Stephen	R.	Grimm,	Fordham	University Forthcoming:	The	Routledge	Companion	to	Virtue	Epistemology,	Ed.	Heather Battaly Draft:	8-1-17 UNDERSTANDING	AS	AN INTELLECTUAL	VIRTUE Since	the	publication	of	Linda	Zagzebski's	groundbreaking	Virtues	of	the	Mind	in 1996,	virtue	epistemologists	have	been	notable	for	focusing	not	just	on	the epistemic	good	of	knowledge,	but	also	on	the	so-called	"higher"	epistemic	goods of	understanding	and	wisdom.1 The	shared	idea	seems	to	be	that	if	we	think	of an	intellectual	virtue	in	the	way	Zagzebski	suggested-as	an	"excellence	of	the mind"-then	there	is	something	one-sided	about	focusing	only	on	excellences such	as	knowledge. Instead,	our	epistemology	should	be	broad	enough	to encompass	the	full	range	of	intellectual	excellences	we	care	about, understanding	and	wisdom	included. In	this	chapter	I	will	focus	on	one	of	these	higher	goods	in	particular,	the	good	of understanding,	and	I	will	consider	the	various	ways	in	which	it	can	be	thought	of as	an	excellence	of	the	mind. More	exactly,	I	will	try	to	clarify	both	the	nature	of understanding	considered	as	an	epistemic	goal	or	accomplishment	(the intellectual	excellence	sought),	as	well	as	explore	the	distinctive	powers	of	the mind	or	character	traits	that	are	needed	to	realize	this	accomplishment.2 In	addition,	I	will	take	up	the	question	of	whether	there	is	something	importantly different,	from	an	epistemic	point	of	view,	about	the	sort	of	understanding	we 1	For	work	from	virtue	epistemologists	on	understanding	or	wisdom,	see	for	example	Zagzebski (1996;	2001;	forthcoming),	Sosa	(2001;	forthcoming),	Riggs	(2003),	Roberts	and	Wood	(2007), Pritchard	(2010),	Greco	(2014;	2016),	Baehr	(2014;	forthcoming),	Grimm	(2015),	and	Battaly (2015:	ch.	2). Note	that	by	"knowledge"	here	I	mean	"propositional	knowledge";	later	I	will consider	more	expansive	understandings	of	the	term. 2	The	notion	of	an	"excellence	of	the	mind"	is	therefore	act/object	or	process/product	ambiguous in	the	same	way	that	notions	such	as	"belief''	and	"explanation"	are. Thus	on	the	one	hand,	an "excellence	of	the	mind"	might	refer	to	the	epistemic	product	or	accomplishment	sought:	for instance,	to	"excellences	of	the	mind"	such	as	knowledge	or	wisdom	or	understanding. This seems	to	have	been	how	Aristotle	conceived	of	intellectual	virtues. Thus	in	enumerating	the intellectual	virtues	in	Book	VI	of	the	Nicomahean	Ethics,	he	listed	accomplishments	such	as sophia	(theoretical	wisdom),	episteme	(understanding),	nous	(rational	insight),	and	phronesis (practical	wisdom).	On	the	other	hand,	it	might	refer	to	the	properties,	faculties,	or	traits	of	the person	that	help	us	to	achieve	these	epistemic	ends. This	is	mainly	the	way	in	which contemporary	epistemologists	have	thought	of	the	notion	of	an	intellectual	virtue,	with differences	arising	as	to	how	to	think	about	those	traits-whether	in	terms	of	"character-level" intellectual	traits	such	as	open-mindedness	or	intellectual	courage,	or	in	terms	of	"faculty-level" traits	such	as	good	eyesight	or	excellent	memory. For	excellent	overviews	see	Baehr	(2011:	ch. 1)	and	Battaly	(2015). 2 have	of	people	(as	when	we	understand	why	our	friend	is	upset),	as	opposed	to the	sort	of	understanding	we	have	of	the	natural	world	(as	when	we	understand why	the	tides	are	high	rather	than	low). For	instance,	does	understanding	other people	require	us	to	bring	other	powers	of	the	mind	to	bear,	or	to	exercise	more "character-level"	virtues	than	we	find	in	our	understanding	of	the	natural	world? For	the	most	part	my	goal	in	this	chapter	will	simply	be	to	clarify	the	terrain,	and to	elucidate	the	various	ways	in	which	understanding	can	be	seen	as	an excellence	of	the	mind	or	intellectual	virtue. But	I	will	also	have	occasion	to enter	into	some	ongoing	debates,	and	to	try	to	introduce	some	new	questions into	the	literature. In	terms	of	ongoing	debates,	I	will	side	with	Jason	Baehr	in his	recent	dispute	with	Ernest	Sosa,	by	defending	Baehr's	claim	that	"characterlevel	virtues"-things	like	open-mindedness	or	intellectual	courage,	as	opposed to	"faculty-level	virtues,"	such	as	good	eyesight	or	good	memory-can	be constitutively	involved	in	acquiring	certain	epistemic	goods,	and	in	particular	the good	of	understanding. I	will	also	say	more	on	behalf	of	a	controversial	claim	I have	defended	elsewhere-that	understanding	deserves	to	be	thought	of	as	a kind	or	species	of	knowledge. In	terms	of	introducing	new	questions,	I	will	take	up	the	neglected	issue	of	what it	might	mean	to	be	an	"understanding	person"-by	which	I	mean	not	a	person who	understands	a	number	of	things	about	the	natural	world,	but	a	person	who steers	clear	of	things	like	judgmentalism	in	her	evaluation	of	other	people,	and thus	is	better	able	to	take	up	different	perspectives	and	view	them	with	a sympathetic	eye. Being	an	understanding	person	in	this	sense	seems	to	be	a character-level	virtue	that	interestingly	combines	moral	and	epistemic	elements; it	also	seems	to	be	a	virtue	particularly	needed	in	our	age	of	deep	political division,	where	it	is	commonly	said	that	failures	of	understanding	are	partly	to blame	for	this	division	("I	can't	understand	why	anyone	would	even	think	about voting	for	Trump/Brexit,	etc.),"	or	"I	can't	understand	how	anyone	could	support the	idea	that	Black	Lives	Matter. Don't	all	lives	matter?"). More	mutual	understanding	seems	needed	in	all	these	areas,	and	perhaps	a small	step	in	this	direction	can	be	taken	by	clarifying	what	it	might	mean	to	be	an understanding	person	in	the	first	place. That	is	the	main	issue	I	will	address	in the	concluding	sections	of	this	chapter. 