Foundationalists have assumed a heavy burden. They seek to reveal the nature of sense experience. The focus of current debate amongst their ranks explores the viability of there existing some given in sense experience. There are those such as M. Schlick who seek some connection to the raw nature of that which the senses interpret. Others, notably N. Goodman, feel that seeking only some vague given is useless; only through interpreted sense experience can a coherent, derivable truth be found.
In order to decide which of the sensual theories contains the most truth, a understanding of their views must be gained. Schlick claims that, by streamlining one’s phenomenal language, one forges a link to the given in an experience. In making this claim, he implies that a solid, basic kernel exists prior to its interpretation and befuddlement by our sensory processors and our physical language. He calls for such streamlining to get past this interpretation and touch said kernel. Unfortunately, such streamlining also requires that the demonstratives generated be nontransferable. Our generalized and object-oriented linguistics fail us. To communicate my “red, here, now” experience/truth to you risks error and confusion of my new-found truth. It is even conceivable, if one carries the logic far enough, that I risk error in mentally noting the experience for myself, for my own use.
Fortunately, however, for the more practical and progressive, there is Goodman’s Minimal Foundationalism. He, like most other rational people, finds unutterable, individual truths quite useless in the practical world of science. He realizes that to know anything useful about the world, one must give up the dream of finding the essence directly. Therefore, Goodman proposes adopting a system of credible, although somewhat uncertain phenomenal reports. From these basic, yet not bare-bones, reports, a larger picture can be derived. If this picture is coherent, it can be accepted as truth. Goodman realizes the enormity of such an approach, but also rests assured of finding a useful truth.
In conclusion, Schlick’s observation reports, though they may give him some link to the basic truth behind the light and sound show dubbed “life,” he can bring no other in on his truth. Theoretically, others could link with the essence themselves; but then no one would get far towards utility in their lifetime. If any one person could get from “black, here, now” to basic arithmetic in the seven decades granted them, they would be quite successful. Goodman, on the other hand, does not offer immediate and virtually useless knowledge but long term traversal through the phenomina of the world. It may take more time than simply stripping away the kinks in our mental processes (along with everything else); but, because it is transferable, many could strive together to reach their foundation. Once there, they will have a truth with use because it has come from careful interpretation instead of being isolated from such analysis.
It is every philosopher’s dream to one day divine the meaning of the universe, to reveal the grand scheme of things for all to see. David Hume endeavors towards a goal no less difficult in trying to unlock the connection between simple cause and effect relations. In his novel An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, he presents two views of causation. The first is focussed around the constant conjunction of an alleged cause and the resultant effect. The second is a counter-factual account of causation which Hume sees as equivalent to his theory of constant conjunction. But can these two views, once understood, be regarded as identical?
With constant conjunction, Hume explains that an event can be considered the cause of another event if and only if all events like the former are constantly conjoined with the latter type of event and if the latter succeeds the former temporally. More simply put, because the flicking of a light switch has been, in a viewer’s experience, constantly followed by (conjoined with) the lights coming on, when the light do come on right after a light switch is thrown, the viewer can assume the cause to be the throwing of the switch. Hume accepts that one cannot know the true cause, the most basic of causes, but he does assert that the cause, in a practical sense, can be probabilistically inferred. If the conjunction of two events is consistent enough, one can go so far as to even be certain (with little doubt) of the relation between them continuing.
Hume then presents a counter-factual account of causation as a simple rewording of his constant conjunction supposition. This account states that one event is the cause of another if and only if had the former not occurred, the latter would not have. This, to assess it in the former example, says that the switch is the cause of the lights going on for, had the switch not been thrown, the lights would not have gone on.
Though both ideas make logical sense and seem, individually, to be good ways of deriving the cause of some event, Hume goes too far in saying that the two concepts are the same. His constant conjunction account of causation requires that the observer of the relation has had the proper experiences, the proper conjunctions, to arrive at an accurate conclusion of causation. “Observer” is used here in a loose sense; it is any unit external to the events, be it a person or a society or a school of thought. His counter-factual account implies more of a necessary connection between the two, where a constant conjunction is irrelevant. If a totally unique event were to result from a mundane cause, there would be no established conjunction between the two, for that relies on past occurrences. Yet, in the antecedent of the above statement, the cause is the mundane event, by definition. It is in the reliance upon previous regularity that Hume’s constant conjunction theory finds is foundation, whereas his counter-factual idea finds causation in each single, distinct, and solely observed relation.
