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Prentice Hall
Foundations of Philosophy Series
Roderick M. Chisholm Theories of Knowledge, 3/E

William Dray Philosophy of History, 2/E
Joel Feinberg Social Philosophy
William K. Frankena Ethics, 2/E
Martin P. Golding Philosophy of Law
Carl Hempel Philosophy of Natural Science
John H. Hick Philosophy of Religion, 4/E
DaleJacquette Philosophy of Mind
Stephen Nathanson Economic Justice
Wesley C. Salmon Logic, 3/E
Richard Taylor Metaphysics, 4/E
Tom L. Beauchamp, Editor

Monroe Beardsley and Elizabeth Beardsley, Founding Editors
EPISTEMOLOGY
Richard Feldman
University ofRochester
Upper Saddle River, New Jersey 07458

iii
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Feldman, Richard
Epistemology / Richard Feldman.
p. cm. — (Prentice-Hall foundations of philosophy series)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0-13-341645-3
1. Knowledge, Theory of. I. Title. II. Series.
BD161.F385 2003
121—dc21
2002042533
VP, Editorial Director: Charlyce Jones Owen

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This book was set in 10/12 Baskerville by The Clarinda Company.

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© 2003 by Pearson Education, Inc.

Upper Saddle River, Newjersey 07458
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be

reproduced, in any form or by any means,
without permission in writing from the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8
ISBN 0-13-341L45-3
Pearson Education LTD., London

Pearson Education Australia Pte, Limited., Sydney
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Pearson Education, Upper Saddle River, Newjersey
Contents
CHAPTER ONE Epistemological Questions 1
The Standard View 2

Developing The Standard View 4
Challenges to The Standard View 5
CHAPTER TWO The Traditional Analysis ofKnowledge 8
Kinds of Knowledge 8
Knowledge and True Belief 12
The Traditional Analysis of Knowledge 15
Real Knowledge and Apparent Knowledge 22
Conclusion 23
CHAPTER THREE Modifying The Traditional Analysis ofKnowledge. 25
An Objection to The Traditional Analysis 25

Defending The Traditional Analysis 28
Modifying The Traditional Analysis 30
Conclusion 37
CHAPTER FOUR Evidentialist Theories of Knowledge and Justification 39
Evidentialism 41
The Infinite Regress Argument 49
Cartesian Foundationalism 52
VI Contents
Coherentism 60
Modest Foundationalism 70
CHAPTER FIVE Nonevidentialist Theories of Knowledge and Justification 81
The Causal Theory 81

Truth Tracking 86
Reliabilism 90
Proper Function 99
Conclusions 105
CHAPTER SIX Skepticism (I) 108
Varieties of Skepticism 109

What Skeptics Claim 111
Four Arguments for Skepticism 114
Responding to Skepticism 119
Interim Conclusion 128
CHAPTER SEVEN Skepticism (II) 130
The Problem of Induction 130

Ordinary-Standards Skepticism and Best Explanations 141
Appendix: Contextualism 152
CHAPTER EIGHT Epistemology and Science 157
Evidence of Human Irrationality 157

Naturalistic Epistemology 166
Conclusion 175
CHAPTER NINE Epistemological Relativism 177
Uncontroversial Forms of Relativism 177

Serious Relativism 178
Reasonable Disagreements 182
Contusion 188
CHAPTER TEN Conclusion 191
Index 195
Foundations
of Philosophy
Many of the problems of philosophy are of such broad relevance to human

concerns, and so complex in their ramifications, that they are, in one form or
another, perennially present. Though in the course of time they yield in part
to philosophical inquiry, they may need to be rethought by each age in the
light of its broader scientific knowledge and deepened ethical and religious
experience. Better solutions are found by more refined and rigorous methods.
Thus, one who approaches the study of philosophy in the hope of under
standing the best of what it affords will look for both fundamental issues and
contemporary achievements.
Written by a group of distinguished philosophers, the Foundations of Philos
ophy Series aims to exhibit some of the main problems in the various fields of phi
losophy as they stand at the present stage of philosophical history.
While certain fields are likely to be represented in most introductory courses
in philosophy, college classes differ widely in emphasis, in method of instruc
tion, and in rate of progress. Every instructor needs freedom to change his
course as his own philosophical interests, the size and make-up of his classes, and
the needs of his students vary from year to year. The volumes in the Founda
tions of Philosophy Series—each complete in itself, but complementing the
others—offer a new flexibility to the instructor, who can create his own textbook
by combining several volumes as he wishes, and can choose different combi
nations at different times. Those volumes that are not used in an introductory
course will be found valuable, along with other texts or collections of readings,
for the more specialized upper-level courses.
Tom L. Beauchamp, Editor

Elizabeth Beardsley and Monroe Beardsley, Founding Editors
vii
Acknowledgments
I wish to express my indebtedness to a great many people with whom I have dis
cussed epistemological issues. I first learned about epistemology when I sat in
on the lectures in an epistemology course taught by my brother, Fred Feldman.
That course initiated what has become an enduring interest and also taught me
much of what I know about how to do philosophy. My interest and under
standing were greatly enhanced by a series of seminars with Herbert Heidel-
berger and Roderick Chisholm. I would not have been able to write this book
were it not for what I have learned from countless discussions of philosophy with
John Bennett, David Braun, Stewart Cohen, Jonathan Vogel, Ed Wierenga, and
especially Earl Conee. Todd Long, Dan Mittag, Nathan Nobis, Jim Pryor, Bruce
Russell, Harvey Siegel, and Matthias Steup all gave me helpful comments on
some or all of the manuscript. Many students, who endured courses making use
of preliminary drafts, have provided useful guidance.
And thanks also to Andrea, for helping me to persevere, and for everything
else as well.
ix
CHAPTER ONE
Epistemological
Questions
The theory of knowledge, or epistemology, is the branch of philosophy that ad

dresses philosophical questions about knowledge and rationality. Epistemol-
ogists are primarily interested in questions about the nature of knowledge and
the principles governing rational belief. They are less focused on deciding
whether there is knowledge or rational belief in specific, actual cases. Thus, for
example, it is not the epistemologist’s business to rule on whether it is now rea
sonable to believe that there is life on other planets. That is primarily the job
of astronomers and cosmologists. It is the epistemologist’s business to try to de
velop a general theory stating the conditions under which people have knowl
edge and rational beliefs. One can then go on to apply that more general
theory to the specific case of the belief in life on other planets, but to do so is
to go beyond the central epistemological issues. Although in the course of ex
amining the philosophical questions it is customary to think about many spe
cific examples, this is mainly to illustrate the general issues. The point of this
chapter is to identify some of the central theoretical issues epistemology
addresses.
A good way to begin is to look at the things we ordinarily say and think about
knowledge and rationality. By systematizing and reflecting on them, we will ar
rive at a set of questions and puzzles. Thus, we will begin by stating in a system
atic way some commonly (but not universally) held ideas about what we know
and how we know these things. We will call this collection of ideas The Standard
View. In this chapter we will identify some of the central claims of The Standard
View. In Chapters 2 through 5, we will attempt to spell out in detail the impli
cations of The Standard View and to state its answers to some of the central ques
tions. Then, in Chapters 6 though 9, we will turn to several challenges and
objections to The Standard View. Thus, the general aim of this book is to provide
1
2 Epistemological Questions
a better understanding of our commonsense views about knowledge and ra

tionality and to see to what extent those views can withstand criticism.
L THE STANDARD VIEW

In the ordinary course of events, people claim to know many things and they
attribute knowledge to others in a variety of cases. We will give examples below.
The claims to knowledge with which we are concerned are not unreflective or
outlandish. Rather, they are sensible and considered judgments. Thus, the list
that follows reflects a set of thoughts about knowledge and rationality that many
people are likely to arrive at if they reflect honestly and carefully about the
topic. You may not agree with every detail of the view to be described, but it is
fair to say that it accurately captures reflective common sense.
A. What We Know
Most of us think we know quite a lot. The following list identifies some general
categories of these things and gives examples of each. The categories may over
lap, and they are far from precise. Still, they give us a good idea of the sorts of
things we can know.
a. Our immediate environment:

“There’s a chair over there.”
“The radio is on.”
b. Our own thoughts and feelings:
“I’m excited about the new semester.”
“I’m not looking forward to filling out my tax forms.”
c. Commonsense facts about the world:
“France is a country in Europe.”
“Many trees drop their leaves in the fall.”
d. Scientific facts:
“Smoking cigarettes causes lung cancer.”
“The earth revolves around the sun.”
e. Mental states of others:
“My neighbor wants to get his house painted.”
“That person over there who is laughing hard found the joke he just heard
funny.”
f. The past:
“George Washington was the first president of the United States.”
“President Kennedy was assassinated.”
g. Mathematics:
“2 + 2 = 4”
“5 • 3 = 15”
h. Conceptual truths: .
“All bachelors are unmarried.”
“Red is a color.”
Epistemological Questions 3
i. Morality:
“Gratuitous torturing of infants is wrong.”
“There’s nothing wrong with taking a break from work once in a while.”
j. The future:
“The sun will rise tomorrow.”
“The Chicago Cubs will not win the World Series next year.”1
k. Religion:
“God exists.”
“God loves me.”
There are, of course, many things in each of these categories that we do not
know. Some facts about the distant past are irretrievably lost. Some facte about
the future are, at least for now, beyond us. Some of the areas of knowledge on
the list are controversial. You may have doubts about our knowledge in the
areas of morality and religion. Still, the list provides a fair sampling of the sorts
of things we typically claim to know.
Thus, the first thesis within The Standard View is
SV1. We know a large variety of things in categories (a)-(k).
B. Sources of Knowledge
If (SV1) is right, then there are some ways we come to know the things it says
we know; there are some sources for our knowledge. For example, if we know
about our immediate environment, then perception and sensation play a cen
tral role in acquiring this knowledge. Memory obviously is crucial in our knowl
edge of the past and also in certain aspects of our knowledge of current facts.
For example, my knowledge that the tree that I see through my window is a
maple relies on my perception of the tree and my memory of the way maples
look. Another source of much of our knowledge is the testimony of others. Tes
timony is not here restricted to statements made on the witness stand under
oath. It is much broader than that. It includes what other people tell you, in
cluding what they tell you on television or in books and newspapers.
Three other sources of knowledge deserve brief mention here as well. If per
ception is our awareness of external things through sight, hearing, and the
other senses, then perception does not account for our knowledge of our own
internal states. You may now know that you feel sleepy, or that you are think
ing about what you will do on the weekend. But this is not by means of per
ception in the sense just given. It is, rather, introspection. So this is another
potential source of knowledge.
Next, sometimes we know things by reasoning or inference. When we know
some facts and see that those facts support some further fact, we can come to
know that further fact. Scientific knowledge, for example, seems to arise from
inferences from observational data.
Finally, it seems that we know some things simply because we can “see” that
they are true. That is, we have the ability to think about things and to discern cer
tain simple truths. Though this is a matter of some controversy, our knowledge
of elementary arithmetic, simple logic, and conceptual truths seems to fall into
this category. For lack of a better term, we will say that we know these things by
means of rational insight.
Our list of sources of knowledge, then, looks like this:
a. Perception
b. Memory
c. Testimony
d. Introspection
e. Reasoning
f. Rational insight
No doubt in many cases we rely for our knowledge on some combination of

these sources.
The Standard View holds that we can gain knowledge from these sources. It
does not say that these sources are perfect. No doubt they are not. Sometimes
our memories are mistaken. Sometimes our senses mislead us. Sometimes we
reason badly. Still, according to The Standard View, we can get knowledge by
using these sources.
Whether the list of sources of knowledge ought to be expanded is a matter
of some controversy. Perhaps some people would add religious or mystical in
sight to the list. Perhaps others think that there are forms of extrasensory per
ception that we should add. However, these are issues about which there is
greater disagreement. To add them to the list, then, might make the list look
less like something deserving the name “The Standard View.” Thus, we will not
add them here. Others might want to add science to the list of sources of knowl
edge. Although it may be unobjectionable to do so, science is probably best
seen as a combination of perception, memory, testimony, and reasoning. Thus,
it may not be necessary to add it to the list.
Thus, the second thesis in The Standard View is
SV2. Our primary sources of knowledge are (a)-(f).
The Standard View, then, is the conjunction of (SV1) and (SV2).
II. DEVELOPING THE STANDARD VIEW

Numerous questions arise once we reflect on The Standard View. These ques
tions constitute the primary subject matter of epistemology. This section iden
tifies some of those questions.
If some cases fall into the category of knowledge and others are excluded
from that category, then there must be something that differentiates these two
groups of things. What is it that distinguishes knowledge from the lack of knowl
edge? What does it take to know something? This leads to the first question:
QI. Under what conditions does a person know something to be true?

