reflection
upon our beliefs as a whole. Many philosophers who have rigorously reflected
upon their beliefs notice the phenomenon of epistemic circularity, or what
Keith Lehrer (1997) has called “the loop of reason.” The problem is that
there is no non-circular way to determine that the natural desire for truth is
satisfiable, or to put the claim in the preferred idiom, there is no non-circular
way to tell that our belief-forming faculties are reliable as a whole.
Richard Foley (2001) links the phenomenon of epistemic circularity with
the lack of answers to the radical skeptic and the failure of the project
of strong foundationalism. We can do everything epistemically that we are
supposed to do, including following the evidence scrupulously, but we have
no assurances that the results will give us the truth or even make it more
probable that we will get the truth. Foley concludes that we need self-trust
in our epistemic faculties taken as a whole, together with our pre-reflective
opinions. Self-trust is necessary, and further, he argues that it is rational in
that it is a state to which we are led by the process of rational self-criticism.
One is rationally entitled to self-trust, and therefore one is rationally entitled
to the degree of confidence one has in one’s opinions and faculties when
one has trust in the self since it is critical reflection that leads to self-trust.
(25, 47). Foley’s model is one in which it is rational to do what self-reflective
beings do. That seems to me to be right.
William Alston offers a more detailed argument for a related conclusion
about circularity in his final book, Beyond Justification (2005), which modifies an argument in Alston (1986). Alston argues that we cannot justify any
belief arising from a basic practice of belief-formation (perception, memory,
introspection, rational intuition, induction, and others) without justifying the
well-groundedness of the practice, but we cannot do that without using that
same practice. For instance, I cannot justify my belief that a dive-bombing
hawk just swooped by my window without a justification of the reliability of
my perceptual faculties, but I cannot justify my belief in the reliability of my
perceptual faculties without using perception. This is a stronger claim than
the one made by Foley. Alston argues that circularity arises in the attempt
to establish the reliability of individual basic sources of belief such as perception, memory, and deductive reasoning, whereas Foley claims only that
circularity arises in the attempt to establish the reliability of our epistemic
faculties and beliefs taken as a whole.6
252 Linda Zagzebski
It does not matter for my argument whether Alston’s stronger view on
the extent of circularity is correct. Either way, circularity is a problem that
reflective beings notice. But there is an interesting difference between Alston
and Foley that I think is important. Alston does not think that the problem
of epistemic circularity is necessarily tied to the threat of skepticism. He says
that the spectre of skepticism is a dramatic way to put the issue, “but it is
not necessary for a calm, fully mature consideration of the problem” (2005:
216).7 The problem as Alston sees it is that the fact that the justification
of our beliefs is ultimately circular prevents us from being “fully reflectively
justified” in our beliefs. We need not be especially worried about evil geniuses
and brains in vats to notice circularity, and we need not think that the
alternative to full reflective justification is skepticism.
I think Alston is right about that. A problem arises as soon as a person
reflects upon her desire for truth and carries reflection upon that desire
as far as she can. She is doing what every self-reflective being does, only
more thoroughly and scrupulously. She feels dissonance when she lacks full
reflective justification for her beliefs, and that is a problem even if she does
not fear skepticism or even pays any attention to skepticism.
Alston and Foley think of self-trust as the rational outcome of a sophisticated line of argument. It is an end state, not the state from which we
start. I differ from them on this point since I have suggested that there is
pre-reflective self-trust. Before we reflect upon the justification of our beliefs
or the reliability of our faculties, we already trust ourselves and our environment, including other people. The difference is that awareness of epistemic
circularity forces us to confront the pre-reflective trust we have in ourselves
at the reflective level.
Is it rational to have self-trust after reflection? That depends upon
whether reflection creates dissonance between our natural pre-reflective trust,
and beliefs that result from reflection on our total set of beliefs, including
the belief that full reflective justification is impossible. Foley and Alston say
that self-trust is the rational result of reflection upon beliefs. But even if
someone is not convinced by their arguments, surely the rational result of
self-reflection is not to give up pre-reflective trust. There is no dissonance
between self-trust and our total set of beliefs, including the belief that full
reflective justification is impossible. On the contrary, there is less dissonance
between self-trust and our total set of beliefs than there is between the belief
that full reflective justification is impossible and the rest of our beliefs.