An example of how constant conjunction is useless while counter-factual can be applied is discerned if one first imagines a man who is thoroughly versed in the knowledge of fire and of trees and yet has absolutely no experience with or knowledge of lightning. Supposing that, one day, he sees a bolt of erratic white light descend from the sky and strike a tree, cleaving it and setting it afire. Because he fully understands the nature of trees and fire, and because he has never seen such resultant events occur spontaneously, this man is left with only the lightning as the cause of the destruction. He sees the lightning as being the most likely cause, not from past experiences with lightning, but due to the fact that had it not occurred, the tree would most likely have not ended up as charred splinters, for trees generally just do not do such things. Therefore, it is evident that constant conjunction can be useless in at least one case of causation, and counter-factual, alone, is directly required to draw some causal conclusion. Because of this difference in example, as well as the aforementioned logical difference derived from the connotations of Hume’s two causal theories, it is obvious that the two theories are not equivalent. They both offer good insight into the nature of cause and effect relations and, if used cautiously, could be perhaps the best ways to draw a conclusion from restricted evidence. They should not, however, be confused as identical.
The Shakespearean tragedy Macbeth is filled with references to blood and gore. Three of the many functions which this blood imagery serves are to set the tone in the various scenes, to pace the wave of action throughout the play, and to characterize the nature of the death and killing in the play.
Frequently, blood sets the mood or tone in the play. When Duncan’s body is found, “his silver skin laced with his golden blood” sets a tone of horror for the rest of the scene. (II,ii,102) Although this particular imagery also sets a tone of reverence for the assassinated ruler, its main purpose is to fill one with disgust for the vile deed. This objective holds true throughout the play. When the witches recite the gory ingredients of their stew, the putridness of it is horrifying and disgusting. The witches’ bloody apparitions top off this feeling for the scene in which they appear. Blood, therefore, often sets the tone in the various scenes; and the tone most often established is one of horror and disgust.
A pattern established in Macbeth is that after each murder there is an abundance of blood imagery. The play, which had before a murder been moderately paced and subdued, is swept away in a flood of blood and gore after a murder occurs. For example, before Duncan’s murder there was very little mention of blood (except for the imagery in Act I, Scene II, which serves to foreshadow the action and killing to come); but afterwards, blood imagery literally flows wild. Donalbain is told “the fountain of [his] blood is stopped”; Lennox reports of Duncan’s guards being “badged with blood”; all “question this bloody piece of work”; and Donalbain warns his brother Malcolm, “the near in blood,/ The nearer bloody.” (II,iii,88,91,118,130) All of these images occur in but one scene. After Banquo’s murder there is a cluster of references to his blood and to his mangled body. Macbeth and the murderer speak of Banquo’s blood being better outside of the murderer’s body than inside of Banquo’s. Also, the murderer tells Macbeth of Banquo’s body lying in a ditch “with twenty trenched gashes on his head.” (III,iv,27) Then Banquo’s ghost appears, shaking its “gory locks” at Macbeth. (III,iii,51) Last, the play peaks with Lady Macbeth’s imagined blood and with the battlefield’s literal blood. These blood images form a sort of crescendo which conglomerates all of the murders. Thus, because the blood imagery is so prevalent during and directly after each murder, and because it then tapers off before the next murder, it paces the wave of action in the play.
Third, blood imagery characterizes the nature of the death and killing that occurs within the play. Macbeth is called “brave Macbeth” when he is unseaming the traitorous Macdonwald “from the nave to the chaps”; yet he is described by Macduff as “an untitled tyrant bloody sceptered” after killing Duncan, the rightful monarch. (I,ii,22;IV,iii,104) Also, Banquo’s murder is negatively characterized when Macbeth remarks to the murderer about Banquo’s blood: “‘Tis better thee without than he within.” (III,iv,14) Macbeth is no longer brave and honorable when saying this to the murderer; he has become the deceitful traitor that Macdonwald was. The killings are good when it is the enemy being dispatched; but when it is Macbeth’s liege, friends, and relatives being murdered, the killings are wrong, evil, and treacherous.
Blood imagery, by setting the tone, pacing the wave of action, and characterizing the nature of the death and killing, works to unify the action within the play. The blood begins to flow and a wave of action builds as murder occurs. Then, the images of blood and reeking gore set a tone of horror over the horrible killing of a friend and relation. This unification is constant throughout Macbeth. Blood images build up and become more frequent as Duncan is murdered, and the images instigate feelings of horror and disgust about this deceitful assassination. The same pattern holds true for both Banquo’s killing and the murder of Macduff’s family. When the blood flows quickly, so does the action.