1.	Understanding	the	Natural	World First,	what	does	it	take	to	understand	the	natural	world? A	common	thought	is that	in	order	to	understand	the	world-or,	more	likely,	some	portion	of	it-we need	to	see	how	its	various	elements	"hang	together." On	this	view	the	objects of	understanding	appear	to	be	systems	or	networks	of	some	kind,	and understand	involves	grasping	how	these	things	"work"-that	is,	how	the 3 different	elements	of	the	system	or	network	depend	upon	and	relate	to	one another.3 This	contrasts	with	the	objects	of	knowledge,	which	might	be	more	isolated	or atomistic. Thus	you	might	know	that	Trenton	is	the	capital	of	New	Jersey,	or that	you	had	eggs	on	toast	for	breakfast	this	morning,	but	it	would	sound	odd	to say	you	understand	these	things.4 It	is	also	not	obvious	that	if	you	bundled several	items	of	knowledge	together-at	least,	items	of	propositional knowledge-that	this	would	magically	yield	understanding. Thus	you	might know	a	lot	about	the	sport	of	cricket,	or	about	helicopters,	without	really understanding	cricket	or	helicopters. Understanding	thus	seems	to	require	not just	holding	several	related	things	before	the	mind,	but	in	some	way	"seeing"	or "grasping"	or	appreciating	this	relatedness. Consider	an	example. Suppose	a	child-say,	an	eight	year	old-for	the	first	time sees	someone	fill	a	balloon	with	helium	and	release	it,	so	that	the	balloon	rises into	the	air. The	child	will,	I	take	it,	be	suitably	amazed. What	is	going	on!? Why didn't	the	balloon	just	drop	straight	to	the	ground	when	the	man	let	it	go? The child's	desire	to	understand	will	naturally	be	piqued. Suppose	the	child	then	tries	to	figure	out	why	the	balloon	rose. She	might wonder,	for	instance,	whether	it	was	the	color	of	the	balloon	that	made	a difference	to	the	rising,	or	the	time	of	day	when	it	was	released,	or	where	it	was released,	or	who	released	it. Suppose	however	that	through	further	observation she	comes	to	believe	that	it	was	none	of	these	things. Instead,	she	concludes that	it	was	the	presence	of	this	mysterious	gas-the	"helium"-that	made	the difference. She	will	then,	I	take	it,	have	some	degree	of	understanding	of	why	the	balloon rose,	and	this	is	because	she	will	have	grasped	a	real	relation	of	dependence	that obtained	in	the	world,	and	distinguished	it	from	other	possible	but	spurious relations. Gaining	insight	into	this	network	of	real	and	merely	possible relationships	will	also	allow	her	to	answer	a	range	of	what	James	Woodward (2003)	has	called	"What	if	things	had	been	different?"	questions. For	instance,	in identifying	the	real	relation	and	ruling	out	the	spurious	ones,	she	will	be	able	to infer	that	changing	things	like	the	color	of	the	balloon,	or	the	time	of	day	it	was 3	As	Julius	Moravcsik	puts	the	idea,	which	he	finds	in	Plato	and	other	ancient	thinkers,	"What	we understand	are	systems	of	various	sorts;	in	a	world	in	which	elements	do	not	constitute	the relevant	structures	there	can	be	no	understanding"	(Moravcsik	1979:	56). 4	Except	as	a	kind	of	"hedging"	use	of	"understands,"	where	you	want	to	indicate	a	less-thancomplete	endorsement	of	the	claim	in	question. See	Elgin	(2007)	and	Grimm	(2011). 4 released,	will	not	make	a	difference	to	the	rising	or	falling.5 On	the	other	hand, she	will	likely	believe	that	changing	the	contents	of	the	balloon	(from	helium	to something	else),	or	leaving	it	uninflated	altogether,	will	make	a	difference. As	we	might	put	it,	someone	who	grasps	these	things	will	therefore	have command	of	the	"modal	space"	around	the	focal	event. He	or	she	will appreciate	how	changing	the	value	of	some	variables	will	lead	to	changes	in	the focal	event,	while	changing	the	value	of	other	variables	will	not. Two	further	points	on	this	general	idea. First,	a	natural	way	to	think	about growth	in	understanding,	on	this	model,	is	that	it	will	involve	an	even	greater command	of	the	relevant	modal	space. Thus	identifying	the	helium	as	the	cause of	the	rising	is	presumably	only	the	beginning	of	the	story,	and	as	someone grows	in	understanding	he	or	she	will	be	able	to	identify	what	it	is	about	the helium	that	leads	balloons	filled	with	it	to	rise	rather	than	fall. For	instance,	once	someone	learns	that	helium-filled	balloons	rise	rather	than fall	because	helium	is	lighter	than	the	ambient	air	in	the	Earth's	atmosphere,	he will	be	able	to	infer	that	a	balloon	filled	with	any	other	gas	lighter	than	air	