One might think that it is a matter of how sure a person feels about something
or whether there is general agreement about the matter. As we will see, these
are not good answers to (QI). Something else distinguishes knowledge from its
opposite. (QI), it turns out, is surprisingly hard, controversial, and interesting.
Working out an answer to it involves thinking through some difficult issues.
This will be the focus of Chapters 2 and 3.
According to many philosophers, an important condition on knowledge is
rational or justified belief. To know something requires something along the
lines of having a good reason to believe it, or coming to believe it in the right
sort of way, or something like that. You do not know something if you are just
guessing, for example. This leads us to a second question, one that has been cen
tral to epistemology for many years:
Q2. Under what conditions is a beliefjustified (or reasonable or rational) ?
And this will lead us to further questions about the alleged sources of knowl
edge. How do these faculties enable us to satisfy the conditions of knowledge?
How could they yield epistemic justification? This will be the focus of Chapters
4 and 5, as well as parts of Chapters 7-9.
Our beliefs obviously play a central role in determining our behavior. You will
behave very differently toward your neighbor if you believe that she is a trust
worthy friend rather than a dishonest enemy. Given the ability of beliefs to af
fect our behavior, it seems clear that your beliefs can affect your life and the lives
of others. Depending upon your career and the extent to which others depend
upon you, you may have obligations to know about certain things. For exam
ple, a medical doctor ought to know about the latest developments in her spe
cialty. Sometimes, however, knowledge can be a bad thing, as when one learns
of an apparent friend’s disloyalty. These considerations suggest that practical
and moral issues interact with epistemological issues in ways that merit exami
nation. Thus,
Q3. In what ways, if any, do epistemological, practical, and moral mat

ters affect one another?
We will address this question in Chapter 4.
III. CHALLENGES TO THE STANDARD VIEW

Careful philosophical reflection on the questions listed so far, to be carried out
in Chapters 2-5, will result in a detailed statement of just what The Standard
View amounts to. However, as will be evident as we proceed, there are reasons
to wonder whether this commonsense view really is correct. We will give these
reasons, and the alternative views about knowledge and rationality associated
with them, a full hearing in Chapters 6-9. The central ideas behind these doubts
are the basis for the remaining questions about The Standard View.
A. The Skeptical View

Advocates of The Skeptical View contend that we know far less than The Standard
View says we know. Skepticism constitutes a traditional and powerful philo
sophical challenge to The Standard View. Skeptics think that The Standard View
is far too charitable and self-indulgent. They think that our confident assertion
that we know a lot results from a rather smug self-confidence that is entirely un
justified. As we shall see, some skeptical arguments rely on seemingly bizarre
possibilities: Maybe you are just dreaming that you are seeing and hearing the
things you think you are seeing and hearing; maybe your life is some sort of com
puter-generated artificial reality. Other skeptical arguments do not rely on odd
hypotheses like these. But all of them challenge our comfortable common
sense view. These considerations prompt the next set of epistemological
questions:
04. Do we really have any knowledge at all? Is there any good response
to the arguments of the skeptics?
(Q4) asks, in effect, whether the conditions spelled out in response to (QI)
are actually satisfied. Advocates of The Skeptical View hold that the answer to
each of the questions in (Q4) is “No.” They are inclined to deny both (SV1) and
(SV2).
Bo The Naturalistic View

The methodology traditionally used by epistemologists is primarily conceptual
or philosophical analysis: thinking hard about what knowledge and rationality
are like, often using hypothetical examples to illustrate the points. However, one
might wonder whether we could better study some of these questions scientif
ically. Many recent philosophers have said that we can. We will call their view
The Naturalistic View because it emphasizes the role of natural (or empirical or
experimental) science. Thus, oneway The Naturalistic View challenges The Stan
dard View has to with the methodology used to support theses (SV1) and (SV2)
of The Standard View.
The Naturalistic View also leads to a second kind of challenge to The Standard
View. There is a body of research about the ways people think and reason that
is troubling. It shows, or at least seems to show, systematic and widespread er
rors and confusions in how we think and reason. When confronted with the re
sults of this research, some people wonder whether anything like The Standard
View can be right.
These considerations lead to our next set of questions:
05. In what ways, if at all, do results in natural science, especially cog

nitive psychology, bear on epistemological questions? Do recent
empirical results undermine The Standard View?
C. The Relativistic View

Another challenge to The Standard View emerges from considerations of rela
tivism and cognitive diversity. To see the issues here, notice that people’s beliefs
and their policies for forming beliefs differ widely. For example, some people
are willing to believe on the basis of rather little evidence. Some seem to de
mand a lot of evidence. People also differ in their attitudes toward science.
Some people are strong believers in the power of science. They think that the
methods of science provide the only reasonable way to learn about the world
around us. They sometimes regard others as irrational for believing in such
things as astrology, reincarnation, ESP, and other occult phenomena. Defend
ers of these beliefs sometimes charge their critics with a blind and irrational faith
in science. People also differ widely over political, moral, and religious mat
ters. Seemingly intelligent people can find themselves seriously at odds with
one another over these issues. There is, then, no doubt that people disagree,
often vehemently, about a great many things.
The fact that there is this much disagreement leads some people to wonder
whether in each case (at least) one party to the dispute must be unreasonable.
A comforting thought to many is that there is room for reasonable disagree
ment, at least on certain topics. That is, two people can have different points
of view, yet each can be reasonable in maintaining his or her own view. De
fenders of The Relativistic View are inclined to find room for a great deal of rea
sonable disagreement, whereas defenders of The Standard View seemed to be
more inclined to think that one side (at least) must be wrong in every dispute.
These considerations about cognitive diversity and the possibility of rea
sonable disagreements provoke the following questions having to do with epis
temological relativism:
Q6. What are the epistemological implications of cognitive diversity?

Are there universal standards of rationality, applicable to all people
(or all thinkers) at all times? Under what circumstances can ratio
nal people disagree with one another?
The questions raised in (QI) through (Q6) are among the central problems in
epistemology. The chapters that follow will address them.
ENDNOTE
1. Cubs fans may not like this example. But those who follow baseball know that, no
matter what happens, the Cubs never win. Neither do the Boston Red Sox.
The Traditional
Analysis of Knowledge
The goal of the next few chapters is to try to get clearer about just what The Stan
dard View says and what implications it has. While doing this we will not call
into question the truth of The Standard View. We will assume that it is basically
correct, reserving discussion of challenges to our commonsense view until later.
I. KINDS OF KNOWLEDGE
The Standard View says that we have a good deal of knowledge and it says some
thing about the sources of that knowledge. One central aspect of getting clearer
about just what The Standard View amounts to is getting clearer on just what it
takes knowledge to be. The Standard View says that we do have knowledge, but
what is knowledge?
A. Some Main Kinds of Knowledge

We use the words “knows” and “knew” in a variety of importantly different kinds
of sentences. Here are some examples:1
a. Knowing an individual: S knows x.

“The professor knows J. D. Salinger.”
b. Knowing who: S knows who x is.
“The student knows who J. D. Salinger is.”
c. Knowing whether: S knows whether p.
“The librarian knows whether there is a book by J. D. Salinger in the
library.”
8
d. Knowing when: S knows when A will (or did) happen.

“The editor knew when J. D. Salinger’s book would be published.”
e. Knowing how: S knows how to A.
“J. D. Salinger knows how to write.”
f. Knowing facts: S knows p.
“The student knows that J. D. Salinger wrote The Catcher in the Rye.”
This list is far from complete. We could add sentences using phrases such as
“knows which,” “knows why,” and so on. But the list we have already will be
enough to bring out the main points to be made here.
B. Is All Knowledge Propositional Knowledge?

“Knows that” sentences report that a person knows a certain fact or proposition.
These sentences are said to express propositional knowledge? One initially plau
sible idea about the connection between these various ways in which the word
“knows” is used is that “knows that” is fundamental and that the others can be
defined in terms of it. To see why propositional knowledge is more fundamental
than the others, consider how some of the other kinds might be explained in
terms of it.
Consider (c), “knowing whether.” Suppose it is true that
1. The librarian knows whether there is a book by J. D. Salinger in the

library.
If (1) is true, then if there is a book by J. D. Salinger in the library, the

librarian knows that there is. If, on the other hand, there is no book by him
in the library, then the librarian knows that there is not. Whichever propo
sition is actually true—the proposition that there is a book or the proposi
tion that there is not—the librarian knows it. So, saying (1) is a short way of
saying
2. Either the librarian knows that there is a book byj. D. Salinger in the
library or the librarian knows that there is no book by J. D. Salinger
in the library.3
In this respect, the librarian differs from a patron who does not know whether
there is a book by Salinger there. The patron does not know that there is a
book there and does not know that there is no book there.
The point just made about (1) can be generalized. For any person and any
proposition, the person knows whether the proposition is true just in case either
the person knows that it is true or the person knows that it is not true. A per
son who does not know whether it is true neither knows that it is true nor knows
that it is not.
10 The Traditional Analysis of Knowledge
We can express the point about the connection between (1) and (2) in terms
of a general definition, using the letter “S” to stand for a potential knower and
“p” to stand for a proposition:
DI. S knows whether p = df. Either S knows p or S knows ~p.4
Definition (DI) illustrates an important methodological tool: definitions. A de

finition is correct only if the two sides are equivalent. To check whether the two
sides are equivalent, you consider the results of filling in the variables or place
holders with specific instances. In the case of (DI), you fill in the name of a per
son for S and you replace p by a sentence expressing some proposition. If the
definition is correct, in all such cases the two sides will agree: If the left side is
true—if the person does know whether the proposition is true—then the right
side will also be true—either the person knows that it is true or the person knows
that it is not true; if, on the other hand, the left side is not true—if the person
does not know whether the proposition is true—then the right side will not be
true either. (DI) seems to pass this test: The two sides of the definition do co
incide. Thus, we can explain “knowing whether” in terms of “knowing that.”
It is also possible to define some of the other kinds of knowledge in terms
of propositional knowledge. The definitions are more complicated, but the
ideas are still fairly straightforward. Consider “knows when.” If you know when
something happened (or will happen), then there is some proposition stating
the time at which it happened (or will happen) such that you know that propo
sition to be true. Thus, to say
3. The editor knew when J. D. Salinger’s book would be published.
is to say that the editor knew, with respect to some particular time, that Salinger’s
book would be published at that time, e.g., she knew that it would be published
in 1950 or that it would be published in 1951, etc. Those who were less knowl
edgeable than the editor were not in this position. For them, there was no time
such that they knew the proposition that the book would be published at that
time.
Again, we can generalize the idea and express it as a definition:
D2. S knows when x happens = df. There is some proposition saying

that x happens at some particular time and S knows that proposi
tion. (There is some proposition, p, where p is of the form “x hap
pens at t” and S knows p.)
Once again, we have a way to explain one kind of knowledge—knowing when—

in terms of propositional knowledge. It is likely that similar approaches will
work for knowing which, knowing why, and numerous other sentences about
knowledge. The case for propositional knowledge being fundamental looks
fairly strong.
The Traditional Analysis ofKnowledge 11
However, it is unlikely that all the things we say using the word knows can be
expressed in terms of propositional knowledge. Consider the first item on our
list: “S knows x.” You might think that to know someone or something is to
have propositional knowledge of some facts about that person or thing. Thus,
we might propose
D3. S knows x = df. S has propositional knowledge of some facts about