But there is another way to resolve the latter dissonance: one could
become a skeptic. One could give up both natural self-trust and one’s previous
beliefs, but not give up the belief that full reflective justification is impossible.
To prevent dissonance with the natural desire for truth, the skeptic would
have to give that up also, if possible, or else live with permanent dissonance. I
have my doubts that there are such persons, but if such a radical skeptic exists,
she does not have the irrationality of dissonance, but she attains harmony
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by foregoing much of what we do naturally. I have suggested that rationality
is, roughly, doing a better job of what we naturally do. The skeptic I have
described is not going a better job of what we do naturally because she is not
doing what we do naturally. However, I am not going to critique skepticism.
My conclusion in this section is that when a person carries self-reflection as
far as she can, and does it honestly and rigorously, she will do the best job of
maintaining harmony in the self—one of the principal goals of the executive
self, by maintaining a great many of her pre-reflective beliefs, and bringing
her trust in herself to reflective consciousness. That is, the result of rigorous
self-reflection is to become consciously aware of her natural self-trust and
accepting of it.
3.3. The conscientious believer and the nature of reasons
The function of self-trust in our epistemic lives leads to a way of thinking
about reasons for belief that makes them derivative from what we do when we
bring our desire for the truth to reflective consciousness. When we want our
questions answered, what we typically do is to look for what we call reasons.
Something is a reason because, upon reflection, it can be put together with
other reasons in such a way that they seem to support a given conclusion, a
conclusion that we then take to be true. What we call justification (in one of
its senses) is the state we are in when we succeed in finding reasons of that
kind. The desire for truth in a self-reflective person leads to the search for
reasons in this way, and the arguments for epistemic circularity by Foley and
Alston make this assumption. We trust that there is a connection between
the possession of reasons for belief and getting the truth.
A self-reflective person who desires truth may not search for reasons for
every belief. The issue of whether there are beliefs that a self-reflective person
accepts without reasons is an important one, and I am not assuming that
there are no such beliefs. What is not disputable is that a self-reflective person
looks for reasons for many of her beliefs, and she considers it a good thing
to have reasons for any of her beliefs. I do not think there is any explanation
for why she does that or what would justify her in doing so except that
that is what self-reflective persons who desire truth do. To have reasons for
her beliefs produces psychic harmony, and to fail to have reasons produces
psychic dissonance.
This leads to the question whether we have reasons to think that our
reasons for belief lead to the truth. The same question can be posed in terms
of the related notion of evidence.8 Do we have evidence that evidence leads to
truth? In any sense of evidence that would eliminate the need for trust in the
relation between evidence and truth, the answer is no. For one thing, we do
not have evidence that evidence leads to truth. What we have is evidence that
evidence for p leads to more evidence for p, enough that at some point we
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declare p true. But in any case, why should we pay attention to the evidence
that evidence leads to truth unless we trust the connection between evidence
and truth? No matter how much evidence we have, its connection to truth
will always be something that cannot be established without circularity.
The answer to the question of why it is rational to trust evidence is the
same as the answer to the question of why it is rational to trust reasons.
Trusting the connection between evidence and truth is something rational
people who desire the truth do. Even the skeptic trusts this connection. In
fact, it is because the skeptic trusts this connection that the skeptic becomes
a skeptic. It is the failure to complete the search for evidence that leads her
to skepticism.
Circularity is relevant to the desire for truth because we make certain
assumptions about the nature of mind and the universe. We want truth—our
questions answered correctly, and we notice that the process of attempting
to answer those questions can never be completed. But this is a problem
because we assume (a) there is a connection between successfully getting the
truth and what we do when we attempt to answer our questions (what we
call finding reasons or evidence), and (b) what we attempt to do can never
be completed. The discovery of epistemic circularity discussed by Alston and
Foley is the discovery of (b), but what about (a)? We do not discover (a); we
trust it. The need for trust in (a) is independent of (b), and we can see that by
looking at what our situation would be like if, per impossibile, we were able
to complete the search for reasons in a non-circular way. We would still need
trust that there is any connection between reasons and truth. Whether or not
we have the reasons we seek, we need to trust that reasons are the sorts of
things that give us the answers to our questions, that connect us to truth.