will also	rise. For	instance,	he	will	be	able	to	infer,	in	tandem	with	some	additional information	from	the	periodic	table,	that	if	the	balloon	were	filled	with	hydrogen rather	than	helium,	it	would	also	rise. Deeper	understanding	therefore	goes hand	in	hand	with	an	appreciation	of	the	deeper	variables	and	relationships	that underlie	the	world,	and	this	in	turn	is	tied	to	a	greater	cognitive	command	over the	relevant	modal	space.6 A	second	point	is	that	this	general	picture	of	understanding-where relationships	or	dependencies	are	the	things	that	are	grasped,	and	where grasping	these	relationships	or	dependencies	allows	us	to	appreciate	how	the system	in	question	"works"-plausibly	brings	distinctive	powers	of	the	mind	to bear,	and	thus	serves	to	mark	it	as	a	distinctive	excellence	of	the	mind. For	comparison,	take	a	simple	case	of	perceptual	knowledge-say,	one	where	I know	that	there	is	a	stapler	on	my	desk. Here	it	seems	fair	to	say	that	the	power of	the	mind	at	work	is	vision,	a	capacity	that	allows	me	to	take	in	how	things	are in	my	immediate	environment. Or	again,	consider	my	knowledge	that	I	had	eggs on	toast	for	breakfast	this	morning. Here	I	take	it	the	power	of	the	mind 5	Ceteris	paribus,	and	not	taking	into	account	eccentric	cases	where	changing	(say)	the	color triggers	other	consequences. I	will	stop	repeating	the	"ceteris	paribus"	clause	in	the	remainder of	this	section,	but	it	should	be	understood. 6	This	idea	of	"cognitive	command"	is	obviously	similar	to,	but	I	believe	distinct	from,	Alison Hills's	important	idea	of	"cognitive	control"	(see	Hills	2016). From	private	conversation,	I	don't believe	Hills	would	endorse	the	Woodward-based	account	I	am	defending	here. 5 involved	is	memory. And	so	on	with	other	examples	involving	distinctive	powers of	the	mind,	such	as	introspection	or	rational	inference. I	suggest	that	understanding	too	brings	a	distinctive	power	of	the	mind	to	bear because	it	is	concerned	not	simply	with	how	things	actually	are	or	were	(the provinces	of	perception	and	memory),	but	also	and	I	think	more	crucially	with how	they	might	be-in	other	words,	with	what	things	are	capable	of,	and	with how	they	will	react	in	the	face	of	certain	inputs	from	the	world,	or	changes	in	the environment. This	is	what	it	means,	I	suggest,	to	have	control	of	the	modal space	surrounding	the	thing	we	want	to	understand. Now,	in	light	of	this	brief	sketch,	epistemologists	might	naturally	wonder whether	appealing	to	this	allegedly	"new"	or	distinct	power	of	the	mind,	tied	in this	way	to	modal	control,	implies	that	we	have	something	quite	different	than knowledge	on	our	hands. Put	another	way,	it	might	be	wondered	whether	this account	implies	that	the	sort	of	understanding	the	eight-year	old	has	with respect	to	the	balloon	is	not	a	species	of	knowledge.7 I	do	not	think	there	is	any	such	implication	here,	however. Consider,	for instance,	that	we	are	already	comfortable	with	the	idea	that	items	of	a	priori knowledge-to	state	the	obvious-count	as	knowledge. And	yet	here	we	seem to	have	a	very	distinctive	power	of	the	mind	at	work:	the	power	to	take	in	not just	how	things	are,	or	how	they	might	be,	but	apparently	how	they	must	be. For	instance,	not	just	that	7+5	happens	to	equal	12,	but	that	it	must	equal	12,	or that	there	is	no	possible	world	in	which	it	fails	to	equal	12.8 We	are	willing	to count	mental	states	such	as	this	as	items	of	knowledge,	it	seems,	just	in	case they	get	things	right	in	a	reliable	way,	and	not	just	by	accident. Assuming,	as	seems	fair,	that	different	powers	of	the	mind	can	forge	this	reliable connection,	then	they	too	would	count	as	sources	of	knowledge. Knowledge thus	seems	more	like	a	house	with	many	rooms	than	like	a	narrow	silo-a	house that	allows	space	for	perceptual	knowledge,	a	priori	knowledge,	the	sort	of knowledge	involved	in	having	cognitive	control	of	modal	space	(i.e., understanding,	if	what	we	have	said	is	correct),	and	more	besides. 2. Intellectual	Character	and	Understanding With	this	brief	review	of	the	cognitive	abilities	or	powers	that	seem	especially important	for	understanding	the	natural	world	in	mind,	we	can	now	ask:	Are there	any	character-level	intellectual	virtues	that	seem	especially	important	for 7	For	more	on	the	issue	of	whether	understanding	is	a	species	of	knowledge,	see	e.g.	Kvanvig (2003),	Grimm	(2006),	Sliwa	(2015),	Hills	(2016),	and	Lawler	(2016). 8	For	more	on	the	comparison	with	understanding	and	a	priori	knowledge,	see	Grimm	(2014). 