x (i.e., for some proposition p, p is about x, and S knows p).
It is likely that anyone you know is someone you know some facts about. But
knowing some facts about a person is not sufficient for knowing the person.
J. D. Salinger is a reclusive, but well-known, author. Many people do know some
facts about him: they know that he wrote The Catcher in the Rye. They may know
that he does not interact with a great many people. So they know facts about
him, but they do not know him. Thus, knowing a person is not the same as
knowing some facts about a person.
This shows that definition (D3) is not correct. It also illustrates another im
portant methodological point. The example shows that (D3) is not correct be
cause it is a counterexample to (D3): an example showing that the sides of the
definition do not always agree—one side can be true when the other is false.
A clear-cut counterexample refutes a proposed definition. By revising a defin
ition in response to counterexamples, it is possible to get a better understand
ing of the concepts under discussion.5
The counterexample to (D3) shows not only that (D3) is false but that it is not
even on the right track. We cannot make some minor change in order to fix things
up. It would not help to add that S knows lots of facts about x, or that S knows im
portant facts about x. You can have that sort of propositional knowledge and still
not know the person. Knowing x isn’t a matter of knowing facts about x. Instead,
it is a matter of being acquainted with x—having met x and perhaps remember
ing that meeting. No matter how many facts you know about a person, it does not
follow that you know that person. Knowing a person or a thing is being acquaint
ed with that person or thing, not having propositional knowledge about the per
son or thing. So not all knowing is propositional knowing.
Consider next “knowing how.” Suppose that there is a former expert skier
who, after a serious accident leaves him unable to ski, becomes a successful ski
coach. His success as a coach is largely the result of the fact that he is unusually
good at explaining skiing techniques to students. Does the coach know how to
ski? The answer seems to be ‘Yes.” A plausible explanation of this appeals to the
following definition:
D4a. S knows how to A = df. If a is an important step in A-ing, then S

knows that a is an important step in A-ing.6
This seems to show that “knowing how” can be defined in terms of proposi
tional knowledge.
12 The Traditional Analysis ofKnowledge
However, other examples suggest a different idea. Consider a young child

who begins skiing and does it successfully, without any training or intellectual
understanding of what she is doing. She also knows how to ski, but she seems
to lack then^^vant-prcqicisit-ionaLknowledge. She does not have any explicit
conscious understanding of the various steps. She is just able to do it. This ex
ample suggests that there is a second meaning to the phrase “knows how.” The
following definition captures this second meaning:
D4b. S knows how to A = df. S is able to A.
The ex-skier knows how to ski in the (D4a) sense, but not in the (D4b) sense.
Just the reverse is true of the young prodigy. So one kind of knowhow is propo
sitional knowledge, but another kind is not.
Co Conclusion
The attempt to explain all the different kinds of knowledge in terms of propo
sitional knowledge is unsuccessful. The most reasonable conclusion seems to
be that there are (at least) three basic kinds of knowledge: (1) propositional
knowledge, (2) acquaintance knowledge or familiarity, and (3) ability knowl
edge (or procedural knowledge).
Even though we cannot explain all knowledge in terms of propositional
knowledge, propositional knowledge does have a special status. We can explain
several other kinds of knowledge in terms of it. Furthermore, many of the most
intriguing questions about knowledge turn out to be questions about proposi
tional knowledge. It will be the focus of this book. And the point of this section
is mainly to get clear about the sort of knowledge that is the topic of our study.
It is propositional knowledge, or knowledge of facts.
H. KNOWLEDGE AND TRUE BELIEF

What does it take to know a fact? What is propositional knowledge? These are
the questions raised by (QI) in Chapter 1. We will begin our examination of this
with a simple, and inadequate, answer. Then we will attempt to build upon this
answer.
A. Two Conditions on Knowledge

It is easy to come up with two conditions for knowledge: truth and belief. It is
clear that knowledge requires truth. That is, you cannot know something un
less it is true. It can never be right to say, “He knows it but it’s false.” You can
not know that Thomas J efferson was the first president of the United States. The
reason that you cannot know this is that he was not the first president.
People can feel very sure of things that are not true. You might feel sure
that Jefferson was the first president. You might think that you remember
being taught this in school. But you are mistaken about this. (Or your teacher
made a big mistake.) You might even claim to know that Jefferson was the first
president. But he was not the first president, and you do not know that he was.
This is because knowledge requires truth. You know a proposition only if it
is true.
There is a possible objection to the claim that knowledge requires truth. It
is illustrated by the following example:
Example 2.1: The Mystery Story

You are reading a mystery story. All the clues presented right up to the last
chapter indicated that the butler was guilty. You felt sure the butler did it
and were surprised when it. was revealed in the final scene that the ac
countant was guilty. After you finish the book you say:
4. I knew all along that the butler did it, but then it turned out that he
didn’t.
If you are right when you say (4), then it is possible to know things that are not
true. You knew that the butler did it, but it was not true that the butler did it.
However, even though people sometimes say things such as (4), it is clear that
these things are not literally true. You did not know all along that the butler
did it. What was true all along was that you felt sure that the butler did it, or
something like that. By saying (4) you convey, in a slightly colorful way, that
you were surprised by the ending. But (4) is not true, and it does not show that
there can be knowledge without truth.
A second condition for knowledge is belief. If you know something, then
you must believe it or accept it. If you do not even think that something is true,
then you do not know it. We are using “belief” in a broad sense here: anytime
you take something to be true, you believe it. Believing thus includes hesitant
acceptance as well as fully confident acceptance. A good way to think about
this is to notice that when you consider a statement, you can adopt any of three
attitudes toward it: belief, disbelief, or suspension ofjudgment. As an analogy,
imagine yourself forced to say one of three things about a statement: “yes,”
“no,” or “no opinion.” You will say “yes” over a range of cases, including the
ones in which you are entirely confident of a statement and the ones in which
you merely think the statement is probably true. You will say “no” when you
think that the statement is definitely or probably false. And you will say “no
opinion” in the remaining cases. Similarly, as we are using the term here, “be
lief” applies to a range of attitudes. It is contrasted with disbelief, which in
volves a similar range, and suspension ofjudgment.
It is clear, then, that knowledge requires belief. If you do not even think that
a statement is true, then you do not know that it is true. There is, however, an
objection to this claim that deserves consideration. We sometimes talk in ways
that contrast knowledge and belief, suggesting that when you know something,
you do not believe it. To see this, consider the following example:
Example 2.2: Knowing Your Name

You have a friend named “John” and you ask him, “Do you believe that
your name is John’?” He replies:
5. I do not believe that my name is “John”; I know that it is.
In saying (5), John seems to be saying that this is a case of knowledge and not
a case of belief. The suggestion is that if it is belief, then it is not knowledge. If
he is right, then belief is not a condition for knowledge.
However, again, this appearance is misleading. John surely does accept the
statement that his name is “John.” He does not reject that statement or have no
opinion about it. When he says (5), his point is that he does not merely believe
that his name is “John”; he can say something stronger—that he knows it. And
one of the ways we typically proceed in conversations is to avoid saying the
weaker or more modest thing when the stronger one is true as well. If your
friend were to say to you, “I believe that my name is John,’ ” this would suggest,
but not literally say, that he does not know it. There are many other examples
of the same phenomenon. Suppose that you are extremely tired, having worked
very hard for a long time. Someone asks if you are tired. You might respond by
saying something like:
6. I’m not tired; I’m exhausted.
Taken literally, what you say is false. You are tired. The point of your utterance
is to emphasize that you are not merely tired; you are exhausted. The same thing
goes on in (5). By saying (5), John is not really saying that he does not believe
the statement. So this example is not a counterexample to the thesis that knowl
edge requires belief.
We have now found two conditions for knowledge: To know something, you
must believe it and it must be true.
B. Knowledge as True Belief

The ideas just presented may suggest that knowledge is true belief; that is,
TB. S knows p = df. (i) S believes p, and (ii) p is true.
A little reflection should make it clear that (TB) is mistaken. There are lots
of times that a person has a true belief but does not have knowledge. Here is a
simple counterexample to (TB):
Example 2.3: Correct Predictions

New York is playing Denver in an upcoming Superbowl. The experts are
divided about who will win, and the teams are rated as even. You have a
hunch that Denver will win. When the game is finally played, your hunch
turns out to have been correct. So you believed that Denver would win,
and your belief was true.
In Example 2.3 you believe that Denver will win, and this is true. But you did not
know that Denver would win. You just had a guess that turned out to be correct.
Some will say that the fact the belief in Example 2.3 is about the future ruins
the example. But we can easily eliminate that feature without undermining the
point. Suppose you do not watch the game, but instead go to a long movie.
When you get out of the movie, you know that the game is over. You now have
a belief about the past, namely that Denver won. And you are right. You still do
not know that they won. You are still right as a result of a lucky guess. But now
there are no complications having to do with beliefs about the future.
The objections to (TB) are not limited to cases of lucky guesses. Another
sort of example will illustrate the heart of the problem with (TB).
Example 2.4: The Pessimistic Picnic Planner

You have a picnic scheduled for Saturday and you hear a weather forecast that
says at the chances that it will rain on Saturday are slightly more than 50%.
You are a pessimist, and on the basis of this report you believe confidently that
it will rain. And then it does rain. So you had a true belief that it would rain.
You did have a true belief that it would rain, but you lacked knowledge. (When
the rain starts, you might say, “I knew it would rain,” but you did not really know
it.) The reason you did not know in this case is not that you were guessing.
Your belief is based on some evidence—the weather report—so it is not simply
a guess. But this basis is not good enough for knowledge. What you need for
knowledge is something along the lines of very good reasons or a more reliable
basis, not just a potentially inaccurate weather report.
Philosophers often say that what is needed for knowledge, in addition to true
belief, is justification ior the belief. Exactly what justification amounts to is a mat
ter of considerable controversy. We will spend a good deal of time later in this
book examining this idea. But for now it will suffice to notice that in the examples
of knowledge that we put forth in Chapter 1, the believers had extremely good rea
sons for their beliefs. In contrast, in the counterexamples to (TB), you did not have
very good reasons and you could easily have been wrong. What is missing, then,
in the counterexamples to (TB) and is present in the examples of knowledge we
have described isjustification. This leads us to The Traditional Analysis ofKnowledge.
III. THE TRADITIONAL ANALYSIS OF KNOWLEDGE

