domingo, 23 de outubro de 2016




On my curriculum:
After a study of medicine I made my M.S. in philosophy at the UFRJ (Rio de Janeiro) with prof. Raul Landin. My PhD I made at the University of Konstanz (Germany) with Gottfried Gabriel and Friedrich Kambartel. Afterwards there were very useful one year post-doctoral works in the Hochschule für Philosophie (with Friedo Ricken), at the University of Berkeley (with John Searle) at the University of Oxford (with Richard Swinburne), at the University of Konstanz (with Wolfgang Spohn) and now at the University of Göteborg (with Anna-Sofia Maurin) and in the Institut Jean Nicod (with François Recanati). 
My main articles published in international journals were collected and better developed in the book Lines of Thought: Rethinking Philosophical Assumptions (Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2014). I also developed a short theory on the nature of philosophy in the book The Philosophical Inquiry (UPA, 2002). Presently I am writting a book aiming to recuperate the credibility of the old orthodoxy in analytic philosophy of language. This book, to be called Philosophical Semantics, will be also published by CSP probably in 2017.

Presently I am full professor of philosophy and (mainly) a CNPq researcher at the UFRN, in the Northeast of Brazil.

Advertisement of some published books (see Amazon):


 Obs.: BAD!! This is only an UNCORRECTED DRAFT of a material written for the book Philosophical Semantics to be published by CSP in 2017.

Appendix to Chapter 2


We have first raised a dust and then complain we cannot see.
George Berkeley

Once one absurdity is accepted, the rest follows.

Unnaceptable but enlightening doctrines are like crosses on maps showing where treasures are hidden.
Brian Magee

Although extremely original and challenging, Saul Kripke’s philosophical application of modal logic to the problems of reference seems to me to be burdened by a disturbing web of confusion. Since many disagree, I will try to justify myself through a critical discussion of his article ‘Identity and Necessity’ (Kripke 1971), which precedes the more developed views defended in his book Naming and Necessity (Kripke 1980), since that short article takes some fundamental ideas direct from the oven. Paragraphs summarising the Kripke’s article are printed in italics to be distinguished from paragraphs containing my own comments. To my coments on his ideas I will in the addendum make some short criticisms to some central externalist views from Hilary Putnam, David Kaplan and Tyler Burge, as part of my project of debunking the metaphysics of meaning.

Kripke begins by considering the modal argument for the necessity of statements of identity. Where is the operator of necessity, which here will be seen as de re (regardless of the mode of linguistic designation), we can consider that, given the principle of indiscernibility of identicals, according to which ‘(x) (y) ((x = y) → (Fx → Fy))’, and given the principle of identity, according to which ‘(x) (x = x)’, we can conclude that if the property F is to be necessarily applied to x, then y must also have this property, i.e. it is necessary that y equals x; in symbolic notation, (x) (y) (x = y) → ((x = x) → (x = y))’, namely: ‘(x) (y) (x = y) → (x = y)’.
   This at apparently inconsequential formal result leads Kripke to the bold conclusion that, as long as there are theoretical (essential) identities, identities between names are necessary. We know that by universal instantiation ‘□(x = y) → □ (a = b)’. That is, if a and b are real names and ‘a = b’ is a true identity, then this identity is necessarily true. This would concern identities like ‘Hesperus is (the same as) Phosphorus’ and ‘Cicero is (the same as) Tulius’: they must be necessary. Further, if F and G are theoretical predicates, defined as essential designators of properties, if they form a true theoretical identity of the form (x) (Fx = Gx), then this identity is also necessarily true. That is why identities like ‘Heat is molecular motion’ and ‘A state of mind is a physical state’, if true, are necessary.
   Kripke recognises that identities between names and theoretical identities have generally been considered contingent, and presents the reasons for it. Consider the statement ‘Hesperus is Phosphorus’. Since Hesperus is Venus seen at dusk (Evening Star), and Phosphorus is Venus seen at dawn (Morning Star), it was an important astronomical discovery that they are actually the same planet, as Frege has noted. Therefore, this seems not to be a necessary, but rather a contingent empirical truth. The same applies to theoretical identities such as ‘Heat is molecular motion’. This identity was a discovery of science and could be false, because if caloric theory (the theory that heat consists of a self-repellent fluid called caloric) were correct, heat wouldn’t be molecular motion. This seems to be a clearly contingent statement, since it could be otherwise.
   Kripke’s thesis, however, is that contrary to the appearances, all these identities, despite having been learned a posteriori, are necessary, even if they do not seem to be. To reinforce his thesis he introduces an important distinction between the rigid designator, here defined as a term that refers to the same object in all possible worlds in which this object exists ou would exist, and the non-rigid or accidental designator, which can refer to different objects in distinct possible worlds. Proper names and terms of natural species, at least, are rigid designators, while definite descriptions are accidental designators. Hence, if we have an identity I which the identity symbol is flanked by proper names, this identity is necessarily true if true at all, considering that the proper names cannot change their reference in different possible worlds.