So even if strong foundationalism had succeeded, we would need trust that
we identified the foundation correctly and that the foundationalist structure
reliably gives us truth. This is no less the case if the foundation is certain. We
would still need trust in the connection between the state of certainty and
truth.
We get the same conclusion no matter what notion of evidence or reasons
we use. Evidence can be understood as something internal to the mind—
generally, a phenomenal experience or a belief. In contrast, evidence is sometimes understood as public property, the sort of thing to which scientists or
lawyers can point in the common project of attempting to answer questions.
If reasons are public, they can be either objects, such as fingerprints, or facts
(true propositions).9 Alternatively, reasons could be some combination of
the public and private, such as facts known by the subject. There are many
variations, but in every case, trust is needed. If a reason for belief is internal to the mind, the need for trust in the connection between a reason and
something external to the mind is clear. If instead a reason is defined from
an external perspective, what in fact indicates truth, that means that what we
do when we are attempting to get truth may not be having a reason in the
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sense defined. That does not remove the need for trust, it just backs it up a
step to trust in the link between what we do when we are trying to get truth
and having a reason from an external perspective. The same point applies to
evidence. Whether or not we define evidence in a way that builds a reliable
connection to the truth into the concept, we need to trust the connection
between (a) what we do when we make a fully conscious effort to use our
faculties the best way we can to get truth and (b) success in reaching truth.
Using an externalist notion of reasons or evidence therefore does not remove
the need for trust in the connection between our faculties and getting the
truth.
The fundamental reason we trust evidence or reasons is that looking for
evidence is what we do when we are self-reflective, and we trust that. I call
the quality of using our faculties to the best of our ability in order to get the
truth epistemic conscientiousness. I think of this quality as the self-reflective
version of the natural desire for truth. It is a natural desire brought to selfreflective consciousness and accompanied by the attempt to satisfy it with all
of one’s powers. I have argued that we need trust that there is a connection
between the natural desire for truth and the satisfaction of that desire using
the faculties that any person has, reflective or pre-reflective, but once a
person becomes reflective, she thinks that her trustworthiness is greater if
she summons her powers in a fully conscious and careful way, and exercises
them to the best of her ability. What I am calling conscientiousness is the
state or disposition to do that.10 Conscientiousness is important because we
do not think that we are equally trustworthy at all times. We trust that there is
a connection between trying and succeeding, and the reflective person thinks
that there is a closer connection between trying with the full reflective use
of her powers, and succeeding. Conscientiousness comes in degrees. There
is a probably a degree of conscientiousness operating most of the time since
we have some awareness of ourselves and the exercise of our powers most
of the time. But higher degrees of conscientiousness require considerable
self-awareness and self-monitoring.
A conscientious person has evidence that she is more likely to get the
truth when she is conscientious, but she trusts evidence in virtue of her trust in
herself when she is conscientious, not conversely. Her trust in herself is more
basic than her trust in evidence, and that includes evidence of reliability. The
identification of evidence, the identification of the way to handle and evaluate
evidence, and the resolution of conflicting evidence all depend upon the more
basic property of epistemic conscientiousness. I think, then, that evidence is
what we take to be indicative of truth when we are conscientious, and we trust
that that is identical with what is indicative of truth. Norms of reasoning
such as the rules of probability are tools for helping us figure out what is
most conscientious to believe.11 Likewise, I think that intellectual virtues
are qualities that arise out of epistemic conscientiousness. These qualities
are those that epistemically conscientious persons endorse and attempt to
256 Linda Zagzebski
acquire. But we would not treat them as virtues unless we thought that
our cognitive and sensory faculties are generally trustworthy because these
qualities are useless in a being whose faculties are not naturally conducive to
reaching their end.12
It follows from what I have argued that there are two levels of selftrust, both of which are more basic than any reasons or evidence we can
identify. First, there is the general trust in our faculties that I argued is the
most rational response to epistemic circularity. Second, there is the particular trust we have in our faculties when we are conscientious—exercising our
truth-seeking faculties in the best way we can. Our identification of reasons
for belief, norms of reasoning, and the qualities we think are intellectually
virtuous are all derivative from what we do when we are epistemically conscientious. My judgment that the evidence supports some proposition p is not
trustworthy without trust in my faculties, in particular, the conscientious use
of my faculties. That means that trust in my faculties is always more basic
than any judgment about the evidence and what it supports. Trust in myself
is more basic than trust in my judgment of the reliability of myself or anyone
else.