The Traditional Analysis of Knowledge (the TAK) is formulated in the following
definition:
TAK. S knows p = df. (i) S believes p, (ii) p is true, (iii) S is justified in

believing p.
16 The Traditional Analysis ofKnowledge
Something along these lines can be found in various sources, perhaps going
back as far as Socrates. In Plato’s dialogue Meno, Socrates says:
For true opinions, as long as they remain, are a fine thing and all they do is good, but
they are not willing to remain long; and they escape from man’s mind, so that they
are not worth much until one ties them down by (giving) an account of the reason
why. . . . After they are tied down, in the first place they become knowledge, and
then they r emain in place.7
According to one possible interpretation of this passage, to be able to give “an

account” of an opinion is to have a reason orjustification for that opinion. And
one idea in the passage is that this is needed in order to have knowledge.8 We
will ignore the additional claim, that knowledge is less likely to “escape” from
one’s mind than other beliefs.
Similar ideas can be found in the work of many more contemporary philoso
phers. For example, Roderick Chisholm once proposed that one knows a propo
sition just in case one believes the proposition, it is true, and the proposition
is “evident” for one. And this last condition is understood in terms of how rea
sonable it is for the person to believe the proposition.9
We turn now to a more thorough examination of the three elements of the
TAK.
Ao Belief
To believe something is to accept it as true. When you consider any statement,
you are faced with a set of alternatives: You can believe it, you can disbelieve it,
or you can suspend judgment about it. Recall that we are taking belief to include
a range of more specific attitudes, including hesitant acceptance and complete
conviction. Disbelief includes a corresponding range of negative attitudes to
ward a proposition. At any given time, if you consider a proposition, you will end
up adopting one of these three attitudes.10
For present purposes, think of disbelieving a proposition as being the same
thing as believing the negation (or denial) of that proposition. So disbelieving
that George Washington was the first president is the same as believing that it
is not the case that George Washington was the first president. Suspending
judgment about the proposition is to neither believe it nor disbelieve it.11
One additional point about belief deserves mention here. Suppose a French
child is taught that George Washington was the first president of the United
States. Thus, it becomes true that
7. Pierre believes that George Washington was the first president of the
United States.
The noteworthy thing here is that (7) can be true even if Pierre does not speak
a word of English. He does not have to understand the English sentence
“George Washington was the first president of the United States.” Presumably,
he would express his belief using a French equivalent of this sentence. Pierre’s
American counterpart, Peter, might believe what Pierre does. Thus,
8. Peter believes that George Washington was the first president of the
United States.
Peter, we may assume, does not speak a word of French. So Peter and Pierre be
lieve the same thing, even though there is no sentence that they both accept.
How can this be?
One way to understand these matters is as follows. Sentences are used to ex
press certain thoughts or ideas. Philosophers use the word proposition to refer
to these items. The English sentence Peter uses and the French sentence Pierre
uses express the same proposition. Belief is fundamentally a relation to a propo
sition. So (7) can be true because Pierre believes the relevant proposition about
George Washington; (8) is true because Peter believes that same proposition.
But they would use different sentences to express that proposition.
There are, then, two important points to extract from this: Sentences differ
from the propositions they are used to express, and belief is fundamentally an
attitude one takes toward propositions.12
B. Truth
The second element of the TAK is truth. People say many complicated and
murky things about truth, but the fundamental idea is very simple. The issue
here is not about which things are in fact true. Rather, the question for now is
about what it is for something to be true. One simple and widely accepted an
swer to this is contained in the correspondence theory of truth.
The central point of the correspondence theory is expressed in the follow
ing principle:
CT. A proposition is true if and only if it. corresponds to the facts (iff
the world is the way the proposition says it is). A proposition is false
iff it fails to correspond to the facts.13
The idea here is extraordinarily simple. It applies to our example about George
Washington in the following way. The proposition that George Washington was
the first president is true just in case it corresponds to the facts as they actually
are. In other words, it is true just in case George Washington was the first pres
ident. The proposition is false if he was not the first president. This should come
as no surprise. The principle applies in analogous ways to other propositions.
It will be helpful to spell out a few consequences of (CT) and to mention a
few things that are not consequences of (CT).
1) Whether a proposition is true or false does not depend in any way

upon what anyone believes about it. For example, our beliefs about George
Washington have no bearing on the truth value (i.e., truth or falsity) of the
proposition that George Washington was the first president. The actual facts of
the case determine its truth value.
2) Truth is not “relative.” No single proposition can be “true for me but not
true for you.” I might believe a proposition that you disbelieve. In fact, this is
almost surely the case. Any two people will almost surely disagree about some
thing. However, if there is a proposition they disagree about, then the truth
value of that proposition is determined by the facts.
3) (CT) does not legitimize any kind of dogmatism or intolerant attitude to
ward people who disagree with you. Some people dismiss without consideration
anyone who disagrees with them. That is a nasty and unreasonable way to treat oth
ers. However, if we disagree about something, then, trivially, I think that I am right
and that you are wrong. If, for example, you think that Thomas Jefferson was the
first president and I think that it was George Washington instead, then I think
that you are wrong about this and you think that I am wrong about this. It would
be rash for me to generalize from this case and draw any conclusions about your
other beliefs. But when you disagree with me, I do think you are wrong. If you are
not dogmatic, you recognize your own fallibility. You are open to changing your
mind if new information comes along. There are circumstances in which it might
be rude to tell others that you think they are wrong. And possibly the mere fact
that others disagree provides you with some reason to reconsider your views.14
4) (CT) does not imply that things cannot change. Consider the proposi
tion that George Washington is the president of the United States. That propo
sition is false. But, it seems, it used to be true. What does (CT) say about this?
There are a few ways to think about this, and a full examination of them
would get into technicalities that are not important for present purposes. One
good approach says that a sentence such as “George Washington is the presi
dent of the United States” expresses a different proposition at different times.
The proposition it expressed back in 1789 is true. The proposition it expresses
in 2003—the proposition that George Washington is president of the United
States in 2003—is false. We can say that the sentence can be used to express a
series of propositions about specific times. You can think of a proposition say
ing that a certain thing has a certain property at one time as a predecessor of
a proposition saying that that same thing has that same property at a slightly
later time. So, when things change, for example, when we get a new president,
one dated proposition is true and its successor proposition is false. There is no
problem for (CT) here, provided we are careful about the propositions in
question.
5) Something similar applies to considerations about location. Suppose some
one in Maine is talking on the telephone to someone in Florida. The person
in Maine says:
9. It is snowing:.
The person in Florida says:
10. It is not snowing.
These speakers do not disagree about anything. But what, then, should we say
about the truth value of the proposition that it is snowing? Is it true or is it false?
Once again, there are a variety of ways to think about this. For present pur
poses, a good approach will be to say that by a sentence like (9) the person ex
presses a proposition that might more clearly be displayed by the sentence
9a. It is snowing here (in Maine).
Similarly, the person in Florida who says (10) says something that is most clearly
displayed in
10a. It is not snowing here (in Florida).
We may assume both of these propositions are true. Their truth is objective, in
that it depends upon the weather conditions in the two places.
6) There are puzzles about sentences such as
11. Yogurt tastes good.
Exactly what (CT) says about them depends largely on what these sentences
mean. One possibility is that each speaker uses (11) to say, “I like the taste of
yogurt.” If that is the case, then different people use (11) to express different
propositions, each proposition being about what that speaker likes. If a person
who does like the taste of yogurt says (11), then the proposition the person ex
presses is true. If the person does not like yogurt, then the person expresses a
proposition that is not true.
It is not obvious that (11) says something about individual preferences. Maybe
it means something like “Most people like the taste of yogurt.” If that is what it
means, then it does not express different propositions when said by different
people. It expresses one proposition about majority tastes, and that proposition
is true if most people like yogurt and not true if they do not.
According to another interpretation, (11) says that yogurt satisfies some stan
dard of taste that is independent of people’s likes and dislikes. This assumes
some sort of “objectivity” about taste. On this view, (11) could be true even if
hardly anyone actually likes the taste of yogurt. You might find this view strange;
it is hard to understand what objective good taste amounts to.
What is crucial for present purposes is to notice that whichever interpreta
tion of (11) is right, there is no trouble for (CT). The proposition expressed
by (11) will vary from one speaker to another if the first option is right, but
not in the other cases. In all cases, however, the truth value that the proposi
tion (s) (11) expresses depends upon the relevant facts. In this case, the rele
vant facts are either the likes and dislikes of the speaker, the likes and dislikes
of the majority of people, or the objective facts about good taste.
There is no need for us to settle disputes about the right interpretation of
sentences such as (11). That complicated matter can be left to those who study
aesthetics. The crucial point for present purposes is that whichever interpre
tation is correct, there is no good objection here to (CT).
7) (CT) does not imply that we cannot know what is “really” true. Some peo
ple react to (CT) by saying something like this:
According to (CT), truth is “absolute” and what’s true depends upon how things are
in the objective world. Because this world is external to us, we can never really know
what’s true. At most, we can know what is “subjectively” true. This subjective truth de
pends upon our own views about the world. Absolute truth must always be beyond
our grasp.
We will discuss skepticism at length in Chapters 6 and 7. Much of epistemology

is an effort to respond to it. For now it is enough to note two points. First, from
the mere fact that what is true is dependent upon an objective world that ex
ists independent of us, it does not follow that we cannot know what that world
is like. Thus, if there is any strong argument for skepticism, it relies on a premise
beyond anything stated in the preceding paragraph. We will consider how such
an argument might be formulated later.
Second, throughout the next several chapters we will assume, as The Standard
View does, that we do know things. This is not a matter of prejudging the issues
associated with skepticism. Rather, we are examining what the nature and con
sequences of The Standard View are. The Skeptical View will get a fair hearing in
Chapters 6 and 7.
8) There is one very puzzling issue associated with the correspondence the
ory of truth. Consider a sentence such as
12. Michael is tall.
Suppose that someone asserts (12) in a normal conversational context such as

the following: You are about to pick up Michael at the airport. You know that
he is an adult male, but you do not know what he looks like. You are given a de
scription, of which (12) is a part. Under these circumstances, if Michael is ac
tually 6'4", then (12) expresses a truth. If Michael is 4'10", then (12) says
something false. If Michael is about 5T0", then it is difficult to say whether (12)
expresses a truth or a falsehood. That height seems to be a borderline case of
being tall (for an adult male).
According to one widely held view about these matters, the word “tall” just
does not have a precise meaning. The problem we have in the final situation,
when Michael is 5T 0", is not that we do not know enough about the situation.
We can know everything there is to know about Michael’s height, average
heights for adult men, and anything else that is relevant. On this view, (12) just
is a borderline case. There simply are not exact boundaries to the heights to
which the word “tall” applies. In other words, “tall” is a vague word.
Many other words are vague, including, “healthy”, “wealthy”, and “wise”.
Vagueness causes numerous problems in understanding exactly how language
works. Fortunately, we can largely ignore those issues while pursuing the epis
temological questions that are our focus. However, issues concerning vague
ness will arise from time to time, so it is important to have a grasp of the idea.
Furthermore, the existence of vague sentences may have some bearing on the
adequacy of (CT). Recall the distinction between sentences and the proposi
tions they express. As just noted, vagueness is a feature of sentences. Sentence
(12), it seems, is vague. But now consider the proposition (12) expresses on a
particular occasion, such as the one just described. If that proposition is vague,
or indefinite in truth value, then (CT) needs revision. (CT) says that every
proposition is either true or false, depending upon whether it corresponds to
the way the world is. But if there are vague propositions, then there are propo
sitions that partially correspond to the way the world is. One might say that
there is a third truth value—indeterminate—in addition to the original two—
true and false. One might even say that there is a whole range of truth values,
that truth comes in degrees. These are complex matters that cannot easily be
resolved. We will not attempt to resolve them here. It is enough to realize that
(CT) may require modification in order to deal with vagueness.
C. Justification
The third, and final element of the TAK is justification. Justification (or ratio
nality or reasonableness) will be the focus of a large part of this book. This sec
tion will introduce some preliminary ideas.
Justification is something that comes in degrees—you can have more or less of
it. Consider again Example 2.4, in which you pessimistically believed that it would
rain on the day of your picnic on the basis of a forecast saying that the odds of its
raining were slightly greater than half. Here you have some justification for think
ing that it will rain. It is not as if you simply made it up, with no reason at all. But
your reasons were far from good enough to give you knowledge. So what clause
(iii) of the TAK requires is very strongjustification. In the circumstances described,
you do not have it for the belief that it will rain. If the day of the picnic comes and
you look out the window and see rain, then you do have strong enough justifica
tion for the belief that it will rain. Under those circumstances you would satisfy
clause (iii) of the TAK. So clause (iii) should be read to require strong justifica
tion, or adequate justification. This may be a bit imprecise, but it will do for now.
You can be justified in believing something without actually believing it.
Clause (iii) of the TAK does not imply (i). To see how this works, consider the
following example:
Example 2.5: Mr. Insecure’s Exam

Mr. Insecure has just taken an exam. The teacher quickly looked over his
answers and said that they look good and that the grades will be available
the next day. Mr. Insecure has studied hard, taken and done well on the
practice exams, found the questions on the actual exam similar to the ones
he had studied, and so on. He has excellent reasons to think that he passed
the exam. But Mr. Insecure is insecure. He never believes that he has done
well and does not believe that he has done well on this exam.
Even though Mr. Insecure does not believe that he has passed the exam, he is
justified in believing that he passed the exam. So condition (iii) of the TAX'is
satisfied, but condition (i) is not. To be justified in believing a proposition is,
roughly, to have what is required to be highly reasonable in believing it, whether
one actually believes it or not.
What is justified for one person may not be justified for another. You have
many justified beliefs about your private life. Your friends and acquaintances
may have little or no justification for beliefs about those matters. And what is jus
tified for an individual changes over time. A modification of Example 2.4 illus
trates this. A week before the picnic, you may not have had justification for
believing the proposition that it would rain on Saturday. But by Saturday morn
ing, you might acquire ample justification for that proposition.
It is important not to confuse being justified in believing something from
being able to show that one is justified in believing that proposition. In many
cases we can explain why a belief is justified; we can formulate our reasons.
However, there are exceptions to this. For example, a child might have many
justified beliefs but be unable to articulate a justification for them.
IV. REAL KNOWLEDGE AND APPARENT KNOWLEDGE