It seems clear that a mathematical term can be seen as a rigid designator, insofar as it does not depend on how the world is; but could our empirical proper names not be rigid designators? In the attempt to show that they could be accidental designators, we can imagine that it were discovered that after the childhood of G. W. Bush an extra-terrestrial creature possessed his body, and since then has lived in it and maintained his identity, becoming in this way the president of the United States and performing all actions attributed to him. Would not in this case the proper name ‘G. W. Bush’ be used to refer to this extra-terrestrial creature instead of the son of Barbara and George Bush, being im this way an accidental designator?
   I think that the idea that the proper name is a rigid designator would resist to this objection. According to Kripke’s views, the reference of a proper name is determined by an act of baptism, so that the true W. G. Bush, a rigid designator, would have since long disappeared. On the other hand, a homonymous being, the embodied extraterrestrial being, whose true name is Gkw9, would have had in some remote day a baptism and the name W. G. Bush, as a nickname of Gkw9, would apply to the same extraterrestrial being in each possible world where it would exist, being therefore also a rigid designator.
   Nonetheless, applying my own theory of proper names summarized in the appendix of chapter 1, the results would be the same. According to this theory the referent of a proper name is the object that satisfies the identifying rule for the application of the proper name. And what this identifying rule requires is a sufficient and better than any other satisfaction of the disjunction of the fundamental description-rules, which are the localizing and the characterizing rules. For the adult W. G. Bush (Gkw9), for instance, the localizing description includes his spatio-temporal career in the planet Omega before his embodiment and on the earth after its Bush-embodiment, while the characterizing description would include his deeds, as his election as the 43tr president from USA, the wars in Irak and Afganistan, and the person who earlier in the planet Ômega has make the deeds of Gkw9... In every possible world were this identifying rule is satisfied, W. G. Bush (Gkw9) would exist. Hence, the identifying rule for the name is a rigid designator for us too. Something of the kind could be easily established for the child named W. G. Bush, the true Bush, making this name also a rigid designator.
   Something different, however, is the idea that the concept of rigid designator has the consequences that Kripke expected as a way to ensure existence of de re metaphysical necessities of identities between our usual proper names and between terms of natural species.
   Kripke believes to have warranted the necessity of this identity by having discovered some radical difference of nature between proper names, on the one hand, and definite descriptions, on the other. What his words suggest is that a proper name would reach its reference without intermediaries by means of a direct (in my view purely magic) relation instaured in the act of baptism, which does not really depend on any property of the object, allowing then the production of external causal chains that in the end would reach each speaker of the name who really refers to its bearer.[1] A definite description, on the other hand, is only an accidental designator: it would refer to different objects in different possible worlds, probably because it has what Stuart Mill called ‘conotation’, which is its implication of an attribute that the object may have (1881, I, ch. 2). Using Kripke’s example, this would be the case of the description ‘the inventor of the bifocals’, a description who refers to Benjamin Franklin in our world, but that could refer to any other person and even have no reference in a different possible world.
   I think that this strange dichotomy, suggesting a mysterious difference in the nature of reference is totally dispensable if we apply my own neodescriptivist theory of proper names, since this theory gives a perfectly reasonable explanation for the rigidity of proper names versus the accidentality of definite descriptions (see appendix of chapter 1). Following this last theory, I agree with the idea that the necessity of the rigid designator is always de dicto, supporting John Searle’s view according to which the de re necessity is only a sub-class of the de dicto necessity, without any metaphysical import (Searle 1983: 208-220).
   The neodescriptivism I propose makes a proper name a rigid designator because any combination of descriptions that allows its reference in accordance with its identifying rule must be satisfied in any world in which the proper name has a bearer, simply because the identifying rule define what its bearer can be. However, two different proper names of the same object can have different identifying rules, identifying their bearer under different guises, under different ways of presentation, simply because they amphazise different perspectives in which different descriptions or groups of descriptions are satisfied. In this case, even being rigid designators, we cannot a priori know that they are referring to the same object, and it may be an empirical matter to decide if two different rigid designators are referring to the same object or to two different objects. We still do not know whether the identifying rules of the two names are part of a common identifying rule, being the identitity sentence at this first stage contingent a posteriori. This state of affairs endures until after empirical experience we establish by convention that the different ways of presentation, the different identifying rules, are constituents of the same rigid designator, building in this way a more complex identifying rule that includes both, each of them emphazising a different perspective. But in this case the identity will be necessary a priori! In no moment of this process, however, we need to resort to a Kripkian necessary a posteriori identity.
   Only to illustrate the point: there is a way to express Frege’s insight according to which ‘Afla = Ateb’, in which Afla is the same mountain as Ateb, though explored from a different complementary perspective, what gives to these names different but complementary senses or modes of presentation. Since for Frege references are dependent on senses, the proper names ‘Afla’ and ‘Ateb’ are from the beginning de dicto rigid designators and not metaphysically de re rigid designators. However, some day the explorers can ask themselves whether Afla is Ateb. At first they see this identification as a contingent matter. After they discover that they are indeed referring to the same mountain, the more complete identity sentence turns to be seem as having the implicit form ‘Afla [-Ateb] = Ateb [-Afla]’, that is: Afla and Ateb express rules identifying numerically the same object simply because they turned can now be blended in the formation of one and the same identifying rule, applicable to both sides of the the same mountain, though under different guises.

Kripke also considers the problem of apriority. A priori truths are those that we can know without appealing to experience. Many consider the necessary and the a priori to be equivalent. But the concept of necessity is according to him metaphysical about how the world must be – while the concept of a priori is epistemic – about how we know the world. Kripke thinks that the two classes are not equivalent. Consider, he writes, Goldbach’s conjecture, which states that any natural number above two is the sum of two primes. It may be a necessary truth without the possibility of our knowing it a priori. In this case it would have metaphysical necessity.

The suggestion that necessity is metaphysical while apriority is epistemological is highly questionable. This distinction would be justified only if there were metaphysical de re necessities, as Kripke intends, since a de dicto necessity would follow from a seemingly trivial epistemologic apriority, even if well grounded. However, the existence of metaphysical de re necessities in the supposed sense seems to be something that escapes our cognitive faculties, since our empirical knowledge is inherently fallible, something that has been insistently repeated by philosophers of science from C. S. Peirce (1991, ch. 7) to Karl Popper (2005). All that we can do is to postulate empirical necessities by accepting the most well-entrenched[2] and strongly inductively grounded regularities as natural laws (Tugendhat 1983; Mackie 1974). To really know if there is a necessity of a natural law beyond this well-grounded postulation (pace Armstrong) would require absolute knowledge – something that our epistemic falibility makes impossible. Therefore, the necessities of natural laws are nothing but a result of a well-grounded decision to treat them as necessities. They are necessities in a weaker sense of the word; however, once postulated by us as natural laws they turn to be treated as rules of our conceptual system. Thus, if our analysis of necessity is correct there seems to be two kinds of necessity, both of them epistemic: the first is the logical or conventional necessity that we find in definitory sentences (like ‘brothers are persons with the same parents’) or in formal sciences (like ‘~(A & ~A)); the second is the empirical necessity, which is reached a posteriori, but can be simply postulated as necessary as far as it isn’t shown not to be necessary.
   Wittgenstein would classify empirical necessities as ‘grammatical rules’ – rules grounding a useful linguistic practice (Wittgenstein 1984a). Here is his suggestion, in which we read the word ‘rule’ involving a priori propositions:

Every empirical proposition can serve as a rule if it is fixed as the unmovable part of a mechanism, in such a way that the entire representation revolves around it, making it part of a system of coordinates independent of the facts. (Wittgenstein 1984e, part VII: 437)[3]

To illustrate what this can mean, consider the statement of some particular physical law, for instance, Einstein’s famous ‘e = mc2.’ It can be doubly understood:

(a)  As a component of the special theory of relativity, under the assumption of the truth of this theory. – In this case, it will be seen as necessary a priori, that is, as a kind of postulate independent of experience: its necessity is conventionally postulated (we could say with Wittgenstein that the statement is hardened, becoming an inmovable part of a mechanism).
(b)     As a mere element of our ever possibly changeable overall system of beliefs. – Hier, however, the same physical statement should be considered as an a posteriori contingent statement. After all, in principle it could be always falsified by observation, assuming that fallibility is a pervasive trait of our empirical knowledge (with Wittgenstein we would say that the truth of the statement is treated as fluid, remaining dependent of the way the world is).