This line of reasoning has the consequence that ultimately our only
test that a belief is true is that it survives conscientious reflection. That
includes reflection on future experiences, and future judgments about the
past and present. At any one time, of course, we cannot know what our
future experiences will be. Norms of reasoning are the norms that have been
adopted by the conscientious judgment that following them makes it likely
that beliefs will survive without dissonance into the future—that they will
survive with changes in experience and changes in other beliefs.
In section 3.1, I proposed that the experience of dissonance unconsciously resolved gives us our first model of what rationality is. Given what
I have argued in sections 3.2 and 3.3, the experience of the conscientious
self resolving dissonance gives us our second model of what rationality is.
It is rational to trust when it is needed to resolve dissonance, and epistemic self-trust is rational in this sense. The foundation of rationality is the
conscientious self reflecting upon itself in order to resolve dissonance.
4. Intellectual autonomy
In section 2, I suggested that the rise of the idea of autonomy can be
understood in terms of a double shift in the answer to the question, “What
has ultimate authority over me?” Before the modern era there were two
answers to that question that were not perceived as conflicting, and for the
most part, were blended into one answer. The ultimate authority is God,
and the ultimate authority is reason, but reason is the divine in the human.
I proposed that the two-part shift in the answer to the question, “What has
Intellectual Autonomy 257
ultimate authority over me?” included a shift from the (divine) reason to the
(divine) will, and a second shift from reason to the self. Kant did not reject
the authority of reason, but he accepted both the shifts from reason to will
and from reason to the self, yielding the view that the ultimate authority over
me is my own rational will. The defense of this view, according to Korsgaard,
is that the norms of reason are the rules of self-governance. It is important
that the rules of self-governance are not the rules that they are because they
are the norms of reason. Rather, the norms of reason are what they are
because they are the rules of self-governance. The self governs itself because
of the self-reflective structure of the self. The self is more basic than reason,
and the will directs the self. What makes the will crucial for Kant is that the
norms of morality come in the form of commands.
In my view of autonomy, there are some features of this picture that
need to be clarified, and possibly modified. First, the ability of the self to
command itself is just a special case of the more general capacity of a self to
reflect upon itself and to make adjustments, some of which are unconscious,
some of which are conscious but effortless, some of which require effort, and
some of which are intended, but the self is powerless to make the change. I
see all of these processes as occurring because of the natural desire of a self
to be harmonious in its states—to resolve dissonance, and to adjust in a way
that is intended to survive future self-reflection without dissonance. It is not
obvious that it is the will that performs all these functions. Rather, the self
performs these functions upon itself. What gives the self authority to do so
is just that that is the nature of the self. It cannot do otherwise than to be a
self.
I think that also means that the term “self-governance” is misleading
since that term can be interpreted as suggesting that there is an issue that
can be answered in more than one way: Does the self govern itself or is
it governed by something outside the self? In the sense in which I think
the self is self-governing, there is no alternative, so the question of who
governs the self does not arise. In the sense in which I have argued that
the self is self-governing, governance by anything other than the self is an
impossibility.
We can now see how the problem of epistemic circularity reveals the
relationship between the authority of reason over our beliefs and the authority of the self to direct itself. As I argued in section 3, trust in ourselves
when we are conscientiously directing the self is more basic than anything we
call evidence or reasons to believe some proposition. From my first person
perspective, I will always need to trust the connection between (a) what I
do when I make a fully conscious effort to use my faculties the best way we
can to get truth, and (b) success in reaching truth. I am rationally forced
to accept that trust in my powers is prior to trust in reasons. That does not
mean that I am more authoritative than reason. It just means that my ability
to use reason is always derivative from the self-directing function of my self.