One additional point about The Standard View deserves special attention. The
things that people regard as knowledge differ in a variety of ways. To take some
simple examples, perhaps people in ancient times would have said that among
the things they know is the fact that the earth is flat. Perhaps they would have
said that they knew the earth to be at the center of the universe (with everything
in orbit around it). There may have been widespread agreement in ancient
times that they did have knowledge in these cases.
We can grant for the sake of argument that the ancients thought they knew that
the earth was at the center of the universe. (If you do not like this particular ex
ample, substitute another one that illustrates the same idea.) We can even grant
that they were quite well justified in believing that they had knowledge of this
fact. We might say that they had apparent knowledge. Nevertheless, they lacked
real knowledge. Even though the propositions in question might have quite rea
sonably appeared in the list of things known in the first chapter of a distant an
cestor of this book, the propositions were false. The earth is not, and never was,
flat. It is not, and never was, at the center of the universe. They thought, perhaps
even with justification, that they had knowledge, but they were mistaken.15
Another point deserves mention here. It may be that the claims of those
who are most outspoken, most charismatic, or most powerful will often be
widely regarded as items of knowledge. This can be distressing to those out of

power, especially when they have betterjustification for competing views. How
ever, questions about what determines what gets counted as knowledge, and
how the powerful manage to impose their views on others, are not the focus of
this book. Our topic is real knowledge, not apparent knowledge.16
V. CONCLUSION
(QI) from Chapter 1 asked what it took to have knowledge. This chapter has
introduced an answer to that question based on The Traditional Analysis ofKnowl
edge, according to which knowledge is justified true belief. This analysis has a
long history. It seems to fit very well with The Standard View. The examples of
knowledge endorsed by The Standard View seem to be cases ofjustified true be
lief. And cases in which we lack knowledge seem to be cases in which we lack
at least one of these three factors.
There is, however, a significant objection to the TAK. We turn next to it.
ENDNOTES
1. The following examples show general patterns of various kinds of statements, with
an example showing how each pattern could be filled out. The patterns make use
of variables that can be replaced by specific terms. Following standard practices,
“S” is used as a variable to be replaced by a name or description of a person, “x” is
used as a variable to be replaced by a name or description of any object (including
people), “p” is to be replaced by a full sentence expressing a fact or purported fact
(a proposition), and “A” by a description of an action.
2. For discussion ofjust what is meant by the word “proposition,” see Section III, Part
Al of this chapter.
3. It is important to understand the difference between (2) and
2a. The librarian knows either that there is a book by Salinger in the library or that
there is not a book by Salinger in the library.
(2a) is true; (2a) reports knowledge of a disjunction (an “or” statement) and every
one can have this knowledge. But the librarian must possess special knowledge if
(2) is true. She must know which of the disjuncts (the parts of the “or” statement)
is true.
4. “~p” means “not-p”, or the negation of p. The negation of “There is a book by
Salinger in the library” is “It is not the case that there is a book by Salinger in the
library.”
5. The methodology used here will be important in what follows. One important test
of a proposed definition is that there are no counterexamples to it.
6. This definition may need some refinement, but it does capture at least the basic
idea under discussion.
1. From Meno, translated by G. M. A. Grube. Reprinted in Plato: Complete Works, edited
byJohn M. Cooper (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing Co., 1997), p. 895.
8. A similar idea is presented in another dialogue, Theatetus, translated by M. J. Levett,
revised by Myles Burnyeat. Reprinted in Plato: Complete Works. See p. 223.
9. Roderick Chisholm, Theory ofKnowledge (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1966),
p. 23.
10. There is an alternative way to think about these matters. Instead of saying that there
ar e three options, you can say that you can believe a proposition to a greater or lesser-
degree. You can think of these degrees of belief as arranged along a scale. When you
accept a proposition with absolute conviction, you believe it to the fullest degree. When
you completely and totally reject a proposition, you have the lowest possible degree of
belief in it. And in the usual cases, your degree of belief falls somewhere in between.
Suspension ofjudgment is right in the middle.
11. If you have never even consider ed a pr ©position, then you neither believe it nor dis
believe it, but you do not suspend judgment either. Perhaps suspending judgment
is best characterized as considering a proposition but neither believing it nor dis
believing it.
12. There are hard questions about exactly what kinds of objects propositions are. We
can safely ignore those questions here.
13. The term “iff” abbreviates “if and only if.” Sentences of the form “p iff q” are true
just in case the truth values of p and q agree, that is, just in case both are true or both
are false.
14. This topic will be discussed in detail in Chapter 9.
15. At this point you might observe that we might be in a situation like the ancients, in
which our claims to knowledge are mistaken. We will take up this issue when we
consider The Skeptical View.
16. It is possible that some of the attractiveness of The Relativistic View, mentioned in
Chapter 1, results from confusing apparent knowledge and real knowledge.
Modifying The .
Traditional Analysis
of Knowledge
I. AN OBJECTION TO THE TRADITIONAL ANALYSIS

Recall that The Traditional Analysis of Knowledge, the TAK, says that knowledge
is justified true belief.
This analysis is correctjust in case in all possible examples, if a person knows
some proposition, then the person has a justified true belief in that proposition,
and if a person has ajustified true belief, then the person has knowledge. Un
fortunately for the TAK, there are compelling counterexamples of the second
sort—cases ofjustified true belief that clearly are not cases of knowledge.
The first philosopher to argue explicitly against the TAK in the manner to
be discussed here was Edmund Gettier. His brief essay, “Is Justified True Belief
Knowledge?,” may be the most widely discussed and often cited epistemology
paper in many years.1 Gettier presented two examples, each showing that one
could have ajustified true belief that is not knowledge. Other philosophers
have described additional cases establishing the same point.
A. The Counterexamples
In this section we will examine three examples all designed to illustrate a prob
lem in the TAK. The point behind all the objections is the same, but the dif
ferent examples help to make the issue clearer. The first example is a modified
version of one Gettier originally presented.
Example 3.1: The Ten Coins Case

Smith is justified in believing:
1. Jones is the man who will get the job and Jones has ten coins in his
pocket.
25
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"Have no fear, Andrew," answered my mother. "Nothing
is farther from my thoughts than to put my child into such
hands. I would almost as soon have her in the hospital with
poor Lucille."
"I am sure my uncle and aunt seem very kind," said I

rather indignantly, and feeling somehow vexed that Andrew
should say "our Vevette," though he had often done so
before. I was quite dazzled, in truth, by the splendor of
these new relations, who revived in some degree my old
daydreams.
"They are so in their way, but that way is not ours," said
my mother; "and even were the advantages they offer
greater than I think them, I do not believe my child would
wish to leave her mother for their sake."
"Oh, no, no!" I cried, feeling for the moment all I said.
"Not for worlds."
"That is settled, then," said my mother. "And now tell

us, Andrew, where have you been?"
Andrew told us he had been to the naval office, where

he had met an old friend, Mr. Samuel Pepys, with whom,
knowing him to be a man of honor and wise in such
matters, he had taken counsel as to the sale of my mother's
jewels. He said further that Mr. Pepys believed he could find
a merchant who would give good value for the said jewels,
and that the gentleman proposed to bring his wife to visit
us on the morrow, if it would be agreeable.
"I must warn you not to judge him by the outside, for
he is a vain little fellow in some ways," said Andrew,
smiling; "but he is in truth a good man, and his wife is a
bright little body."
Of course my mother could say no less than that we
should esteem the visit an honor, and the next morning
they came. I had thought my uncle's dress wonderful fine,
but it was nothing to that of Mr. Pepys, though I must say
the latter was both richer in itself and better fancied. His
wife was a pretty, black woman, who spoke French very
nicely, and indeed it was in some sort her native tongue. Mr.
Pepys bought some of my mother's lesser jewels himself,
especially a diamond in a clasp which his wife fancied, and
promised to find a purchaser for the rest—a promise which
he fulfilled to our great advantage.
His conversation was an odd mixture of worldly

shrewdness and an almost childlike simplicity, but I
observed with approval that he did not load his discourse
with oaths as my uncle, and even his wife, had done. On
the whole, I liked our new friends very well, and when he
proposed to carry me out and show me something of the
parks and the city, I looked to my mother rather anxiously
for her approval. She made no objection; so Mr. Pepys came
by and by with his coach (which I fancy he had not
possessed a great while, he seemed so proud of it), and
took us into the park, and there showed us many great
lords and ladies, pointing out to us, with a kind of awful
reverence, my Lady Castlemaine, and some other person of
the same stamp. I saw my mother flush as with indignation
as she said, half to herself:
"And it is in such a world as this that they would have

me leave my child to be brought up!"
"You must not think, madame, that all the ladies about
the court are like these," said Mr. Pepys. "There are many
who bring up their families in all virtue and godly living, like
my good Lady Sandwich and others I could name. But I am
quite of your mind as to Mrs. Genevieve, and if I were so
happy as to be blessed with a daughter, she should, if
possible, grow up in the country. His Majesty is a most
noble prince—Heaven bless him, with all my heart!—but his
example in some things hath done our young people little
good."
It seemed that the merchant to whom we hoped to

dispose of our jewels was out of town, but as he was to
return in a few days, Andrew advised us to wait for him.
Meantime, at their earnest entreaty, we spent a few days
with my uncle and aunt.
My mother indeed passed much of her time in her own

apartment, which, as her widowhood was so recent, no one
could decently object to; but I went out several times with
my aunt to the park, and even to Whitehall, where I saw
the king and queen, and many great people besides. It
seemed that the king had heard something of our story; at
all events, he noticed me, and asking who I was, I was
informally presented to him. There was less formality about
the court at that time than ever has been before or since.
He spoke kindly to me—for he was always kind when it cost
him nothing—asked after my mother, and made me a
compliment on my good looks. I noticed after this, that my
aunt was rather in a hurry to get me away, and she never
took me thither again.
But the mischief was done. All my old daydreams of

wealth and ambition waked to life again, and I began to
indulge them more and more. My conscience did not let me
fall into my old courses without warning me, it is true; but I
began to disregard its teachings, and to repine at the strict
manner in which I had been brought up. I had grown very
handsome since my illness, and I was quite aware of the
fact—as what girl is not? And when I was away from my
mother's side and in my aunt's drawing-room, I received
many flourishing compliments, such as were then in
fashion, from the gallants who visited her.
I soon began to compare my good Andrew with these

fine gentlemen, not at all to his advantage, and I wished, if
it were my fate to marry him, that he had a more genteel
figure, and knew better how to set himself off. My aunt and
uncle did not scruple to say before me that it was a shame I
should so sacrificed—sent down to the country to be
brought up by a set of Puritans, and married to another,
without any chance to raise myself by a good match, as I
might easily do.
"'Tis a poor thing for Andrew, too," I heard my uncle

say one day; "he ought to marry some rich merchant's
daughter, and renew his estate."
"Why do you not tell him so?" asked my aunt. "There is