Attention to this two ways of considering a statement can lead us to suggest that the statement (i) ‘Heat is molecular motion’ can be read in two ways:

(a)   A contingent a posteriori statement, if understood in its relation to our unstable overall system of beliefs. In this case (i) means (iii): ‘(contingently and in the dependency of experience) heat in gazes is molecular motion [according to what we have found out of experience until now]’.

So it was read by chemicists still in the second half of the XIX century. But after the general acceptance of the the kinetic theory of gases (i) can also be read as:

(b)  As a necessary a priori statement – if read as a piece of the subsystem of beliefs that constitutes the thermodynamics under the assumption of the truth of this subsystem. In this case (i) means (ii): ‘(Necessarily and without considering the experience) heat in gazes is molecular motion [under the assumption of the truth of the thermodynamics]’.

   Consider now the first example from Kripke: (iv) ‘Hesperus is Phosphorus’. According with the suggested analysis it can be read as:

(a)  A contingent a posteriori statement, if understood in its relation to our unstable overall system of beliefs. In this case (iv) means (vi): ‘(contingently under the dependence of experience) Hesperus is Phosphorus [according to what we have found out of experience until now]’.

So it was as the Babylonian astronomers figured out that Hesperus is Phosphorus, by considering its size and by noticing that it both stars tracked the sun… But today (iv) can also be read as:

(b) A necessary a priori identity statement – if it is read as a piece of the subsystem of beliefs that constitutes our astronomic knowledge under the assumption of the truth of this subsystem.  In this case (iv) means (v): ‘(Necessarily out of the experience) Hesperus is Phosphorus [under the assumption of the truth of our present astronomical knowledge]’.

If this reasoning is correct, then it is easy to conclude that for Kripke the statements ‘Heat is molecular motion’ and ‘Hesperus is Phosphorus’ are necessary a posteriori simply because he is confusedly combining the necessity of the (a) reading of these statements with the aposteriority of their (b) readings.
   As for Goldbach’s conjecture, the fact that it may be a necessary truth without our being aware of it does not mean that its necessity isn’t a priori or has some indefinite status. It is not impossible that someone finds a proof of this conjecture, giving to it the status of a theorem with a priori necessity. Moreover, it is because the mathematicians hold as a heuristic rule that it is possible to reach this a priory knowledge that they insist in searching for a proof; otherwise they would not sustain the conjecture.

Maybe the most stricking example of a necessary a posteriori statement introduced by Kripke is that of the wooden table in front of him. It starts with the question: could it have consisted since the beginning of its existence of ice from the Thames? Certainly not: It would be a different object. Thus, the statement ‘This table, if it exists, cannot be made of ice,’ is a necessary truth known a posteriori. Tables, he says, are usually not made of ice. This table seems to be made of wood, and it is not cold. Hence, it is probably not made of ice. Of course, this could be a delusion. It could actually be made of ice. But that’s not the point, says Kripke. The point is that given the fact that the table is not made of ice, but of wood, one cannot imagine that it could be made of ice. Given the fact that it is not made of ice, he concludes, it is necessary that it is not made of ice. In other words: being P = ‘This table is not made of ice’ we know a priori the truth of ‘If P then P’. Moreover, he says, we know from empirical research that P is true. Combining these two statements, he constructs the following argument applying a modus ponens:

     1 P □P
     2 P
     3 □P

It is therefore necessary that the table is not made of ice, although this is only known a posteriori, by empirical research. The statement; ‘This table is not made of ice’ is necessary a posteriori.

The covert mistake in Kripke’s argument concerns the epistemological status of P in the second premise. In this premise the truth of P is affirmed in the desconsideration of the fact (earlier confusively refered by Kripke) that P, as any empirical statement, can only be known as true by inevitably fallible epistemic subjects. But if it is so P can be false. Hence, the statement P of the second premise should be more precisely written as (2’): ‘It is practically certain that P (that this table isn’t made of ice)’, and I understand a statement as practically certain when it is extremely likely to be true, that is, when we can assign to its truth a probability very near to 1 (see Locke 2013).  Indeed, it must be so, because only God – the infallible and omniscient epistemic subject – could know with absolute certainty the truth of the statement P (that is, would be able to assign it the probability 1). God could know for sure the factual existence of P, in this way giving to the affirmation of P a truly metaphysically de re necessity. Unfortunately, we cannot appeal to God in this matters. Hence, all that we can know is that P is practically certain in the already pointed sense of being, under the assumption of all our present body of information, extremely likely to be true. This must be so, since our empirical knowledge is never absolute (it is always possible, for instance, that for some reason I believe I am standing before a hard wooden table, although it is actually made of ice, as Kripke himself admits).
   Assuming this, consider now the first premise. The same cannot be said of it, since it is a conditional. It is acceptable that given the fact that P – or, more precisely, if the fact that P is really given – then it follows that P is necessary. So, what P → P says is (1) ‘If it is really the case that P, then it is necessary that P,’ and this is a logical truth. But what the antecedent requires is that P implies □P only if the truth of P is absolutely certain, for instance, knowable by God’s omniscience. Hence, the most complete analysis of premise (1) would be (1’): ‘If it is absolutely certain that P (if P has the probability 1), then it is necessary that P’, but surely not as (1’’) ‘If it is practically certain that P (that is, if P has a probability near to 1), then P is necessary,’ for the mere probability of P, no matter how high, if less than 1, would not warrant the necessity of P. Admitting the changes of premise (1) to (1’) and (2) to (2’), Kripke’s argument can be made more explicit as saying:

1’. If it is absolutely certain that P, then it is necessary that P.
2’. It is practically certain that P.
3’. It is necessary that P.

This argument is obviously non-valid, since the modus ponens cannot be applied to (1’) and (2’) in order to give us (3). And the reason is that the antecedent of (1’) does not say precisely the same thing as (2’), what makes the argument equivocal, hence fallacious. We conclude that under a better scrutiny Kripke’s argument does nothing to convince us that we can know that the utterance ‘This table is not made of ice’ is a metaphysically necessary a posteriori truth.
   Now the reason for Kripke’s misleading view that the conclusion of his own argument must be necessary a posteriori becomes evident. He ignores the fine semantic differences made explicit in the argument content (2) and by doing so the jumps to a conclusion that unduly joins the necessity of the first premise of his argument with the aposteriority of its second premise, building what he calls a necessary a posteriori truth.

Kripke comes then to the analysis of identities between proper names such as ‘Hesperus is Phosphorus’ and ‘Cicero is Tulio.’ These are empirical identities, generally considered contingent. For Kripke they are identities between rigid designators, which make them necessary, since in the most diverse possible worlds these names will refer to the same object, a situation not possible where Hesperus isn’t Phosphorus or Cicero isn’t Tulio. We could, he says, have identified Hesperus and Phosphorus with two different celestial bodies, but in this case the sentence ‘Hesperus is Phosphorus’ would have a different meaning. This would be the case, for example, if Martians had once populated the earth and had identified Hesperus with Venus and Phosphorus with Mars... The same is true with the identity ‘Cicero is Tulio.’ According to him it seems that this statement is contingent because sometimes we learn these names with the help of definite descriptions, like ‘the greatest Roman orator,’ which are accidental designators, thinking that we identify the object through properties, when in fact such names are not synonymous with descriptions, but rather with rigid designators.