6 this	type	of	understanding? Perhaps	goods	such	as	open-mindedness,	or intellectual	inquisitiveness,	or	intellectual	creativity? It	might	be	thought	that	all	of	these	character	traits,	and	more	besides,	are especially	important	for	understanding,	because	understanding	seems	to	be notably	harder	to	acquire	than	knowledge-as	Duncan	Pritchard	(2010)	has argued,	it	seems	much	more	clearly	an	epistemic	achievement	than	knowledge. Thus	I	can	know,	more	or	less	automatically,	that	the	stapler	is	on	my	desk,	but the	sort	of	achievement	involved	in	identifying	helium	as	the	cause	of	the	rising of	the	balloon	involved	some	degree	of	figuring	things	out. Thus	the	eight-year old	above	needed	to	rule	out	some	hypotheses	and	entertain	others,	a	process that	undoubtedly	involved	factors	such	as	attentiveness,	creativity,	and	an openness	to	her	own	fallibility. Along	the	same	lines,	it	might	seem	that	understanding	is	a	process	that stretches	out	over	time	and	involves	inquiry,	hence	that	character-level	virtues are	important	for	keeping	this	inquiry	on	track	in	a	way	that	they	are	not necessarily	important	for	keeping	other,	more	instant	and	automatic,	epistemic accomplishments	on	track. As	Jason	Baehr	has	noted,	it	hardly	takes	traits	such as	open-mindedness	and	inquisitiveness	in	order	to	appreciate	that	the	lights	in the	room	have	suddenly	gone	out	(Baehr	2011:	44). We	can,	it	seems,	know	this sort	of	thing	automatically,	just	so	long	as	our	brute	perceptual	hardware	is functioning	properly. Strictly	speaking,	knowledge	therefore	does	not	require character-level	traits	for	its	realization,	but	understanding-given	the	obstacles we	often	face	in	acquiring	it-perhaps	does. And	yet,	it	is	important	to	note	that	there	are	simple	cases	of	understanding	that seem	to	be	just	as	automatic-just	as	much	a	function	of	brute	proper function-as	we	see	in	Baehr's	case	of	knowing	that	the	lights	just	went	out. Suppose	you	are	sitting	at	a	table	next	to	me	in	a	coffee	shop,	and	you	notice that	as	I	try	to	stand	I	jostle	the	table	with	my	knee. The	table	then	wobbles	and some	of	the	coffee	in	my	cup	spills. If	your	basic	cognitive	equipment	is functioning	properly,	you	will	automatically	take	the	jostling	to	be	the	cause	of the	table's	wobbling,	and	the	wobbling	to	be	the	cause	of	the	spill. You	will likewise	more	or	less	automatically	rule	out	the	music	on	the	radio	as	the	cause of	the	spill,	or	the	fact	that	it	is	currently	raining	outside. In	a	flash	you	will therefore	correctly	identify	the	"real	dependencies"	that	obtain	in	the	world- connecting	the	spill	to	the	wobbling,	the	wobbling	to	the	jostling,	and	so	on. In	a	good	number	of	our	everyday,	taken-for-granted	interactions	with	the world,	traits	like	open-mindedness,	conscientiousness,	and	so	on	therefore	do not	seem	to	play	much	of	a	role	in	the	acquisition	of	understanding,	if	they	play any	role	at	all. We	seem	instead	to	be	hardwired	to	pick	out	a	fairly	wide	range of	dependencies. There	also	seem	to	be	no	obvious	intellectual	vices	that	need 7 to	be	overcome	in	cases	like	this	(close-mindedness?	intellectual	timidity?),	and hence	that	would	require	the	assistance	of	the	virtues. The	brute	processing does	the	work	for	us,	it	seems. 3. Understanding	People So	far	I	have	focused	on	what	is	involved	in	understanding	things	like	natural events	or	natural	systems,	and	I	have	tried	to	characterize	both	(a)	the intellectual	powers	or	excellences	that	yield	this	sort	of	understanding,	as	well	as (b)	the	character-level	intellectual	traits	that	appear	to	be	sometimes,	but apparently	not	across-the-board,	involved	in	its	realization. There	is	a	long	tradition	of	thought,	however,	according	to	which	understanding human	beings	requires	a	different	set	of	powers	or	capacities-hence	a	different set	of	intellectual	virtues-than	we	find	when	it	comes	to	understanding	the natural	world.9 We	should	therefore	ask	whether	there	are	any	intellectual traits,	including	character-level	traits,	that	might	be	more	intimately	involved with	understanding	people	than	with	understanding	the	natural	world. For	simplicity,	I	will	focus	for	the	moment	on	the	complex	trait	of	being	"an understanding	person." That	is	to	say,	the	trait	that	we	attribute	to	someone when	we	say	things	like:	"You	should	go	talk	to	Rachael	about	this-she	is	a	very understanding	person." Or,	alternatively,	it	is	a	trait	that	we	deny	of	someone when	we	say:	"You	know,	Dan,	you	are	much	too	quick	to	judge	your	daughter. You	should	try	to	have	more	understanding	of	what	she	is	going	through." I	say the	trait	is	complex,	because	it	seems	to	tie	together	epistemic	and	moral considerations	on	the	one	hand,	and	person-level	and	faculty-level	intellectual considerations	on	the	other	hand,	in	a	way	that	we	find	in	few	if	any	other character	traits. To	get	a	better	sense	of	what	I	have	in	mind,	consider	the	following	passage from	the	Cambridge	classicist	Mary	Beard,	taken	from	her	2016	BBC	television series	on	Ancient	Rome. Beard	speaks	these	words	to	the	camera	as	she	strolls through	the	ruins	of	the	ancient	Greek	city	of	Ephesus,	which	was	one	of	the main	slave	trading	centers	of	the	Roman	world. "Slaves	flowed	through	the	marketplace	at	Ephesus	like	olive	oil	through Seville. The	brutal	truth	was,	many	Romans	would	not	have	seen	much of	a	distinction	between	the	two. As	they	saw	it,	slaves	were	one	of	the 9	This	is	the	view	associated	with	thinkers	such	as	Giambattista	Vico,	Wilhelm	Dilthey,	and	R.G. Collingwood. For	contemporary	appraisals	of	this	approach,	see	Stueber	(2012)	and	Grimm (2016). 