Mrs. Mary Bakewell, who would jump at the chance of
making herself a lady with her thousands. Truly, she is plain
enough, and something the elder, but she is a good creature
after all. Why not propose it to him?"
"I did," replied my uncle, laughing; "and you should

have seen him. He treated me to a real Cornish thunder-
gust."
"Why, what did he say?" asked my aunt, while I listened

with all my ears, as we say.
"He said he would rather travel the country with an ass

and panniers, selling sand to the old wives, than sell his
manhood for a fortune. I said the lady was a good lady, and
well nurtured, and he answered:
"'So much the worse,' and then added, 'You mean

kindly, I dare say, and I thank you, but I am old-fashioned
enough to desire to love my wife.'"
"He is a rustic, without doubt," returned my lady, with a

little touch of sarcasm in her voice. "I think you may as well
let matters stand as they are, Charles. You will gain nothing
by meddling, and 'tis but a thankless office, educating of
other people's children."
"I believe you may be right," said my uncle, "and yet I

confess I should like to keep the girl."
My aunt made no reply, and the conversation was

dropped. I must say I looked on Andrew with a good deal
more favor after this. It was something to have a servant
(that was the fine phrase at that time) who had refused a
great match for my sake.
Our visit at my uncle's was cut rather short from two

circumstances, I fancy. One was that he was displeased my
mother should have taken Mr. Pepys' advice about selling
her jewels. My lady herself had a fancy for these same
jewels, and would have bought them on credit, which we
could ill afford. Besides which my mother told Andrew and
me that it was not well to have money transactions between
near relatives.
"They are sure to lead to misunderstanding and

coldness, if not to open rupture," said she. "Moreover, from
what I have seen, I believe my brother to be already
embarrassed with debts."
"I know it for a fact," said Andrew; "and I believe you

have done wisely. Mr. Bakewell is now returned, and is
ready to treat with you for the jewels at any time."
"Then we will finish the affair as soon as may be, that

we may turn our faces homeward," replied my mother. "I
long for the sight of green trees and running streams, and,
above all, for a cup of cold water from St. Monica's well. I
can see it now, bubbling up under the ruined arch," she
added musingly, with that far-away look which had lately
come to her eyes. "Some day, Andrew, you must restore
that arch."
"I will," said Andrew, with a certain solemnity, and they

were both silent a moment. Then he added, more
cheerfully, "Then I will tell the good woman at our lodgings
that you will return to-morrow."
"This afternoon," said my mother; and so it was settled.
I believe another reason why my mother was willing to

cut her visit short was that she saw the influence my aunt
and her way were beginning to have upon me. I shall never
forget how she looked at me when, in some fit of
impatience with my work; I gave vent to one of my aunt's
modish oaths. Those of the Religion in France looked upon
all such expressions with as much abhorrence as the
Puritans of England or America.
"Genevieve," said she sternly, "what would your father

say?"
"I did not mean anything," said I, abashed and vexed at

the same time.
"And there is just the fault," returned my mother.

"Against what is the commandment aimed, if not at the use
of sacred names without meaning anything?"
I did not reply, of course, and I was more careful in

future, but inwardly I murmured at my mother's strictness
and Puritanism, as I called it. I had learned this phrase from
my uncle and his friends, with whom everything serious or
reverent was Puritanism.
I should have said that I went to church on Sunday with

my uncle and aunt. I was quite amazed at the splendor of
the church, which had recently been refitted, and delighted
with the service, especially with the chanting and singing.
The sermon also I thought very good, though I did not quite
like the preacher's manner. But if I was pleased with the
clergyman, I was horrified at the manners of the
congregation. I saw the fine ladies and gentlemen bowing
and curtsying to each other, whispering—nay, all but talking
aloud—and passing snuff-boxes and smelling-bottles back
and forth. One of the gentlemen I had seen at my aunt's
the day before, bowed to me as he came in, but I looked
the other way.
"What a gracey sermon—just like a Presbyterian," said

my aunt, yawning, without any disguise, almost before the
congregation was dismissed. "And why did you not curtsy
when Mr. Butler bowed to you? Did you not see him?"
Then I made one of the great mistakes of my life. I

yielded to that miserable shame of doing right, which is the
undoing of so many, and answered, "I was looking another
way."
"Oh, I thought perhaps it was against your principles,"

said my aunt, in that light tone of contempt which always
stung me to the quick. "I know some of our Puritans will not
acknowledge a salute in church. I don't believe my old Lady
Crewe would return a bow from the king himself, if prayers
had begun."
"Yes, she is true to her colors," said my uncle. "I like

her the better for it too," and he sighed a little.
I heard afterward that he had been a great precisian in
the days of the Protector, though, like many others of the
same sort, he went to the other extreme now. Their fear of
God, like mine own, was taught by the precept of men, and
therefore was easily enough overthrown by the same.
"But you must have your wits about you, child," said my
aunt. "'Tis a dreadfully uncivil thing not to return a salute.
Mr. Butler will think you a little rustic."
I am ashamed to say that I was more troubled at the

thought that Mr. Butler should think me a rustic than at the
lie I had told. When I came to my mother, she asked me of
the sermon, and I told her all I could remember.
"'Tis a great privilege to hear the blessed Word

preached openly to all the people," said my mother, sighing
a little.
"'Tis a privilege a good many do not seem to

appreciate," said Andrew, who had come in as usual to see
my mother; "you should see the king and countess at
church, madame. The Duke of York spent the whole of
sermon-time this morning talking and laughing with some
painted madams or other, through the curtains of the pews.
If my cousin had been the preacher, I believe he would have
spoken to them before all the congregation. What can you
expect when our rulers set such an example?"
"What did the king do?" I asked.
"He was more attentive to the preacher. He is not one

to hurt any one's feelings by incivility, though he would not
care for his going to the rack, so he did not see it."
"Hush, my son!" said my mother reprovingly. "'Tis a

besetting sin of yours to speak evil of dignities."
Andrew shrugged his shoulders, but he had too much
respect to answer my mother back again.
But I am going back in my story. That very afternoon

we returned to our lodgings. Our friends took leave of us
cordially enough, and my aunt made me several very pretty
presents, especially of a pocket working equipage,
containing scissors, needles, thimble, and other
implements, beautifully wrought, and packed in a very small
compass.
Besides these she gave me a volume of plays and

poems, which last, I am ashamed to say, I did not show to
my mother. My mother presented her with a handsome
clasp of Turkey stones and pearls, and my uncle with a gold
snuff-box, which had belonged to her husband's father, and
had a picture of some reigning beauty—I forget whom—
enamelled on the lid; so we all parted friends.
The next day being Sunday, we went to a French

Protestant church, where the worship was carried on
according to the forms used by us in our own country. There
had been an attempt made in the days of Charles the First
to compel the French Protestants to conform to the Church
of England, but it had not been carried out in the present
reign. Great numbers of the refugees did in fact conform to
the church, and indeed take orders therein, not considering
the differences as essential; but others preferred the ways
they were used to, and these had chapels of their own. It
was to one of these churches, in Threadneedle Street, that
we went; and here a great surprise awaited us.
We were no sooner seated than I began to have that

feeling we have all experienced, that some one was looking
earnestly at me, and turning my head about I saw in the
gallery Simon and Jeanne Sablot. I could hardly believe my
eyes; but there they were, decent as usual, though poorly
dressed enough, and sadly changed since I had seen them
last. Simon's hair was white as snow, and Jeanne's ruddy
cheeks were faded and sunken. They both smiled, and then
Jeanne's face was buried in her hands and her frame
shaken with sobs.
I had no time to direct my mother's attention to them,

for the minister at that moment entered the desk and the
service began. Here was no whispering, no exchange of
salutes or snuff-boxes. Many of those before the preacher
had but just escaped from their enemies, thankful to have
their lives given them for a prey, as the prophet says; and it
was to them a wonderful thing to attend upon their worship
openly and in safety.
It was not the regular minister who preached, but one

who had but lately escaped from the house of bondage, and
was able to give us the latest account of the unhappy
country we had left behind. It was a sad tale of oppressive
edicts, pressing always more and more severely upon our
brethren; of families desolated and scattered; of temples
pulled down and congregations dispersed. There were still
sadder tales to be told, of abjurations and apostasies—some
forced by harshness, others brought about by bribes and
cajolery. Then the preacher changed his tone and spoke of
midnight assemblies, like that of ours in the cellar of the old
grange; of consistories held and discipline administered in
caves and lonely places of the mountains, and of our fallen
brethren coming, with tears and on bended knees,
imploring to be restored to that communion to which to
belong meant shame, imprisonment, and death. The old
man's face shone and his voice rang like a trumpet as he
told of these things, stirring every heart in the assembly,
even mine. I felt miserably ashamed of my late frame of
mind, and resolved that I would forsake the world, and live
for heaven once more.
The sermon was long, but it came to a close at last, and

the Lord's Supper was administered. It was then that my
mother discovered our two old friends. I feared at first that
she would faint, but she recovered herself, and when they
came to us after sermon, she was far calmer and more
collected than they were. She invited them home to our
lodgings, which were not far distant, and they spent the
rest of the day with us.
"How and when did you leave home?" was naturally the
first question.
"About two weeks after the house was burned,

madame," answered Simon.
"It is burned, then," said my mother.
"Oh, yes, madame. The mob plundered it thoroughly

and then set it on fire, and little is left but the shell. A fine
gentleman came down from Paris a few days afterward. He
was very angry at the destruction, and threatened all sorts
of things if the plunder was not brought back, but he
recovered very little. Our house was also set on fire, but
owing to the rains it did not burn, and after a few days we
ventured to return to it and gathered together some few
things. I have a parcel for you, madame, intrusted to my
care by Monsieur, which the wretches did not find. Our small
store of ready money also escaped their hands. David,
whom you know we were expecting, came just then, and
we returned with him to Dieppe, and after a week or two,
he found us a passage to England. As I said, we had a small
store of ready money, but it soon melted away, and though,
by Jeanne's skill in lace-making and mending and my own
work with a market gardener, we have made shift to live, it
has been poorly enough. But why should we complain? We
are in safety, and can worship God according to our
conscience."
"But David!" said I.
"He would not come, mamselle. He is in high favor with

his employer, who protects him, and he says he has so
many opportunities of helping others, that he will not as yet
abandon his post. Besides, he cherishes a hope, though I
believe it is a vain one, of rescuing Lucille."
"Why do you think it a vain one?" I asked.
"Because, mamselle, she does not wish to be rescued.

She has made a profession, as they call it, and we hear she
is high in favor with her superiors, and a willing instrument
in their hands in coaxing or compelling the poor little
children to abjure. We thought it a great mercy when she,
the last of five babes, was spared to us; but now I wish she
had died in the cradle, like the rest."
"She is not yet out of the reach of mercy, my poor

Simon," said my mother. "We must all remember her in our
prayers." She paused, and then added, with a great effort,
"Do you know what became of my husband's body?"
"He rests in peace, madame," answered Sablot. "Jean