One could produce here an argument parallel to the argument applied by Kripke to the indexical case of the table made of wood in the attempt to demonstrate the metaphysical necessity that Hesperus is the same as Phosphorus, since these names are rigid designators that should pick up necessarily the same object in any possible world. Calling Hesperus h and Phosphorus p we can build the following Kripkian argument:

     (h = p) → (h = p)
     h = p
     (h = p)

However, here too the modus ponens does not apply because although the first premise is true, the second premise would only be able to assure us the conclusion ‘(h = p)’ if it were able to give us an absolute assurance of the truth of ‘h = p’. But this is not the case. In order to get the absolute assurance that ‘h = p’ that enables us to reach the conclusion, this truth must be discovered, not by inevitably fallible human epistemic subjects, but only by God, the omniscient and infallible epistemic subject. Because of this, ‘h = p’ can here only be seen as an empirically achieved fallible conclusion, saying that it is practicaly certain (extremely probable) that ‘h = p’, which is still not the same as its absolute certainty. The following formulation demonstrates again the misconception of the argument according:

       If it is absolutely certain (with probability 1) that h = p,
       then (h = p).
       It is practically certain (with probability near to 1) that h = p.
       (h = p)

Since the absolute certainty required by the identity of the second premise is not available, the equivocity of the argument is clear. We cannot use the modus ponens to derive the a posteriori necessity of h = p. The statement ‘Hesperus is Phosphorus’ is in this interpretation contingent a posteriori. It cannot be metaphysically necessary because being this identity only highly probable it is always possible that Hesperus isn’t Phosphorus: it does not belong to these two identifying rules that they are unified in a same convention. For instance: although extremely unlikely, it is logically possible that the gods have produced a great illusion of knowledge in the human minds, and that the planets are nothing more than a swarm of fireflies that every night assemble to decorate the celestial Vault. In this case, Hesperus would have a different location than Phosphorus when seen by the naked eye, but it would look identical to Phosphorus when viewed through a telescope – not because it is the same planet or a planet at all, but as a result of an unknown kind of witchery.

   The second example given by Kripke is very different and it would be misleading to confuse it with the example above. It concerns the utterance ‘Cicero is Tulio.’ Assuming my proposed theory of proper names, the localizing description for his identification is (shortly) ‘Born in Greece in 3.1.106 BC and died in Rom 7.12. 43 BC.’ And the characterizing description is (shortly) ‘the greatest Roman orator, a politician, lawer and philosopher.’ His whole name was ‘Marcus Tullius Cicero.’ Since the proper name does not belong to the fundamental descriptions, but to the auxiliary ones (he could receive another name in a different possible world), Kripke is only relying on the fact that not all speakers know that Cicero and Tulio are parts of a same proper name as a point of convention in our actual world, assuming that they know who is the bearer of the fundamental descriptions implied by these parts of the whole name.
   As a consequence, the question is a trivial one, namely, whether the speaker knows an auxiliary convention. Hence, the right answer is that ‘Tulio is Cicero’ is necessary a priori as a linguistic definition, since the convention that the whole name is ‘Marcus Tullius Cicero’ isn’t something a posteriori, as much as the convention that a triangle is a trilateral figure. Moreover, to say that the statement ‘Cicero is Tulio’ is a posteriori would be to confuse its belonging to a definition in our actual world – which is a question of being informed about conventions – with the possible names that the same reference could have received in different counterfactual situations, where Cicero would not have been also called Tullius by forming the proper name ‘Marcus Tullius Cicero’. But this is as trivial as to say that in a different possible world one could give a different name for a triangle instead of ‘triangle’.

The next of Kripke’s examples concerns the identity between kinds of things, as ib the already discussed statement Heat is molecular movement. Many think that this expresses an a posteriori truth, because it is the result of empirical scientific research. But for Kripke this is a necessary a posteriori identity, because the heat (in gases) cannot be anything other than molecular kinetic energy. It may be, he says, that the earth could at some time be inhabited by beings who feel cold where we feel heat and vice versa, so that for them heat would not be identical with molecular motion. But this would not be the case, since heat is understood as molecular motion as we feel it. For Kripke the terms heat and molecular motion are rigid designators, which make the identity between them unavoidable. For him the fact that molecular motion produces the sensation of heat is used to fix the reference, making the identity necessary; the illusion of contingency is due to the fact that we confuse this with the fact that our identification of molecular motion with the sensation of heat is contingent.

As it was already noted, having ways to translate rigidity in descriptive terms, as it was shown in Appendix to chapter 1, we can link the two ascription rules of heat in gases and kinetic molecular energy, building a unified ascription rule that has two different guises, namely, different but interchangeable criteria of identification. I will not furnish an analysis of this rule here, but only show how a reasoning similar to that applied to the identity of proper names can be applied. Thus, considering heat in gases and molecular movement as rigid designators that necessarily designate the same essence, we could build the following Kripkian argument calling H heat in gazes and M molecular motion:

     (x) ((Hx = Mx) → (Hx = Mx))
     (x) (Hx = Mx)
     (x) (Hx = Mx)

Obviously the same kind of difficulty returns. The first premise says only that if it is really the case that (x) (Hx = Mx), then it is necessarily the case that all heat is molecular motion, or, from an epistemic perspective, if it is absolutely certain that all heat in gases is molecular motion, then it is necessary that all heat in gases is molecular motion. However, as the identity expressed in the second premise is always concluded by fallible epistemic subjects, even if they have the best reasons to believe it to be true, whe should construct a paraphrase of the above argument that highlights the misconception:

    (x) If it is absolutely certain (with probability 1) that (Hx = Mx),
          then (Hx = Mx).
    (x) It is practically certain (with probability near to 1) that (Hx = Mx).
    (x) (Hx = Mx)

Here again the analysis shows an equivocal and consequently fallacious argument. Because the antecedent of the first premise is different from the second premise, we cannot apply the modus ponens and the conclusion does not follows. The result is that we cannot by this way conclude that the statement ‘Heath (in gazes) is the same as molecular cinetic energy’ is a necessary a posteriori truth. However, if Kripke were right, this conclusion should follow.