258 Linda Zagzebski
The authority of the self also does not mean that I could decide otherwise
than to adopt the norms of theoretical and practical reason. The norms of
reason are the norms I must use in order to reflectively adjust the self. It is
not an accident that the rules I must use in self-direction are the same as the
ones every other self must use. Reason is the set of rules of any self-reflective
being.
Finally, the sense in which the self has authority over itself is compatible
with governance by God or by another external authority for the same reason
it is compatible with being governed by reason. The self is a constantly
changing entity that develops under its own direction, but there is nothing in
that function that rules out accepting beliefs or directives from authority. In
fact, I have argued elsewhere (Zagzebski 2012) that the acceptance of both
epistemic and practical authority is a rational requirement of a consistently
self-directing self.
The modern shift from the authority of reason to the authority of the
self therefore does not diminish the authority of reason, but it does show
us that the effective use of reason by one self can differ from its use by
another self because of differences in the states of the selves upon which
the norms of reason are applied. I think also that the argument of section
3 shows us the fundamental significance of the self’s management of itself,
even in the intellectual domain. I think that autonomy is this capacity for
self-management and its exercise.
Autonomy is sometimes described as a right that can be violated, and
sometimes as an ideal to which we should aspire. Both ways of speaking
of autonomy make sense on the picture I have described. I have proposed
that the basic norm of self-direction is conscientious self-reflection. Conscientiousness comes in degrees, and I suggested that it takes a high degree of
self-reflection to use our faculties to the fullest extent of our powers in our
attempt to reach the ends of those powers. Self-direction is also a right that
a self has in being a self, and there are ways that that right can be violated,
either from the inside or from the outside. As I mentioned in section 2.2,
Kant argued that a will is heteronomous in one way when it is controlled
by a will outside of it. In my picture, a self is heteronomous in this way
when there is outside interference in the capacity or exercise of self-direction.
Someone is intellectually heteronomous in this way when there is outside
interference in the self’s direction of its pursuit of truth or other intellectual
goods. According to Kant, a will is heteronomous in another way when it
is unduly influenced by inclination, or what he called “empirical” causes.
In my picture, a self is heteronomous in this way when it is not properly
self-reflective, thereby permitting states of the self to change or continue
without conscientious self-reflection. The self is intellectually heteronomous
in this way when it permits states of belief to change or continue without
conscientious self-reflection. Conscientious self-reflection can be hampered
by both internal and external influences.
Intellectual Autonomy 259
In my view, autonomy is the right or ideal of managing all parts of
the self, not just decisions to act, in order to achieve a harmonious self.
Intellectual autonomy is the right or ideal of self-direction in the acquisition
and maintenance of beliefs. The basic ends of acts and beliefs are given by
natural desires. I have mentioned the natural desire for truth in particular,
but I do not wish to deny that there are other intellectual goods, such as
knowledge and understanding. Desire for these goods is probably acquired
by the experience of self-reflection.
The foundation of rationality is the conscientious self attempting to
resolve dissonance and produce harmony in the self. I argued in section 3
that the self cannot resolve the dissonance that results from conscientious
reflection on one’s total set of beliefs without epistemic self-trust. Since
intellectual autonomy is the exercise of self-management in one’s beliefs,
then epistemic self-trust is a necessary condition for intellectual autonomy.
I think that this point can be generalized. Autonomy requires trust in the
connection between the conscientious use of all of one’s powers—perceptual,
epistemic, affective, conative—and success in reaching the basic ends of those
powers. Self-trust is a necessary and critical condition for autonomy, and
for the same reason it is a necessary and critical condition for being a
self.13
Notes
1. The identification of intellectual autonomy and epistemic self-reliance has also
been made by some who are opposed to epistemic self-reliance. For instance,
Benjamim McMyler (2011, ch. 1) says he is opposed to intellectual autonomy,
but he makes it clear that that is because he equates it with epistemic self-reliance.
2. Anthony Flood (2003) argues that there are numerous ancient sources of the
idea of self-governance stretching back to Socrates, and that Aquinas had a
robust notion of self-governance in his moral philosophy.