8 products	of	Empire:	many	were	victims	of	Roman	conquests,	or kidnappings,	or	just	foundlings. [Beard	continues	to	walk	through	the	ruins.] If	you	wanted	to	buy	a slave,	this	is	where	you	would	have	come. It's	uncomfortable	to	grasp, but	the	Roman	Empire	depended	on	slave	labor,	and	like	every	other ancient	society,	the	Romans	took	slave	labor	absolutely	for	granted. But	uncomfortable	as	it	is,	if	we	want	to	understand	rather	than	just deplore	what	went	on	here,	we	have	to	try	to	get	into	the	mindset	of those	who	came	to	buy	slaves. What	did	they	think	they	were	doing? My guess	is:	they	thought	they	were	doing	their	shopping. Perhaps	they were	here	after	a	gardener,	or	a	tutor	for	their	child,	or	maybe	a hairdresser. How	were	they	going	to	be	sure	they	weren't	ripped	off? Could	they	trade	in	last	year's	model? And	were	they	missing	out	on	a special	offer	next	week:	three	for	two? That	may	seem	a	very	callous	way	of	putting	it,	but	it	was	the	everyday reality	of	Roman	life."	(Beard	2016) There	are	a	number	of	interesting	things	going	on	in	this	passage. For	one	thing, there	is	the	idea	that	to	understand	another	culture	you	need	to	try	to	"get	into" that	culture's	mindset-with	the	implication	that	this	act	of	getting	into	an alternative	mindset	might	require	a	particular	mental	ability	or	skill,	perhaps along	the	lines	of	empathy. As	importantly	for	our	purposes,	however,	there	is the	claim	that	getting	into	the	mindset	of	an	unfamiliar	culture	often	requires	us to	overcome	our	feelings	of	moral	condemnation	or	moral	superiority-it requires,	in	Beard's	insightful	words,	that	we	try	"to	understand	rather	than	just to	deplore." Although	I	believe	both	of	these	elements-concerning	(a)	the	distinctive	mental act	of	getting	into	the	mindset	of	others,	and	(b)	the	character-level	virtues	that help	us	to	steer	clear	of	what	we	might	call	"judgmentalism"-are	important	for understanding	others,	I	will	take	up	the	question	of	what	it	might	mean	to	steer clear	of	judgmentalism	first. I	will	then	turn	to	the	question	of	what	it	might mean	to	enter	the	mindset	of	another	culture,	or	perhaps	just	someone	from	our own	culture	who	is	quite	different	than	us. 4. Judgmentalism	and	Understanding Judgmentalism	seems	to	be	a	vice	with	both	an	epistemic	and	a	moral	aspect.10 Epistemically	speaking,	it	looks	like	a	vice	because	it	leads	us	to	form	false	beliefs 10	For	a	very	helpful	overview,	see	Simon	(1989). 9 about	the	motives	and	character	traits	of	others. It	is	easy	to	suppose,	for instance,	that	the	Romans	who	embraced	slavery	were	simply	wicked	or	hateful, or	in	various	ways	heedless	of	the	suffering	of	others. But	what	if	instead-and more	plausibly-their	attitude	towards	their	slaves	was	more	complex	and subtle	than	that? For	instance,	what	if	the	Romans	felt	their	slaves	had	simply gotten	the	bad	end	of	an	apparently	timeless	arrangement,	one	according	to which	the	losers	in	wars	of	aggression	became	slaves	as	a	result	of	bad	luck-the sort	of	bad	luck	that	might,	some	day,	afflict	the	Romans	themselves? In	that case,	as	Beard	suggests,	getting	inside	the	mind	of	a	Roman	would	not	involve getting	inside	the	mind	of	a	sadist,	or	one	indifferent	to	the	suffering	of	others. A	slave's	"owner"	might	well	regret	the	suffering,	but	see	it	as	part	of	this arrangement	that,	in	some	sense,	everyone	implicitly	accepted. Being	too	quick	to	deplore,	rather	than	working	to	understand,	will	therefore have	a	range	of	epistemic	drawbacks. For	one	thing,	it	will	lead	us	to	misportray the	psychological	profiles	and	moral	standing	of	others,	because	it	will	make	us too	quick	to	attribute	wicked	or	malicious	motives,	rather	than	more	ordinary motives,	and	more	ordinary	faults,	such	as	excessive	cultural	conformism,	or simple	selfishness,	or	intellectual	laziness.11 For	another,	being	too	quick	to deplore	encourages	us	to	misportray	our	own	moral	standing,	for	it	is	hard	not	to condemn	the	wickedness	and	malice	of	others	without	subconsciously	patting ourselves	on	the	back,	thinking	"Well,	I	may	have	my	faults,	but	at	least	I	am	not that	bad." Or	perhaps: "At	least	I	would	never	do	a	thing	like	that." This	is	a further	epistemic	fault,	because	all	of	these	evaluative	claims	about	ourselves,	as things	like	the	Milgram	experiments	and	Stanford	Prison	Experiments	show, might	well	be	false. What	is	more,	these	epistemic	drawbacks	of	judgmentalism	will	likely	exist	sideby-side	with	traditionally	"moral"	faults	too,	such	as	excessive	self-satisfaction and	arrogance-an	inability	to	appreciate	one's	own	moral	frailty,	or	how	true	it is	that	"there	but	for	the	grace	of	God	go	I." Actually,	the	expression	"side-byside"	is	almost	certainly	too	weak	here,	because	the	epistemic	and	moral	faults in	cases	of	judgmentalism	will	be	so	deeply	intertwined. Thus	a	desire	to	think ourselves	exceptional	leads	us	to	misportray	the	psychological	profiles	of	others, 11	For	comparison,	and	to	bring	the	point	closer	to	home:	