The last of Kripke’s examples should be the most important one. It is intended as a refutation of the type-type identity theory of the mind-body relation, according to which ‘Pain is (the same as) such and such a brain state’ would be a contingent a posteriori scientific discovery, yet to be made. But, writes Kripke, ‘pain’ and ‘such and such a brain state’ are here rigid designators, because they refer to essential properties. However, if that’s the case, the identity theorist is in trouble, because the identity needs to be necessary, which clashes frontally with the fact that whenever you feel pain you do have a pain, while no one is denying that it is possible to conceive that we have pain without having the corresponding brain states. For a religious philosopher like Kripke this makes identity theory improbable.
I find this argument puzzling. First, one can as a matter of fact feel pain without being in pain – this can be done, for instance, with hypnotized people. But even if we correct this saying that we cannot feel pain without having the qualitative state of feeling pain, while we can for instance have water without the qualitative state of watery liquid in the case of the identity ‘Water is H2O’ (see Kripke 1980: 146), all that it is shown here is an assimetry between the ways we know each flank of the identity sign. This can be well the case. But despite this Kripke didn’t have shown why this assimetry compromises the possibility of fixing a possible necessity of the identity under the supposition of his own theory of de re metaphysical identity. Hence, he hasn’t show anything that makes his conclusion forceful in his own terms.
   Aside from this point, the objection here is the same as in the previous examples: from a purely ontological point of view it is always possible that pain is necessarily the same thing as some sort of brain state. The problem is that only God, the omniscient knower, would be able to know this in an absolutely certain way. For epistemologically fallible subjects like us, this identity can be only (a) be seen from an overall epistemic perspective as a contingent a posteriori truth, since from this perspective ‘pain is such and such brain state’ is able to mirror the ontological reality only in a very probable way (as practical certainty, building a weaker epistemic necessity); (b) be made a grammatical postulate, which is a necessary a priori truth. A further difference comparing this example with the example of heat is that we still do not have any sufficiently developed neuroscientific theory able to show clearly this identity. The unified ascription rule is here only a hypothesis that identity theorists have posed, since the brain is still today a mysterious black-box.
   In my view in most cases Kripke confuses the a posteriori element of a contingent a posteriori discovery with the necessary element of something conventionally established as necessary a priori, what may lead us to believe in a mystical metaphysically de re grounded necessity a posteriori. In doing so, he assigns to an ontologically unknowable identity the same status of an epistemologically alleged identity. He thinks as if we could assert ontological (metaphysical) truths without regarding our epistemic capacities and their limits. He refuses to accept that we cannot ever separate completely the epistemic from the ontologic. In doing so he denies a point that modern philosophers were already aware, namely, that we lack access to transepistemic truths.

There is a varity of arguments from Kripke and other externalist philosophers that deserve an examination. In what follows I will be short, since a more careful examination would exceed the scope of this book.

1. There is a variety of supposed examples of necessary a posteriory truths later suggested by Kripke and others. Consider, for instance, the statement ‘Cats are animals’ (Kripke 1980: 181-2). For Kripke this is a necessary statement, since we cannot conceive a cat that isn’t an animal; but this is something discovered a posteriori. The answer is that as the result of an inductive inference this could possibly be seen as a contingent a posteriori statement. But usually it is seen as a necessary a priori statement under the assumption of the truth of our biological knowledge, according to which the cat is simply defined as a mammal belonging to the animal kingdom. Another example would be ‘A cat is not a rat’. We intuitively see that the ascription rule for cat denotes a necessarily different kind of object than the ascription rule for rats, as we also see that the ascription rule for cats necessarily belongs to the ascription rule for animals.[4]

2. Another kind of necessary a posteriori later suggested by Kripke concerns the origin. For him rigidity makes true parenthood necessary. Consider the sentence ‘Ismael Lowenstein is the son of Abel and Berta Lowenstein.’ According to a Kripkian philosopher this statement would be necessary a posteriori because even if known a posteriori, a person with different parents, coming from a different ovulo and a different spermatozoid, would not be Ismael Lowenstein. (See Kripke 1980: 112 f.).[5] 
   However, suppose that the adult Ismael makes the shocking discovery that his parents are not his parents; there was a mistaken change of babies in the hospital where he was born and the DNA analysis has proved that he is instead the actual son of Amanda and Mario Belinzoni. Of course, this is no decisive reason to think that Ismael has ceased to be Ismael. This is even written in his personal identity card. If asked, he would insist in answering that he is Ismael Lowenstein, probably with the agreement of others.
   Anyway, concerning the main point, namely, the whole statement ‘Ismael is the son of Abel and Berta Lowenstein’, with concerns the question of parenthood, the conclusion is ambiguous.[6] One could use as criterion of parenthood (i) those who have take care of the child and nurtured him with love until the adulthood, and in this case the statement ‘Ismael is the son of Abel and Berta Lowenstein’ will be seen as true, even if he is originated from one spermatozoid of Mario and one ovulo of Amanda. Under this understanding the statement ‘Ismael is the son of Abel and Berta Lowenstein’ is contingent a posteriori. Contingent because it could be false that they have take care and nurtured him; and a posteriori because it depends on experience to be learned.
   However, it is easy to imagine a situation like that suggested by Kripke. Suppose that we were in the Nazi Germany and that Abel Lowenstein were Jewish. Suppose that the Nazis catch him. It is clear that fotr them the criterion of parenthood was genetic. In this case Ismael Lowenstein would be considered son of Mario and Amanda Belinzoni, while Carlos would be considered the son of Abel and Berta Lowenstein and sent to a concentration camp. Finally, they could establish that the true name of a person must be related to her genetic origins, renaming Ismael Lowenstein as the true Mario Belinzoni and Mario Belinzoni as the true Ismael Lowenstein. Anyway, even in this case the statement (ii) ‘Ismael Lowenstein is the son of Mario and Amanda Belinzoni’ would not be necessary a posteriori. It would be rather seen by the Nazis as contingent a posteriori, as far as they have only a practical certainty of its truth.

2. Worst than the necessary a posteriori is a later invention of Kripke called contingent a priori. It is the case involving the platinum rode in Paris that once defined the meter as the unity of length. According to him, analyses of meaning is different from a definition; the first is necessary, but the second not.  The definition of ‘one meter’ as ‘the lenght of S at to’ was a priori but contingent. Moreover, ‘one meter’ is a rigid designator and ‘the length of S at to,’ being a definite description, is an accidental designator, allowing making the lengh possibly longer or shorter than one metter, for instance, by earlier heating or cooling. Therefore, the statement ‘Paris platinum rode is one meter long’, though established a priori, is contingent (it could be different). (Kripke 1980: 56).
   A difficult is that Kripke gives no satisfactory reason for this conclusion. The definition of one meter as ‘the lenght of S at to’ is a stipulative definition, what is nothing but establishing of a new word for a meaning. Beside this, why cannot ‘one meter’ be an abbreviation of ‘the length of S in ∆t[7], whoever this length is,’ as it seems? Assuming this, our intuitive reasoning would be to think that if the lenght changes the meter itself isn’t different, since the standard meter is defined as whatever length S has when used as a pattern. (Being so is useful to have the most uncheangeable standard metter. For suppose that the standard metter were something very elastic, always changing. It would still remain the same standard meter, even if very unpratical. Using this standard according to the given definition we could be forced to say that a man was 1:75 m two hours ago, but is 2:24 m high right now, or that two object with very different sizes would have the same size only because they were measured in different times. Anyway, if you consider that this is the definition of a standard meter (and it really is) the statement of this definition is necessary, since this definition is conventional and cannot be falsified in any possible world in which it holds; moreover, this definition is a priori, for we don’t need the experience to know its truth (it exemplifies the law of identity). Consequently, the definition:

Paris platinum rode is one meter long in ∆t as a standard to be met in any actual or counterfactual situation.

is a necessary a priori truth, not a contingent a priori one.
   If you decide to treat it differently, comparing different possible standard meters in different times or different counterfactual situations, then you are reading the statement ‘Paris platinum rode is one meter long’ as something like ‘the standard meter in w1 has the same length as the standard meter in w2 (or in a counterfactual situation)’. In this case it means more precisely:

Paris platinum rode is one meter long during ∆t only if compared with others standard meters that could be used as standards in different times or in any counterfactual situation.

This is I think a paraphrase of what Kripke seems to mean, when he says that the definition of meter is contingent a priori. The only problem is that it is false, demanding too much of an empirical standard.

3. Another attempt to exemplify the contingent a priori is Gareth Evans’ example with the name ‘Julius’, which is artificially conventioned as ‘the inventor of the zip.’ It is a priori because we don’t need the experience to know this (Evans 1982: 31). But it is also contingent since it is possible that the zip were not invented or that it was invented by another person...
   Here again we can see Julius as a conventioned abbreviation for ‘the inventor of the zip’, what makes ‘Julius is (stipulated as) the inventor of the zip’ a necessary a priori sentence, since it is not only known as true independently of the experience, but is also necessary, since it is a linguistic stipulation independent of who invented the zip. Moreover, if the zip were not in some way invented we could not know that a zip is, what would make (i) senseless. The reason why for a Kripkian the sentence seems to be contingent is only that ‘Julius’ has the form of a proper name, what leads to the illusion that it may rigidly refer to a real inventor of the zip.

4. A related funy example is the following utterance: ‘I am here now.’ According to David Kaplan, this is also a kind of contingent a priori truth. According to him, this utterance is a priori because since each one of its terms refers directly respectively to the agent, the place and the time of a given context of utterance, the possibility of its falsity is excluded. But since we can imagine a possible world where I would not be here, its utterance is only contingently true (Kaplan 1989: 509).
   This example is also delusive. For ‘I am here now’ can be false in the actual world too. I remember the case related by Dr. Oliver Sacks of a pacient who had a seriously deranged perception of the continuity of time. Because of this, her daily life was formed by time lapses: she could think ‘I am here now’ as if she were still in the sleeping room, when in fact she had already moved to the kitchen. So, in this case ‘I am here now’ is false. We are dealing with a contingent statement, which being dependent of the context of the experience is also a posteriori: again, a contingent a posteriori statement.

5. A not very dissimilar line of reasoning concerns my objections against Hilary Putnam’s view that the meaning of the word ‘water’ must be external to our heads. This is perhaps the most influential argument for semantic externalism. According to Putnam’s thought-experiment, in 1750 Oscar-1 in the earth and Oscar-2 in the twin-earth – both nearly identical planets with the same history – seeing that it rains, could have only the same idea of a watery liquid (an under normal termperatures transparent, inodorous, tasteless, etc.) within their heads. However, without their knowledge, they were refering to very diferent composits, the first H2O and the second XYZ, since the water in the twin-earth has a very different chemical composition though the same effects. For Putnam this proves that the meaning of water – which for him concerns essentially amounts of atoms with the same microstructure H2O – wasn’t in the heads of the Oscars, since in their heads they had the same thing, namely, the idea of a watery liquid. Consequently, the meaning isn’t in the head.[8]
   Our answer to this objection is to notice that the word ‘water’ has two nuclei o meaning.[9]  First there is an old popular nucleous of meaning of the word ‘water’, which is phenomenal or dispositional and can be summarized in the expression ‘watery liquid’ (the under normal temperatures transparent, inodourus liquid, that quenches the thirst, extinguish the fire, has high superficial tension, falls als rain, fulfills rivers, lakes and oceans, when colded turns to ice, when warmed to steem, etc.). This was the only meaning in the market until the beginning of the XIX century. Then a new meaning was increasingly additioned: the scientific nucleous of meaning, which can be summarized as ‘quantities of H2O’ (which results from 2H2 + O2 = 2H2O, can be subjected to electrolysis, forms intermolecular hydrogen bounds responsible for its high superficial tension, etc.). Both nuclei of meaning are obviously descriptive (since the domain of the descriptive is much wider then the phenomenal domain) and are pointed out today in any good dictionary.[10]
   However, in consonance with the variability of the context of interest, one of these meanings comes often to the fore. The two Oscars in 1750 had only the meaning ‘watery liquid’ in their heads, as the extension of the word water were the same for them. But when Putnam considers what is going on, he is unconsciously projecting the diferent scientific meanings of the word water in the actions of the two Oscars, treating them as indexical devices to the projection of these diferent meanings which simply are in our own heads, since Oscar-1 is pointing to H2O, while Oscar-2 is pointing to XYZ. Consequently, the different scientific meanings of the word ‘water’ are not in the world, as Putnam believes, but in Putnam’s head when he thinks his thought-experiment; and since Putnam and his readers have different meanings in their heads when unconsciously projecting them to the Oscars used as indexical devices, the meaning remains, as it should, an internal property of minds.
   This idea is reinforced within the neodescriptivist view that I suggest by the consideration that the meaning of ‘water’ varies with the context of interest in which the word is used. In a scientific context of interest (e.g., in a laboratory of chemistry) ‘Water is H2O’ means (a) ‘Hidroxid of oxygen = H2O’: an analytic statement. In this context even if water were not a watery liquid, having the right chemical structure, it would remain water.
   Now, in a popular context of interest (e.g., of fishermen wishing to use water for drinking and washing) ‘Water is H2O’ is an a posteriori contingent statement that can be made false, since the privileged sense is here ‘Water is a watery liquid’, so that the substitutional sentence would be (b) ‘Watery liquid = liquid composed of H2O’, and this identity not only isn’t known without experience but the composition of the watery liquid as H2O isn’t necessary.
   Conclusion: Putnam’s and Kripke’s classification of the statement ‘Water is H2O’ as a necessary a posteriori statement is only a confusion between the necessity of the statement (a) and the a posteriori nature of the similar statement (b), resulting from lack of attention to the pragmatic of natural language.
   The point can be easily generalized. Consider the statement (i) ‘Hydrogen is a gaz containing atoms with one proton and one electron.’ One could say: though necessary, it was discovered a posteriori. But in fact it has at least two contextualized senses: First, if you think of the transparent inflammable gas discovered by Cavendish in 1766 and called by him ‘unflammable air’, which was later analysed as constituted by atoms with one electron and one proton, statement (i) is read as contingent a posteriori; this gas could have a different atomic structure and one could spell the statement as (i-a) ‘Inflammable air is constituted by atoms containing one proton and one electron.’ On the other hand, after we conventionally established the meaning of hydrogen as a gaz containing atoms with one electron and one proton (as we do definitionally in science today), (i) will be read as a necessary a priori statement, because it could be unpacked as (i-b) ‘Hydrogen (Df) = the gaz constituted by atoms containing one proton and one electron’, assuming the truth of modern chemistry.