3. See Schneewind (1998 ch. 2, sec. iii) for an historical overview of voluntarism,or
the view that moral authority is grounded in a will. For a history of Divine
Command theory, see Idziak (1980).
4. For an interesting discussion of the culmination of the idea of authority in the
individual will, see Taylor (1976: 288–94).
5. In Behemoth, Dialogue 1, Hobbes argues that the Sovereign is the intellectual
authority in the State, holding authority over the Church in its teachings. He
argues that the universities need to be disciplined so that they teach what the
sovereign wants since the universities are the core of rebellion, as happened in
the English civil war. This part of Behemoth includes a long diatribe against
the Catholic Church and the Presbyterian Church for their “pretensions” to
authority. In contrast to Hobbes, Locke denies that authority over religious belief
is possible. He says: “ . . . the care of souls cannot belong to the civil magistrate,
because his power consists only in outward force: but true and saving religion
consists in the inward persuasion of the mind, without which nothing can be
260 Linda Zagzebski
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
acceptable to God. And such is the nature of the understanding, that it cannot
be compelled to the belief of any thing by outward force. Confiscation of estate,
imprisonment, torments, nothing of that nature can have any such efficacy as
to make men change the inward judgment that they have framed of things.”
(Locke 2009: para 16). Rousseau (1968) seems to have an intermediate position.
He agrees with Hobbes that the sovereign should fix the articles of faith, but he
says it cannot compel a citizen to believe them, although it can banish whoever
does not believe them as an anti-social being. (The Social Contract Book IV,
chap 8). I thank Zev Trachtenberg for conversation on these passages.
Alston’s position on the circularity of justifying basic sources of belief has an
interesting twist. He argues that circularity does not prevent us from using an
inductive argument to establish the conclusion that a doxastic practice such as
sense perception is adequately grounded (1986: 202–3). An inductive argument
of this sort is not logically circular, given that the conclusion does not appear
in the premises, but it is epistemically circular in that one’s confidence in each
premise depends in practice upon the assumption of the reliability of sense
perception (SR). Nonetheless, epistemic circularity does not prevent us from
being justified in believing each of the premises in the argument, nor does it
prevent us from being justified in believing that SR follows from the premises.
And so epistemic circularity does not prevent us from being justified in believing
the conclusion, SR.
He says, however, that he will pursue the discussion in the following pages in
terms of the “more dramatically attractive” skeptical challenge. His response
to epistemic circularity two pages later is therefore framed as a reply to the
Pyrrhonian skeptic.
The notions of reasons and evidence are closely connected, but there are some
differences. One difference is that we usually speak of reasons for a given belief,
whereas evidence can be gathered when any belief for which it is evidence is
not yet in play. So we would not normally speak of having reasons without
indicating what the reasons support, whereas we might say we have evidence
when we have no idea what the evidence indicates. Some philosophers make
evidence a narrower category than reasons, limiting evidence to reasons of a
certain kind—e.g., propositional beliefs. For instance, Plantinga (1983) does this
in his well-known attack on evidentialism. In this terminology, an experience can
give a person a reason to believe a proposition, but it is not evidence. Another
difference is that evidence is sometimes thought to be objects that point to truth,
such as fingerprints. A fingerprint could be evidence, but it is not a reason. I
mention evidence in this sense below.
See Kelly (2006) for an excellent summary of the various senses in which people
speak of evidence.
Note that as I define conscientiousness, it does not have any relation to duty.
For this reason, trusting my faculties as a whole cannot mean trusting that,
taken as a whole, using my faculties makes it more probable than not that I
get the truth. That would make it too easy to convince myself that most of my
beliefs are true. Believing a faculty is trustworthy does not include making a
judgment of probability. My position is that judgments of probability depend
upon a prior belief in the trustworthiness of my faculties.
Intellectual Autonomy 261
12. In Zagzebski (2012: 82) I argue that qualities like intellectual attentiveness,
carefulness, thoroughness and openness to new evidence are forms of epistemic
conscientiousness. But it does not do us any good to be careful, thorough, etc.
unless our faculties put us generally on the right track. So we assume the general
trustworthiness of our faculties when we treat these qualities as virtues.
13. Parts of this paper are taken from Zagzebski (2012, chapters 1, 2, and 11).
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