suppose,	two	hundred	years	from	now, it	becomes	eminently,	unquestionably	clear	that	eating	meat	is	deeply	wrong-that	the	suffering endured	by	non-human	animals	is	in	fact	far	greater	than	anyone	ever	suspected	in	2017,	and that	the	most	widely	accepted	theories	of	rights	in	2217	clearly	extend	to	animals. The	people	in 2217	then	trying	to	understand,	rather	than	just	deplore,	what	it	was	like	to	be	a	meat	eater	in 2017	would	do	well	to	attribute	the	moral	error	not	to	malice	or	sadism,	but	rather	again	to	the ordinary	range	or	moral	failings,	including	excessive	conformism,	selfishness,	laziness,	and	so	on. That	is	not	to	say,	I	stress,	that	we	would	not	be	morally	to	blame	or	morally	at	fault. It	would just	be	a	kind	of	fault	where	wickedness	or	malice	was	not	the	primary	explainer. 10 which	leads	to	a	misplaced	sense	of	moral	self-satisfaction	or	righteousness, which	makes	us	more	apt	to	misportray	in	the	future...	and	so	on. In	short,	if	the	vice	of	judgmentalism	leads	us	to	say	things	like,	"They	knew	this was	evil,	and	yet,	because	of	their	corrupt	character,	they	opted	to	do	it anyway,"	the	epistemic	virtue	of	understanding	should	lead	us	to	ask	things	like: "Under	what	aspect	of	the	good	were	they	acting?"	or	"Why	did	this	seem	like the	best	thing	to	do	under	these	circumstances?"	or	"How	easy	was	it	to	know how	to	behave	well	in	this	situation?" What's	more,	if	judgmentalism encourages	us,	as	a	default,	to	attribute	poor	behavior	to	a	person's	deficient character,	the	virtue	of	understanding	encourages	us	to	look	for	other circumstances	that	might	be	responsible	instead-an	illness	perhaps,	or	a difficult	patch	in	a	person's	life,	or	some	non-culpable	ignorance,	or	some cultural	presupposition	that	only	a	super-human	could	have	dislodged,	and	so on. This	is	not	to	say,	I	should	stress,	that	character-level	faults	are	never	the	main source	of	wrong-doing,	or	that	a	person	with	understanding	will	never	conclude that	they	are.12 It	is	just	to	say	that	the	virtue	of	understanding	will-among other	things-bid	someone	to	look	for	extenuating	factors	that	might	be	in	the picture,	rather	than	assume	that	a	character-level	fault	is	to	blame. Thinking	in	terms	of	an	Aristotelian	mean,	we	might	say	that	with	respect	to portraying	and	evaluating	the	psychological	profiles	of	others,	we	have	the following	spectrum: Excess Mean Deficiency Judgmental	---Understanding	---Naïve/Pollyannaish/Overly	permissive We	have	spoken	mainly	of	the	first	two	categories	so	far,	but	I	hope	this	has	put us	in	a	better	position	to	appreciate	the	third	category	listed	here-one	that	is difficult	to	label	aptly,	but	should	be	familiar	enough. This	relates	to	a	person who	resists	ascriptions	of	individual	blame	altogether,	even	where	those ascriptions	would	be	correct-where	the	tendency	is	always	and	unfailingly	to find	fault	with	the	situations	or	circumstances,	rather	than	with	the	person. Here	again,	we	have	an	interesting	mix	of	epistemic	and	moral	vice,	it	seems: epistemic,	because	it	leads	to	false	beliefs	about	blameworthiness;	but	also moral,	because	it	perhaps	shows	an	insufficient	regard	for	justice	or	personal responsibility	or	human	autonomy. In	any	case,	the	basic	idea	is	that	an	understanding	person	will	not	be	naïve	or	a moral	pushover. He	or	she	will	charitably	try	to	interpret	the	motives	and 12	I	make	this	case	more	fully	in	Grimm	(forthcoming). 11 circumstances	of	others,	while	realizing	that	human	beings	often	fall	short	of what	justice	requires. 5. Constitutive	or	Auxiliary? This	person-level	virtue	of	understanding-or,	more	naturally	in	English,	of	being an	understanding	person-therefore	helps	us	to	portray	accurately	the psychological	profiles	and	moral	standing	of	others. But	now	we	can	ask,	in	light of	one	of	the	most	interesting	ongoing	debates	in	the	literature:	In	what	way does	it	help? Does	it	help,	as	Ernest	Sosa	has	suggested	with	respect	to	other character	virtues,	in	an	"auxiliary"	way-in	the	sense	that	it	helps	position	us correctly	with	respect	to	acquiring	the	truth,	even	though	it	doesn't	actually	help in	acquiring	the	truth	itself?13 Alternatively,	as	Jason	Baehr	has	argued,	does	it help	in	a	more	"constitutive"	way-that	is,	is	the	character	virtue	somehow ingredient	in	the	understanding	itself,	rather	than	a	mere	prelude	to	it?14 As	I	have	described	the	trait	of	being	an	understanding	person,	I	think	the evidence	favors	a	constitutive	reading. In	particular,	being	understanding	helps to	steer	us	away	from	the	natural	tendency	many	of	us	have	to	deplore	the behavior	of	others,	or	to	be	judgmental. It	thus	corrects	for	this	natural	bias. For	comparison,	imagine	an	archer	who	aims	for	the	bullseye	with	the	aid	of	an advanced	bow	that	helps	to	reduce	the	tremors	and	shaking	he	usually	feels	as he	draws	back	the	bow	string. Suppose	he	then	hits	his	target. Why	did	he	do so? There	will	undoubtedly	be	a	number	of	important	factors	at	play	here, including	the	excellent	eyesight	that	allowed	him	to	aim	properly,	