6. There are two others examples of Putnam aiming to show that the meaning is not only in the external physical world, but also in the society.[11] In the first one, Putnam assumes that aluminium and molybdenium are only distinguishable by metalworkers and that the twin-earth is full of molybdenium. In addition, he imagines that the inhabitants of the twin-earth call molybdenum aluminium, while the inhabitants of the earth call aluminium molybdenium. In this case, of course, the word ‘aluminum’ said by Oscar-1 will have an extension different than the word ‘aluminum’ said by Oscar-2, so that they mean different things with the word. But as they are not Steelworkers, they have the same psychological states. Hence, the real meaning of these words is external to what happens in their heads, depending on the society.
   Our answer is the following. If we consider the words ‘aluminium’ and ‘molybdenium’ in the way they were used by Oscar-1 and Oscar-2, the Oscars are unable to really decide if what they have is aluminium or molybdenium, since they are not experts and what they have in their minds is indeed the same. For the metalworkers of earth and twin-earth, on the other hand, the aluminium and molybdenium have very different constitutive properties, what means that they would have something different in their heads, though they use these words with exchanged meanings. The Oscar’s may confuse both things, but only because they do not know really what these things are: they are using the words in a secondary, almost parasitic sense. Finally, we can consider the aluminium and the molybdenium observed by Oscar-1 and Oscar-2 and take both as referential devices, so that we would say that Oscar-1 is pointing what he calls molybdenium, but which is what we call and understand by aluminium and vice versa.[12]
   In the second example Putnam consider the difference between olms and beechs. Most of us do not know how to distinguish olms from beechs in a forest. However, we are able to use these words with different extensions. So, what we mean with these words are different, though this difference isn’t in our heads. Consequently, their meanings are external: the physical world and the society with its specialistsare are those who have the hability to fix the referential meaning of these words.
   The important point to be noted is that we in fact do have an insufficient knowledge of the meaning of the words ‘elm’ and ‘beechs’. But we already know something generic about them: we know that they are trees and very probably distinct kinds of trees. With help of these convergent descriptions (see appendix of chapter 1, sec 4) we are able to insert these words into the discurse, often waiting for the distinguishing information given by the specialists. The last are the persons who know have the sufficient knowledge of the meaning of these words, enabling them to identify the different kinds. But the meaning, sufficient or not, is always in the heads of he speakers.
   Putnam appeals to a division of labour of language in order to explain the different aspects of meaning that may be considered by different speakers. This is an important idea. But this isn’t an idea that confirms an externalist conception of meaning. It is rather neutral, for the idea of a division of labour of the language was already suggested by internalist philosophers from John Locke to C. S. Peirce (Smith 2005: 70-73). In effect, this idea is perfectly compatible with the difference in the fact that, even if being social, the meaning remains in the heads of the speakers, specialists or not, in different dimensions and degrees. In none of my explanations above the meaning was outside the heads.

7. Now I wish to reinforce my anti-externalist arguments discussing Tyler Burge’s social externalism of thought concerning the concept of arthritis, which is complementar to Putnam’s argument. What Burge intended was, apart from Putnam, to show that not only the meaning is outside the head, but the beliefs’ extension, i.e., the proper content of thought (Burge 1979).
   I will first summarize the argument of Burge and then show that it is easy to find a much more plausible weak internalist explanation for what happens, simply by developing an objection already made by John Searle (2004: 284-6). Although Burge states his argument supposing a counterfactual situation, I will follow Searle’s exposition supposing first that a person with the name Oscar feels pain in the thigh and see a doctor saying:

(i) I think I have arthritis in the thigh.

Since arthritis is characterized as a painful inflammation of the joints, the doctor sees that his belief is false, for he cannot have arthritis in the thigh. Imagine now that Oscar travels to a remote region of the country and visits a doctor for the same reason. But in this remote region people use the word ‘arthritis’ in a much broader sense, referring to any kind of inflammation. Suppose that in this second linguistic community Oscar repeats to the doctor (i) ‘I think I have arthritis in the thigh’, having in mind exactly the same as in his first utterance. In this place, as one would expect, the doctor will confirm the suspicion, agreeing that this is an unquestionably true belief.
   Based on this example, Burge’s reasoning goes as follows. Without doubt, the psychological States of Oscar when he said he believes to have arthritis in the thigh are exactly the same, as well as his behaviour. But the contents of thought expressed in the two utterances must be different, since the thought expressed by the first utterance is false, while the thought expressed by the second is true, and the same thought cannot be false and true. We may even mark the second meaning of the word ‘arthritis’ on the utterance of Oscar with a new word: ‘tharthritis’. Burge’s conclusion is that the contents of thoughts cannot be merely psychological. As he says:

The upshot of these reflections is that the patient’s mental contents differ while his entire physical and non-intentional mental histories, considered in isolation from their social context, remain the same. (p. 106)

These contents must belong also to the outside world, to the social communities involving the speakers.
   Against this conclusion it isn’t difficult to find a weak internalist-descriptivist explanation for what happens. For the weak internalism, the concept-word ‘arthritis’ is the expression of an ascription rule constitutive of its meaning in the community B is more general, designating any kind of inflammation. According to this rule, ‘an inflammation that occurs in the thigh’ serves as a criterial condition and belongs to the sense of the word in the linguistic community B, though not in the linguistic community A. Thus, although the thought expressed in the sentence ‘I think I have arthritis in the thigh’ said by the Oscar in the linguistic communities A and B are exactly the same, there is a fundamental difference that was rightly recalled by John Searle in the following words:

Our use of language is presumed to conform to the other members of our community, otherwise we could not intend to communicate with them by using a common language. (Searle 2004, 184-5)

That is, when Oscar says to the first doctor ‘I believe I have arthritis in the thigh,’ he must be dispositionally assuming that his generalised ascription rule for the predicate ‘arthritis’ belongs to the language that the other competent speakers of the language conventionally apply. The whole of what Oscar has in mind (not only actually but also dispositionally) in his utterance to the first doctor in his linguistic community in the earth is:

(a)  I have arthritis in the thigh… [assuming that the generalised criterial condition for the ascription of the predicate ‘arthritis’ is accepted as correct by the linguistic community speakers A to which belongs my present interlocutor M in t1].