La Roche and myself buried him at midnight, by the side of
my own babes, in our orchard. We levelled the ground and
laid back the turf, so that none should suspect."
My mother rose and left the room, making me a sign

not to follow her. When she came back at the end of an
hour she had evidently been weeping bitterly; but she was
now quite calm. She asked many questions about our
servants, our tenants, and neighbors. The maids had all
escaped, in one way or other, he told us. Julienne, he
thought, would conform, as her sweetheart was earnest
with her to do so. Marie had gone to Charenton. Old
Mathew was found dead in the orchard, but without any
marks of violence, and Simon thought he had died of the
shock, as he was a very old man. Of Henri, he knew
nothing.
"And what will you do, my poor friends?" said my

mother. "How can we help you? If I were not going to the
house of another, I would take you with me."
"Oh, we shall do very well, madame," said Jeanne

cheerfully. "I get a great deal of fine washing and mending,
especially of lace, and if Simon could buy some turner's
tools of his own, he might set up a little shop."
"I have a better plan than that," said Andrew. "My

mother writes me that our old gardener is just dead, and
she knows not where to find another. You shall go down to
Cornwall and take his place. As for Jeanne, she can wait
upon madame, and teach old Deborah to make omelettes
and galette. That will be better than living in a dingy street
in London, will it not?"
"May Heaven's blessing rest upon you, my son," said

my mother, while my poor foster-parents could hardly speak
a word, so overpowered were they with the prospect
suddenly opened before them. I was as pleased as my
mother, and at that moment would not have exchanged my
sailor for the finest gallant about the court.
The next day the business of the jewels was finished,

and so favorably for us that we were made quite
independent in point of means. My mother insisted on
Simon's retaining at least half of the package of gold he had
brought away with him, and which he had never broken in
upon in his greatest needs, and Jeanne was soon neatly
dressed in English mourning. In a few days, we embarked
with all our goods, which indeed were not burdensome by
reason of quantity, in a ship going to Plymouth. We had a
short and prosperous voyage, and after resting a day or two
in Plymouth, we took horse for the far more toilsome
journey into Cornwall.
CHAPTER XI.
TRE MADOC.
IT was a toilsome journey. Andrew had taken great

pains to provide easy horses for us, and we carried some
comforts in the way of provisions, biscuits, gingerbread, two
or three flasks of wine, and small packages of coffee, and
one of the new Chinese drink called tea, which had just
begun to come in fashion, and which has now become quite
common, even in tradesmen's families. For this, as for
many other kindnesses, we were indebted to Mr. Pepys and
his good little wife.
We did not travel very rapidly, the roads being bad,

even at this time of the year, and such as in many places
forbade our travelling otherwise than in single file. The
weather was charming—that was one comfort—and the air
as delicious as any I ever breathed in my life. As we crossed
the high moors, we saw abundance of those old heathen
monuments which abound in Normandy, and still more in
Brittany, and once we passed one almost exactly like that
above our orchard, where my father and I had our
memorable conversation.
We stopped for rest and refreshment in little country

towns, and sometimes at lonely inns standing by
themselves, such as would not have been considered very
safe abiding-places in France, and where we should have
been at a loss to make ourselves understood but for Andrew
and the sailor whom he had taken along from Plymouth.
The Cornish tongue, which is now fallen greatly into disuse,
was at that time generally spoken among the common
people. I picked up a good deal of it afterward, but at that
time it was all heathen Greek to me, though my mother
could speak it a little.
I must needs say that, though we must have appeared

as outlandish to them as they did to us, the good folks were
most kind to us, especially when they had heard something
of our story. They would express their sympathy by sighs
and tears, and by bringing out to us the best that they had;
and the men would often leave their work and walk miles
beside us to guide us on our way.
Simon kept up his courage very well, and indeed he

enjoyed the journey; but poor Jeanne's spirits sank lower
and lower, and I think she would have given out altogether
had we not come, on the fifth day, to cultivated fields and
orchards. The sight of these last revived her drooping
courage, and when at last we reached the village of Tre
Madoc, always a neat little place, and passing it came to the
brow of the hill from which we looked down on the house of
Tre Madoc, nestling amid great trees in its south-land valley,
with the clear stream falling in a cascade at the upper end
and rushing down to the sea, she was quite another
woman.
"Is this not beautiful, Jeanne?" said my mother, her

eyes filling with tears as she gazed on the old home, unseen
for so many years.
"It is, madame; I won't deny it, though the house is

nothing in grandeur to the Tour d'Antin. And the cottages do
look snug and comfortable; but after all it is not France!"
"No, it is not France: don't you wish it were?" said I.

"How nice it would be to see a party of dragoons coming
after us over the hill, and to be afraid to pass yonder
tumbling old cross lest some one should see that we did not
bow to it!"
I am conscious that I spoke these words all the more

sharply because I was myself dreadfully homesick—not for
France so much as for London, with which I had fallen in
love, though I had begun by disliking it so much. I had had
a taste of that life of which I had so often dreamed, and I
found the cup too sweet to wish to have that taste the only
one.
My mother looked at me in surprise, but she had no

time to speak the reproof which her eyes uttered. It seemed
that we were expected and watched for. We saw a little lad,
who had been sitting with his dog and clapper watching the
birds, leave his occupation and run down toward the house,
and presently an elderly lady, surrounded by three or four
young ones, came out upon the porch.
"There are my mother and sisters," said Andrew "and,"

he added to me, in a lower tone, "your mother, too,
Vevette! I hope you will love her."
"I am sure I shall," I tried to answer graciously, though

I felt inwardly vexed. I always was provoked when Andrew
said any such thing implying a kind of property in me.
I felt an unaccountable shyness of these new relatives,

such as I had not been conscious of either in Jersey or
London, and I wished the meeting with them could be
postponed. But our tired beasts now put themselves into
brisk motion, rejoicing, poor creatures, in the thought of
rest and food. We descended the hill, passed through a
short avenue of nut-trees, and came out before the same
porch, overgrown with ivy and a groat Virginia vine, as we
used to call it, and found ourselves in presence of our
friends.
Andrew sprang from his horse and assisted my mother

and myself to dismount. The older lady clasped my mother
in her arms.
"Dearest sister Margaret," said she, kissing her on both

cheeks, "welcome home! It is a happy day that sees you
enter your father's house once more. And this is my new
daughter. Heaven bless you, my love! I have a flock of
maidens, as you see, but there is plenty of room for one
more. And who are these?" Turning to Simon and Jeanne,
who had also dismounted and stood modestly in the
background.
My mother explained matters, and our poor friends

were welcomed in their turn and committed to the care of a
very nice old woman, to be made comfortable, while one of
half a dozen old blue-coated serving-men led away our
horses and attended to our luggage.
Then we were conveyed into a parlor, a large low room

wainscoted with cedar and hung with handsome though
faded needlework. Here we were relieved of our riding gear
and presented to our other cousins, of whom I was too tired
and confused to see aught but that Betty was small and
dark, Margaret tall and fair, and Rosamond very much like
somebody I had known, I could not say whom.
"But you are both tired with your long journey, I am

sure," said my aunt, after the first greetings had been
exchanged. "Rosamond and Betty shall show you your
lodgings, and when you have refreshed yourselves we will
meet at supper. I have given you the gilded room,
Margaret, and to Agnes—or do you call her Genevieve?—the
little chamber over the porch beside it. I might have given
you a more sumptuous apartment, my dear," she added,
turning to me; "though indeed we are but plain country
folks at best; but the porch room hath a pleasant lookout,
and I thought you would like to be near your mother."
I murmured something, I hardly knew what, and my

mother answered for me. "Vevette is not used to luxury, my
dear sister, and the porch room is good enough for any
young maid. May I ask you to send Jeanne to me? She will
feel herself very strange, I fear."
"She shall attend you directly," answered my aunt; "and

glad I am that two such confessors for the faith should find
a shelter under this roof."
"Take heed to the steps," said Rosamond, as we came

to the foot of the staircase; "they are somewhat slippery."
That they were, being of dark oak, and polished like

glass with age and much scrubbing. However, I was used to
polished floors, and so did not get a fall. We traversed a
long gallery hung with pictures, and came to my mother's
room, which was large and low. Above the wainscot, the
walls were covered with old-fashioned stamped and gilded
leather, such as one seldom sees now. The bed was of
needlework, with wondrous white and fine linen—a matter
in which we Corbets have always been particular. There was
a small Turkey carpet on the floor, and quite a fine Venice
glass, with branches, handsomer than that in my aunt's
dressing-room in London. I thought the room as pretty as
any one I had ever seen. Indeed, the whole house was
finished with a richness uncommon in remote country
houses at that day, for the men of the family, taking
naturally to a seafaring life, had brought home from abroad
many articles of luxury and beauty.
My own room was by far the prettiest I had ever

inhabited, even at any aunt's house in London. It was partly
over the porch, as my aunt had said, and had a kind of
projecting window which commanded a lovely view of the
sea and the shore. The bed was small and hung with white,
and there was a queer old cabinet or chest of drawers,
which reminded me at once of Jeanne's cherished bahut,
which she often sighed over.
"That cabinet came from the south of France, they say,"
said Rosamond, seeing my eyes fixed upon it. "My
grandfather brought it home for a present to his wife."
"There she goes," said Betty, laughing. "Rosamond

knows the history of every old piece of furniture and
tapestry and every old picture and sampler in the old
house, and will retail them to you by the hour, if you care to
listen to her. They are all precious relics in her eyes."
"I am sure I shall care," said I, seeing that Rosamond

looked a little dashed. "I love things that have histories, and
that old cabinet is so like one that my poor foster-mother
used to have, that I fell in love with it in a moment; I think
Rosamond and I will agree finely."
It was now Betty's turn to look a little vexed, but her

face cleared up directly.
"You will have abundance of entertainment, then, for

the house is a museum of old furniture and oddities. But
this old tabernacle is a convenient affair. Here are empty
drawers, as you see, and a place to write, and in this large
drawer you will find clean towels and napkins as you want
them. Come, Rosamond, let us leave Agnes to dress herself.
I am sure she must feel the need of it."
I did indeed need such a refreshment, after my long

ride. My mail was already in the room, and it was with
considerable satisfaction that I arrayed myself in one of the
new frocks which had been made for me in London, and
which, as I could not but be aware, set off to considerable
advantage my slender, erect figure. Then, very well satisfied
with myself, I went into my mother's room, where I found
Jeanne, much refreshed in mind and body, and disposed to
regard her new home with more favorable eyes. My mother
was already dressed, and, seated in a great chair covered
with needlework flowers in faded silks, was directing Jeanne
in the unpacking of her mail and the disposition of her
clothes.
"You look well, my child," said she, holding out her hand
to me. "Have not the lines fallen to us in pleasant places?
Even Jeanne admits that the Cornish folk are Christian
people, since, though they cannot speak French, they know
how to make cider."
"And very good cider too, madame," answered Jeanne;

"and though I think them not very polite to smile at the
English which I learned so well to speak in London, yet one
must not expect too much of them, living as they do at the
very world's end. Why, they tell me, at least that old sailor
did, there is absolutely no land between the shore yonder
and that savage country of America. Do you think that can
be true, madame? It makes one almost afraid."
"It is quite true, my Jeanne; but I see no cause for

fear," answered my mother, smiling. "Some of our own
people have settled in America, and are prospering well. We
have even relatives abiding there. My husband and I have
sometimes talked of the possibility of going thither
ourselves. Is not this a pretty place, my Vevette?"
"Yes, maman, very pretty, only—" and here I stopped;

for something choked me, and I felt a great disposition to
cry.
"Only it is all strange and new, and my little one is

overwrought," said my mother, kissing me. "I forget it is not
a home-coming to you as to me. Yet I hope you will try to
be happy here," she added, regarding me wistfully.
"Indeed I will, dear maman," I answered, making a
great effort to control myself, and succeeding pretty well. "I
think the house is beautiful, especially this room and my
own; and only think, Mother Jeanne, there is a bahut
almost like yours, and my cousin Rosamond says it came
from the south of France. Perhaps it was made by the same
man."
"That could hardly be, mamselle, for my great-

grandfather made mine. He was a skilful man, I have heard
say, and made many beautiful pieces for great houses."
"Then why not this one? Go and look at it," said I.
Jeanne obeyed, and soon came back in great

excitement.
"It was—it really was made by my great-grandfather,

madame!" she cried. "There are the two doves pecketting
on the top just the same, and the very sign—the olive-leaf
marked with a circle—which he used to put on all his work.
Is it not wonderful, madame? Is it not a good omen?"
And again she went back to examine the cabinet, and I

followed her, listening with interest while she pointed out
the maker's sign carved here and there upon the doors and
drawers, and the peculiar beauty of the steel hinges and
locks.
This little incident diverted my mind and put me into

better spirits, and when Rosamond came to call us to
supper, I was ready to meet her with a smile. The meal was
served in another room from that we had seen before—a
high-arched room with a gallery crossing one end, which
was situated—so Rosamond told me—in the older part of
the house, and was formerly the great hall. The meal was
well served, and seemed wonderfully abundant, though I
was growing accustomed to English profusion in the matter
of eating and drinking. I could not but admire the white,
glossy sheen of the damask cloth and napkins, and the
beautiful china dishes, more beautiful than any I had ever
seen. China collecting was a great passion then, and my
aunt in London would have given one of her little pink ears
for the curious standard dish full of early strawberries which
adorned the supper table, or the tall jug crowned with
frothy whipped cream beside it.
We young ones were more or less silent, of course,

while my mother and my Aunt Amy talked about old times,
and who was dead, and whose son had married which one's
daughter, and all the rest of the chat which goes on when
old neighbors come together. My dear mother was—no
disparagement to her either—a bit of a gossip; though, as
we had few friends among our French neighbors, she had
had little opportunity of indulging her tastes; but now she
grew more animated and interested than I had ever seen
her, in hearing all the news my Aunt Amy had to tell.
"And what about our cousins at Stanton?" asked my

mother presently. "From what Andrew tells me, I suppose
the present lady is not much like the one I knew."
"No more than chalk is like cream cheese," answered