the	physical strength	that	helped	him	to	pull	back	the	bowstring,	and	the	know-how	that allowed	him	to	pull	the	string	back	just	this	far	and	no	further. Clearly,	however, as	I	have	described	the	case	the	tremor-dampening	properties	of	the	bow	will also	have	played	a	crucial	role,	for	without	them,	we	can	suppose,	the	arrow would	have	veered	well	off	course. Now	suppose	that	over	time	the	archer,	as	it	were,	"interiorizes"	the	tremordampening	properties	of	the	bow,	so	that	he	is	able	to	still	himself	without	the help	of	the	equipment. In	that	case	it	seems	entirely	plausible	that	his	interior competence	to	hit	the	target	will	be	partly	constituted	by	this	trait. More precisely,	it	will	be	this	trait	that	will	enable	him	to	harness	his	other	powers- his	good	eyesight,	his	strength,	and	his	know-how-and	direct	them	in	the	right way. 13	See	Sosa	(2015:	ch.	2). Compare:	drinking	a	strong	cup	of	coffee	while	driving	might	help	you to	see	properly	in	an	auxiliary	way,	in	the	sense	that	it	helps	you	to	keep	your	eyes	open	and alert. Knowing	that	there	is	a	squirrel	scampering	across	the	road	will	be	almost	entirely	a function	of	your	good	eyesight,	not	the	coffee. 14	See	especially	Baehr	(2011:	Ch.	4;	2016). 12 I	hope	the	analogy	is	clear. When	our	tendency	is	towards	judgmentalism,	we need	the	virtue	of	understanding	to	steer	us	away	from	this	vice	in	our	attempts to	characterize	the	psychological	profiles	and	moral	statuses	of	others. Even when	someone	might	have	successfully	"interiorized"	this	virtue,	moreover,	so that	he	or	she	no	longer	needs	to	fight	against	the	inclination	to	be	judgmental, it	will	still	plausibly	be	playing	a	regulative	and	constitutive	role	in	achieving	the truth. As	Alvin	Goldman	has	noted,	"it	is	a	psychological	commonplace	that highly	developed	skills	become	automatized"	(Goldman	1989:	190)-in	other words,	that	they	eventually	do	their	guiding,	harnessing,	and	regulative	work below	the	level	of	conscious	choice	or	awareness. This	does	not	imply	either that	they	are	not	active,	or	that	they	should	no	longer	be	considered	characterlevel	traits. Instead,	they	are	character-level	traits	that	have	become	so	deeply embedded	in	who	someone	is	that	they	help	to	constitute	the	person's competence	to	find	the	truth	in	these	areas. 6. Understanding	and	Perspective-Taking Turning	to	conclude,	let	us	take	up	one	last	issue. For	suppose	you	have	the virtue	of	being	an	"understanding	person"	as	just	described-that	is,	the	sort	of person	who	among	other	things	does	not	blame	or	find	fault	too	hastily	or severely,	on	the	one	hand,	or	never	at	all,	on	the	other	hand. How	do	you	move from	that	state	to	being	someone	who	actually	understands	another	person? I	grant	this	question	might	sound	odd,	but	this	is	again	because	of	the	ambiguity we	noted	earlier	in	the	notion	of	"understanding."15 On	the	one	hand,	it	might refer	to	the	character	trait	just	described-a	disposition	not	to	blame	or	deplore too	hastily,	etc. On	the	other	hand,	it	might	refer	to	the	epistemic accomplishment	sought-the	good	of	understanding	others,	which	the character-level	virtue	of	being	an	understanding	person	helps	one	to	achieve. With	this	distinction	in	mind,	we	can	now	turn	our	attention	specifically	to	the epistemic	end	sought-the	good	of	understanding	other	people-and	ask	in particular	how	understanding	other	people	might	differ	from	understanding	the natural	world. Recall	that	according	to	our	earlier	framework	understanding	was	a	matter	of grasping	how	something	"worked." With	respect	to	the	natural	world,	this amounted	to	grasping	how	the	various	elements	of	the	world	depended	upon and	related	to	one	another. It	meant	apprehending	that	whether	a	balloon	rose or	fell,	for	instance,	depended	upon	the	mass	of	the	materials	inside	the	balloon, and	whether	this	was	greater	or	lesser	than	the	surrounding	atmosphere. 15	An	ambiguity	it	inherits,	as	I	noted	in	footnote	2,	from	the	ambiguity	found	in	the	"excellence of	the	mind"	idea	itself. 13 Perhaps,	then,	we	can	simply	take	over	this	model	whole-cloth	and	apply	it	to our	understanding	of	other	people. After	all,	human	minds	are	also	systems	of	a sort,	in	which	different	elements-beliefs,	desires,	loves,	fears,	and	so	on-relate to	and	depend	upon	one	another	in	various	ways. We	might	therefore	imagine	a traveler	from	a	very	different	species,	perhaps	from	a	remote	corner	of	the universe,	studying	a	human	being	and	coming	to	appreciate	how	a	person's	mind "worked"-hence	understanding,	in	a	sense,	why	the	person	acted	in	this	way rather	than	otherwise	(because,	perhaps,	of	these	beliefs	and	desires	rather	than some	other). But	while	the	traveler	would	then	understand,	I	take,	at	least	something	about human	beings-something	about	the	relationships	among	the	person's	beliefs, actions,	and	desires,	for	instance-it	also	seems	possible,	and	perhaps	likely,	that something	else	would	be	lost. It	would	not	be	difficult	to	imagine	the	human being	complaining,	for	instance,	that	the	traveler	