This is false because the second sentence of the conjunction is false. Let’s now see what is (actually and dispositionally) meant when Oscar says he has arthritis in the thigh to the second doctor:

(b) I have arthritis in the thigh… [assuming that the generalised criterial condition for the ascription of the predicate ‘arthritis’ is accepted as correct by the community of speakers B to which belongs my present interlocutor N in t2].

Now the statement (b) is true. Although the statement ‘I have arthritis in the tight’ says the same, it has a hidden indexical meaning that differs from (a) to (b). And this hidden indexical content is in Ocar’s mind. So, it may be true that if we confine ourselves to the content expressed in the thoughts of Oscar in making the same utterance in both places we see them as identical. But the whole of what he has mind (that is, in his head) with each utterance is different because in the first he knows that he is speaking with doctor M in t1 belonging to the linguistic community A, while in the second he is aware that he is speaking with doctor N in t2 at the linguistic community B.
   This assumption that the verifiability rules constituting the content of thought should be in accordance with the conventions of the comunity of language in which it is expressed is infringed by Oscar when he speaks with the doctor the of the first community, but it isn’t infringed when Oscar speaks with the doctor of the second community.
   Nonetheless, Burge has called us attention to one important thing: that the truth or falsehood of our utterances depends on the linguistic conventions accepted by the community involving the speaker. This is already relevant, though, though it does not reach the claim that anything of his thought-content or belief is outside the mental, in some way dispersed in the external social environment.
   Finally, the given explanation allows us to make an internalist paraphrase of the well-known distinction between narrow content and wide content. For the externalist, the narrow content is one that is in the mind of the speaker, while the wide content is external: it is out there in the world or in the society. The internalist analysis of Burge’s example allows us to propose that the narrow content of thought is the semantic-cognitive verifiability rule that constitutes it (expressed by the statement ‘I think I have arthritis in the thigh’), while the wide content of thought is what is assumed in the speaker’s mind as a provision whose expected existence will be arguably accepted.

10. Finally, one word about Perry’s argument for the essential indexical (1979). I will be extremely short, since I am repeating an argument present in details in another place (Costa 2014c). His view is that senses of indexicals are inevitably linked with the external circunstances of utterance, what can be proved by the fact that one cannot translate them in eternal sentences without loss. In his main example he is in a supermarket and discovers that there is a trail of sucar on the floor. He begins to search the author of the trail only to discover that the person who is spulling sucar out of the car is himself, what leads him to say: ‘I am making a mess’. Suppose, says Perry, that he translate this statemet in the non-indexical ‘Perry is making a mess’. It is not the same, since he could, for exemple, be suffering from Alzheimer and do not know that he is Perry… However, I think that there is a way to preserve the sense of the indexical without ending with a reference to the real contex. It is a method that I call transplantation: if you need to transplant a plant you usually don’t take the plant alone, but the plant with the earth in which it is inserted. Here is how Perry’s example appears after transplantation:

At 10 a.m. on March 26, 1968 in the confectionary supplies of the Fleuty Suppermarket in the city of Berkeley, CA, Perry notices a sugar trail stretching away from his shopping cart and says that that he himself is the one who is making a mess.

Here what counts is the truth of the eternal sentence to which the included indexical sentence. Although containing an indexical (he himself), the statement (ii) is not refering to the real context, but to the fregean thought expressed within the whole sentence. Protected by the its surrounding description, the earth of the eternal sentence, the sense of ‘I am making a mess’ is integrally transplanted without loss to a non-indexical context. What this argument seems to show is that essential indexicals are not essential, once they can be internalized.

[1]  As he says: ‘What I do deny is that a particular is nothing but a ‘bundle of qualities’, whatever that may mean’, meaning by ‘qualities’ abstract entities (1980: 52).
[2] It seems that the real reason why we distinguish the regularities that are natural laws from those that are merely coincidental is that the first are well-entrenched, that is, are inferentially bounded with our scientific system of beliefs. This is what gives them the impression of logical necessity. It is true that we have in the present discussion several alternative approaches to this classic Humean regularity view. But first, the regularity view seems to be the most plausible approach, regarding the assumption of fallibility; second, the fact that something is presently very much on the stage is within the intrinsically changeable landscape of philosophy no value judgment.
[3] As he also wrote: ‘It might be imagined that some propositions, of the form of empirical propositions, were hardened and functioned as channels for such empirical propositions that were not hardened but fluid; and that this relation altered with time, in that fluid propositions hardened, and hard ones became fluid.’ (Wittgenstein 1984a sec. 96)

[4] Kant already noted that there is priori knowledge that isn’t pure, taking long exercise to be separated from the knowledge adquired by means of sensory experience (Kant 1787: Introduction, I).
[5]  Kripke speaks of Elisabeth II, the Queen of England, an example in which the ovulo origin acquires maximal importance, contaminating its identifying rule.
[6]  There are several competing theories of parenthood (genetic, labour-based, intentional, causal and pluralistic accounts) and there is no consensus on right cluster of criteria (see Brake & Millum 2016, sec. 4).
[7] I use ‘∆t’ because, of course, the road serves a standard not only in to but during all the time in which it was designed to this function.
[8] Putnam qualifies his ‘discovery’, admitting that a secondary part of the meaning – the stereotypes – is indeed in the head. (See Putnam 1985).
[9] I am strongly summarizing here. For the full argument, which is preceded by a more careful neodescriptivist analysis of the meanings of the word ‘water’, see Costa 2014, ch. 3.
[10] For instance, the main definition in the Merrian Webster dictionary contains elements of both nuclei of meaning: ‘water = the liquid that descends from the clouds as rain, form streams, lakes, and seas, and is a major constituent of all living matter and that when pure is an odourless, tasteless, very slightlty compressible liquid oxide of hydrogen H2O which appears bluish in thic layers, freezes at 0°C freezes and boils at 100°C, has a maximum density at 4°C and a high specific heat, is feebly ionized to hydrogen and hydroxyl ions, and is a poor cinductor of electricity and a good solvent.’
[11] To be fair, Putnam expresses himself more careful in a later writting by saying that the meaning is determined by the external world. But either we understand this in the sense that it is the external world that ultimately produces these meanings in our minds, what is an obvious truism that I would not wish to deny, or what he means with the word ‘determination’ remains a too subtle metaphor to be explained. (See Putnam, 1988, ch. 2).
[12] Other externalist arguments can be more easily answered. (See, for instance, Searle 2004).