Aunt Amy. "Yet she is a good lady, too, and a kind
stepmother to the lad who is left, though she had two
daughters of her own when she married my lord."
"And what like are they?"
"Nay, that you must ask Andrew. He has seen more of

them than I have."
"Theo is well enough," said Andrew. "She is a merry

girl, who cares not much for anything but pleasure and
finery, but she is good-natured at least. Martha is a girl of
another stamp. I pity the man who marries her. She hath
far more mind than Theo, but such a temper! Disagree with
her ever so little—do but dare to like what she hates or
know something she does not—and she is your enemy for
life."
"Gently, gently, my son," said his mother, with a little

laugh. "What hath poor Martha done to you?"
"Nothing to me, mother, but I have seen enough of her

doings to others. I believe there is but one person in the
world she stands in awe of—her mother—and but one she
loves—her half-brother, the young lord. I do think she cares
for him."
"Ah, well!" said my aunt easily. "If she has such a

temper, it brings its own punishment."
"And the punishment of a good many others also,

unluckily," said Andrew, and then the conversation turned to
other things.
After supper Andrew proposed that we should go up and

see the gardens. The elders preferred sitting in the house,
but we young ones went out, after proper injunctions to
keep moving and not to stay out after the dew began to fall.
Gardening, it appeared, had also been a fashion with these
curious Corbets, who seem to me from the earliest records
to have made their homes as pleasant as possible, only to
run as far-away from them as the limits of the world would
allow. The flower-beds were in their spring beauty, and
were filled with rare plants and flowers, which I never saw
anywhere else.
The climate of Cornwall is very mild, so that the myrtle

grows to a great size out of doors, and many tender trees
flourish which will not live at all about London. I particularly
admired a tall shrub With red-veined leaves and covered
with little scarlet bells in immense profusion, and asked its
name.
"I cannot tell you that," said Andrew. "My father

brought it from the West Indies, where it grows very large.
This other bush, with bright scarlet flowers and broad
leaves, is from the Cape of Good Hope, but it will bear no
frost, so we take it in, in the winter."
"What great rosemary and lavender plants!" said I.

"They make me think of what Jeanne has told me about
Provence, where they grow wild."
"They do fairly well, though the place is damp for them.

See, yonder is a tulip-tree. Is it not a grand one? The
Americans make great use of the wood, which, though soft,
is very lasting for some purposes."
"What a pity to cut down such beautiful trees!" said I.
Andrew laughed.
"Trees are the great enemies over there," said he. "It
did look terribly wasteful to me to see great logs of bard
maple, chestnut, and oak, rolled into heaps and burned in
the field, just to get rid of them."
"What a shame!" said Betty. "Why not at least give

them to the poor for fuel. Goody Penaluna would be glad
enough of such a log."
"If Goody Penaluna were there, she would have wood

enough for the asking," replied Andrew. "One can hardly
say there are any poor, for though they have often had hard
times enough, yet it mostly comes share and share alike."
"I believe Andrew hath a hankering after those same
colonies in his secret soul," said Betty. "You will find yourself
transplanted thither some time or other, Agnes."
Again I felt annoyed. I did not know why.
"Do not call me Agnes; call me Vevette," said I. "That is

the name I have always been used to."
"But Agnes is so much prettier. Vevette is like a

nickname," objected Betty.
"It is a sort of pet name, I suppose—short for

Genevieve," remarked Margaret. "If Vevette likes it best,
she certainly has a right to choose."
"But it is French," objected Betty again, "and she is an

English girl now. I am quite sure mother would prefer to
have her called Agnes, and Andrew too; wouldn't you,
Andrew?"
"I should prefer that she should have her own way in
the matter," answered Andrew shortly, and there the
discussion ended for the time; but we were no sooner in the
house than Betty began it again, appealing to her mother to
say if it would not be much better for me to be called by my
English name now I was come to live in England.
"That is for her mother to say," replied Aunt Amy. "I

presume she will prefer to call her by the name she has
been used to."
"I certainly shall prefer to do so, and to have others do

so," said my mother. "The name of Agnes was never a
favorite of mine."
Betty said no more, but she never lost an opportunity of
calling me Agnes, till I took to calling her Elizabeth, to
which name she had a special aversion.
The next morning and for many succeeding days my

mother was very unwell, and I naturally spent most of my
time with her in her apartment, which was at some little
distance from the rest of the house. Jeanne attended on
her, and Simon worked in the garden, taking great pleasure
in the variety of plants and flowers he found there. He got
on very well with his fellow-servants, being of a quiet and
sober disposition. He did not at all disturb himself when
laughed at for his mistakes in English, but only laughed
back, or contented himself with quietly correcting his
mistake. But Jeanne's southern blood was more easily
stirred, and she more than once came to my mother
declaring that she could endure her life no longer.
Betty used to take pleasure in teasing her, as indeed

she did every one who came within her reach, except her
mother and Andrew, of whom she stood in awe. She and I
had more than one encounter, in which I can safely say that
she met her match, and she did not like me the better for
it; but Rosamond was her especial butt, and she made the
poor girl's life miserable. Rosamond was of a studious turn
of mind, and loved nothing so much as to get away by
herself, with a great chronicle, or with her French or Latin
books. It was a somewhat uncommon disposition at that
time, when the education of women was much neglected,
even more than it is now. But the Corbets have always been
rather a bookish race, and Rosamond was a true Corbet in
all things. She loved acquiring new ideas above any other
pleasure in the world. She made Simon tell her all about
Normandy and Brittany, and there were several old sailors
in the village to whose tales of foreign parts she was
delighted to listen for hours, albeit I fear they were
sometimes more romantic than reliable.
Aunt Amy never interfered with this taste of

Rosamond's, but allowed her to read as much as she
pleased, though she never cared to open a book herself.
Margaret was Rosamond's champion in all things, though
she thought so much reading a waste of time; but Betty
was always tormenting the poor girl, hiding her books,
destroying her collections of dried plants and shells, and
laughing at and exaggerating the mistakes which she now
and then made in her preoccupation. I must say that in
general Rosamond bore all with the utmost sweetness, but
now and then she would fly into a passion. Then Betty
would provoke her more and more till she succeeded in
driving Rosamond into a burst of passionate crying, which
generally ended in a fit of the mother, which brought my
aunt on the scene.
Then Betty would be all sweetness and soothing

attentions to the sufferer, bringing everything she could
think of to relieve her, and affecting to pity and pet her till,
if it had been me, I am sure I should have boxed her ears.
Aunt Amy never saw through these manœuvres, but when
Rosamond recovered, she would talk to her seriously about
the necessity of governing her temper, and Rosamond
would listen humbly and meekly promise to try and do
better. There was always more real worth in her little finger
than there was in Betty's whole person, but her timidity and
absent-minded ways often made her appear at a
disadvantage.
She and my mother were soon great friends, and she

used to bring her precious books to our apartment, where
Betty dared not intrude. Here she would read aloud to us
for hours, or practise her French and Italian with maman
and myself. She spoke them both horribly, but was very
desirous to improve, and made great progress.
Margaret also joined in the French lessons, but she had

a great many other things on her hands. She took a good
deal of the care of housekeeping off her mother. She visited
the poor in the village, and worked for them, and she had
taken upon herself a kind of supervision of the dame school,
which furnished all the education for the village of Tre
Madoc. Old Dame Penberthy, who taught or rather kept it,
had not been a very good scholar in her best days, I
imagine, and she was now old and half blind. The little
children were sent to her to be kept out of mischief, and
taken away as soon as they were fit for any sort of work.
Some of the brightest of them learned enough to pick out,
with much stammering, a chapter in the Testament, and
these were the dame's best scholars, whom she exhibited
with great pride.
Margaret, however, had lately taken the school in hand,

moved thereto by something she had read, and also by
Andrew's wish for a better state of things. He had seen in
the American colonies day-schools established for all sorts
of children, and he wished for something of the same sort
at Tre Madoc. So Margaret had persuaded the dame to take
home an orphan grandniece, a clever girl who had lived a
while at the court, and the old woman easily fell into the
way of letting this girl, Peggy Mellish by name, have most of
the charge of the school.
Margaret herself went every other day, to inspect the

sewing and spinning, and to hear the children say their
horn-book and teach them their Belief and Commandments.
* By and by she would have me join her in this work. I was
fond of walking and of children; my mother and Andrew
favored the plan, and so I took hold of it with great zeal,
and after a few visits along with Margaret to learn her ways,
I even took charge of the school on alternate days, and
soon knew as much about the families of the children, their
wants and ways, as Margaret herself.
* A horn-book was a printed sheet containing the

alphabet and some other lessons, protected from moist
little lingers by a sheet of transparent horn.
Thus it came to pass that Betty was in a manner left out

in the cold. It was her own fault, I must needs say, for she
laughed equally at Meg's and my teaching and Rosamond's
learning; but she was not any more pleased for that; and
so, partly from idleness, partly for revenge, she set herself
to make mischief between Andrew and me. But I must put
off the relation to another chapter.
CHAPTER XII.
MISCHIEF.

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Roderick M. Chisholm Theories of Knowledge, 3/E

Tom L. Beauchamp, Editor

Upper Saddle River, New Jersey 07458

VP, Editorial Director: Charlyce Jones Owen

This book was set in 10/12 Baskerville by The Clarinda Company.

© 2003 by Pearson Education, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be

Printed in the United States of America

Pearson Education LTD., London

CHAPTER ONE Epistemological Questions 1

The Standard View 2

CHAPTER TWO The Traditional Analysis ofKnowledge 8

CHAPTER THREE Modifying The Traditional Analysis ofKnowledge. 25

An Objection to The Traditional Analysis 25

CHAPTER FOUR Evidentialist Theories of Knowledge and Justification 39

CHAPTER FIVE Nonevidentialist Theories of Knowledge and Justification 81

The Causal Theory 81

CHAPTER SIX Skepticism (I) 108

Varieties of Skepticism 109

CHAPTER SEVEN Skepticism (II) 130

The Problem of Induction 130

CHAPTER EIGHT Epistemology and Science 157

Evidence of Human Irrationality 157

CHAPTER NINE Epistemological Relativism 177

Uncontroversial Forms of Relativism 177

CHAPTER TEN Conclusion 191

Many of the problems of philosophy are of such broad relevance to human

Tom L. Beauchamp, Editor

The theory of knowledge, or epistemology, is the branch of philosophy that ad­

a better understanding of our commonsense views about knowledge and ra­

L THE STANDARD VIEW

a. Our immediate environment:

SV1. We know a large variety of things in categories (a)-(k).

No doubt in many cases we rely for our knowledge on some combination of

SV2. Our primary sources of knowledge are (a)-(f).

The Standard View, then, is the conjunction of (SV1) and (SV2).

II. DEVELOPING THE STANDARD VIEW

QI. Under what conditions does a person know something to be true?

Q2. Under what conditions is a beliefjustified (or reasonable or rational) ?

Q3. In what ways, if any, do epistemological, practical, and moral mat­

We will address this question in Chapter 4.

III. CHALLENGES TO THE STANDARD VIEW

A. The Skeptical View

Bo The Naturalistic View

05. In what ways, if at all, do results in natural science, especially cog­

C. The Relativistic View

Q6. What are the epistemological implications of cognitive diversity?

A. Some Main Kinds of Knowledge

The theory of knowledge, or epistemology, is the branch of philosophy that ad

a better understanding of our commonsense views about knowledge and ra

Q3. In what ways, if any, do epistemological, practical, and moral mat

05. In what ways, if at all, do results in natural science, especially cog

Definition (DI) illustrates an important methodological tool: definitions. A de