wouldn't	"really"	understand him	at	all,	if	all	the	traveler	grasped	were	these	systematic	dependencies. What then	would	be	missing? What	is	it	that	the	traveler	would	fail	to	appreciate	or apprehend? One	particularly	salient	thing	the	traveler	would	fail	to	understand,	I	suggest,	is what	it's	like	to	be	human-something	that	arguably	no	amount	of	studying	a human	being	from	an	objectivizing,	third-person	perspective,	could	shed	light	on. Some	care	is	needed	to	unpack	this	thought,	however,	because	the	notion	of "what	it's	like"	can	be	taken	in	a	number	of	different	ways,	some	of	which	are less	significant	for	our	purposes	here. First,	there	is	what	we	might	call	a	phenomenal	sense	of	what	it's	like,	which emphasizes	the	qualitative	or	felt	dimension	of	a	state.16 This	is	the	sense	in which	there	is	something	that	it's	distinctively	like	to	see	crimson,	or	to	taste vanilla	ice	cream,	or	to	smell	cooking	garlic. This	is	also	the	sense	of	"what	it's like"	that	has	received	the	most	attention	in	the	literature,	in	response	to Thomas	Nagel's	famous	essay	on	the	subject	(Nagel	1974). There	is	another sense	of	"what	it's	like,"	however,	that	I	believe	is	even	more	fundamental	to	the project	of	understanding	others:	what	we	might	call	the	attitudinal	sense	of "what	it's	like." To	grasp	"what	it's	like"	in	this	sense	is	to	be	able	to	successfully "take	up"	the	person's	attitudes,	and	thus	to	be	able	to	imagine	what	it	would	be like	to	care	about	things	in	the	way	the	other	person	does,	or	to	have	the	same sorts	of	worries,	hopes,	and	concerns	the	agent	does. Understanding	others	in	this	sense	seems	to	require	a	number	of	different mental	abilities. For	one	thing,	it	plausibly	involves	the	ability	to	mentally 16	For	more	on	phenomenal	understanding,	see	Lilian	O'Brien	(forthcoming). 14 bracket	one's	own	beliefs	and	desires	and	to	temporarily	take	on	or	"simulate" the	beliefs	and	desires	of	someone	else.17 But	more	than	that-and	this	is	what often	makes	attempts	to	understand	others	so	difficult,	and	perhaps	sometimes practically	impossible-it	apparently	involves	the	ability	to	unearth	the	various deeply	implicit	cultural	ideas	and	assumptions	that	structure	another	person's way	of	looking	at	the	world. These	are	the	elements	that	the	sociologist	Harold Garfinkel	(1967)	has	insightfully	labeled	the	"for	granteds"-the	things	that	are so	part	of	the	cultural	air	we	breathe	that	we	scarcely	even	notice	them. Flagging	the	importance	of	the	"for	granteds"	also	make	it	clear	that	the	act	of taking	up	the	perspective	of	another	person	will	almost	certainly	require	a	fairly demanding	amount	of	self-examination. For	in	order	to	temporarily	bracket	not just	our	own	beliefs	and	desires	but	also	our	own	"for	granteds,"	we	need	to	be able	to	unearth	the	implicit	assumptions	that	we	have	adopted	as	part	of	our culture	or	upbringing. Far	from	an	easy	task,	no	doubt. All	in	all,	it	is	therefore	not	difficult	to	sympathize	with	the	great	writer	Flannery O'Connor's	scepticism	about	the	possibility	of	understanding	others,	as	recorded in	one	of	her	letters:	"Love	and	understanding	are	one	and	the	same	only	in	God. Who	do	you	think	you	understand? If	anybody,	you	delude	yourself. I	love	a	lot of	people,	but	understand	none	of	them"	(O'Connor	1988). But	even	if	we	can	sympathize	with	O'Connor's	basic	doubt,	a	middle	ground seems	available	here. For	instance,	it	seems	fair	to	say	that	what	O'Connor	is talking	about	here	is	fully	understanding	another	person-and	we	can	grant	that this	might	be	impossible	for	creatures	like	us. Yet	if	we	allow,	as	I	believe	we should,	that	understanding	comes	in	degrees,	then	it	seems	possible	to	take	up the	perspective	of	others	more	or	less	successfully	to	the	extent	that	we	are able-to	a	greater	or	lesser	degree-to	"take	on"	the	beliefs,	desires,	and	for granteds	of	others,	while	temporarily	bracketing	our	own. Undoubtedly	part	of	what	makes	this	so	difficult	is	that	most	of	us	lack	the	sort of	character-level	intellectual	virtues	that	might	help	us. To	name	a	few:	the temperament	to	set	aside	judgmentalism	about	another	person's	point	of	view, the	intellectual	courage	to	unearth	our	own	"for	granteds,"	the	ability	to	move beyond	our	own	"egocentric	bias"	which	leads	us	to	assume	that	others	are more	or	less	like	us,	and	the	open-mindedness	that	might	allow	us	to	consider the	"aspects	of	the	good"	under	which	agents	have	conceived	their	action,	even when	we	find	those	actions	repellent	or	repugnant. 17	Amy	Coplan	(2011)	refers	to	this	"other-oriented	perspective	taking,"	and	distinguishes	it	from other	mental	acts	that	sometimes	go	under	the	name	"empathy." She	also	helpfully	reviews	the psychological	literature	on	these	various	mental	acts. 15 In	actual	fact,	then,	even	partially	successful	attempts	to	understand	others	will be	shot	through	with	intellectual	character	virtues	such	as	open-mindedness, intellectual	courage,	and	intellectual	humility. 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