The contemporary world is pervasively artifactual. Even our mostmundane, biologically based activities, such as eating, sleeping, andsex, depend on engagement with artifacts. Moreover, many of the plantsand animals we encounter on a daily basis qualify as biologicalartifacts (Sperber 2007). But unlike language—which alsopervades human life from top to bottom—artifacts as such are notthe subject matter of any well-defined area of philosophical research.This is as much the case today as it has been throughout the historyof Western philosophy (Dipert 1993).
Philosophy of technology might have played this role, but historicallyit has not done so. Although its roots reach back to the19th century, philosophy of technology became a widelyrecognized specialization only in the second half of the20th century. This early phase was dominated by so-called“humanities philosophy of technology” (Mitcham 1994).Heavily influenced by Martin Heidegger’s (1954 [1977]) seminalessay, “The Question Concerning Technology”, this strainof philosophy of technology focuses primarily on the cultural andsocial effects of industrial and post-industrial technologies. In thelast few decades, a companion strain of philosophy of technology,variously denominated “analytic” (Franssen, Lokhorst,& van de Poel 2018) or “engineering” (Mitcham 1994)philosophy of technology has come to prominence. It is focused onthe genesis of technologies in the practices of modern science andengineering. Thus the net effect has been to focus philosophy oftechnology almost exclusively on modern and emerging technologies,rather than on artifacts in general.
The aim of this article, then, is to bring together discussions ofartifacts occurring in sometimes far-flung areas of philosophy, aswell as related discussions in other disciplines. Section 1 concernsquestions of definition. Section 2 focuses on the metaphysics ofartifacts. Section 3 turns to epistemological issues. There are alsoimportant normative issues concerning artifacts, but these are coveredin other articles in this Encyclopedia, listed in the Related Entriessection below.
A standard philosophical definition of“artifact”—often assumed even when not explicitlystated—is that artifacts are objects made intentionally, inorder to accomplish some purpose (Hilpinen 1992; 2011). Thisdefinition is rooted ultimately in Aristotle’s distinctionbetween things that exist by nature and things that exist by craft(Metaphysics 1033a ff.,Nicomachean Ethics 1140aff.,Physics 192b ff.). Those that exist by nature have theirorigin in themselves, whereas those that exist by craft have theirorigin in the craftsperson—specifically, in the form of thething as it exists in the mind of the maker. Both Aristotle and hiscontemporary descendants are primarily concerned to distinguishartifacts from objects that occur naturally, without any humanintervention.
On this standard definition, artifacts must satisfy three conditions.They must be intentionally produced, thus ruling out unintendedby-products of intentional actions, such as the shavings that resultfrom woodcarving, as well as all naturally occurring objects, such assalamanders and stars. They must involve modification of materials,thus ruling out naturally occurring objects even when usedintentionally for a purpose, such as sticks thrown to amuse your dog.And they must be produced for a purpose. This rules out intentionallymodified objects that are nevertheless not intended to accomplish anyfurther goal, such as the scraps produced when you intentionally, butfor no particular reason, tear up a piece of paper before throwing itaway. Presumably, then, these three conditions are intended to beindividually necessary and jointly sufficient to distinguish artifactsfrom naturally occurring objects.
Three remarks about this definition are in order. First, it does notrule out the possibility that at least some things made by non-humananimals are artifacts. Spider webs do have a purpose, for instance,and are clearly made rather than naturally occurring. But we mayhesitate to attribute intention to the spiders, given the instinctivenature of their web-weaving behavior. Beavers, on the other hand,might be thought to intentionally construct dams in order to createponds. This implication of the standard definition fits well with theburgeoning evidence for sophisticated cognition among non-humananimals in general, and their ability to manufacture and use tools andother structures in particular (Shumaker, Walkup, & Beck 2011;Gould & Gould 2007). This is an important area of research inethology and comparative psychology. However, for the purposes of thisarticle we will focus on human artifacts.
Second, many things we would not ordinarily label as artifacts inEnglish might nevertheless count under this definition. We usuallyreserve the term “artifact” for tangible, durable objectssuch as an archaeologist might unearth. But objects made intentionallyfor a purpose include many that are ephemeral or abstract. Candidatesinclude musical performances (Dipert 1993), belief systems(Hilpinen 1995), actions and languages (Evnine 2016), software (Irmak2012), normativity (Frugé 2022), establishments such asrestaurants (Korman 2020), and artifact types (Reicher2022).
Finally, this definition is peculiar to philosophers (Hilpinen 2011;Dipert 2014). In other disciplines the concern is more to investigatecognition and behavior involving objects quite generally, withoutcarving out a domain of artifacts having special ontological status.Psychologists, for instance, are interested in how children developcategorizations of things, including artifacts as opposed tonon-artifacts. But there is some evidence that notions of intention orfunction enter into this development only at quite a late stage, andthat young children make relevant distinctions more on the basis ofperceptual features such as shape or movement patterns (Keil, Greif,& Kerner 2007). Thus the standard philosophical definition of“artifact” might well be more of a hindrance than a helpin the context of such investigations. Archaeologists andanthropologists, on the other hand, are concerned with the rolesobjects play in cultural processes quite generally. From this point ofview, a discarded flint chip is just as important as the hide scraperfrom which it was struck, because debitage analysis—the study ofsuch chips and other production debris—is invaluable forreconstructing knapping techniques and other aspects of productionprocesses, including their cognitive underpinnings (Shott 2015; Schick& Toth 1993). Similarly, a sharp-edged shell used withoutmodification as a hide scraper is just as important as thepurpose-made flint scraper for understanding the culture in question.In these disciplines “artifact” tends to be absorbed into“material culture”—a much broader category—andis usually understood to include anything made and/or used byhumans (Preston 2013; Kipfer 2007). As the examples above demonstrate,the making need not be intentional and the use need not involvemodification of the object used. And if any objects of culturalsignificance are devoid of purpose or function, that condition of thephilosophical definition, too, would fall by the wayside.Consequently, as the anthropologist Daniel Miller notes:
There is little point in attempting to distinguish systematicallybetween a natural world and an artefactual one, except when we areconcerned with the ways in which terms such as “natural”may have particular consequences or entailments, as when a commodityin the shops is labelled “natural” simply because a singleingredient, such as a chemical dye, has been deleted, or whensomething as apparently natural as radiation is taken to beantithetical to true “nature”. (Miller 1994, 398)
From the perspective of other disciplines, then, the philosophicalinsistence on a strict definition of “artifact” aimed at abright-line distinction between naturally occurring objects andartifacts may well appear parochial.
This extra-disciplinary observation points us directly to the centralproblem for the standard philosophical definition of“artifact”. Along all three definitional dimensions weencounter a continuum of cases (Koslicki 2018; Grandy 2007;Sperber 2007). Paths, for example, are often created unintentionallyjust in virtue of people repeatedly traveling along the same straightline between pointsA andB—your kitchen andyour vegetable garden, say. But what is the point of saying that sucha path is not an artifact, whereas an identical one that was createdintentionally by exactly the same process is? Moreover, what would ittake to make the erstwhile non-artifactual path into an artifact?Would it be enough to notice and approve it? Or would I have tointentionally maintain it, by sweeping it clean of leaves, forinstance?
Similar difficulties arise with regard to modification, which isclearly a matter of degree. If I bring an attractive shell home from awalk on the beach and put it to use as a paperweight, does thetransport count as modification? If not, would washing the shellbefore using it be enough? Or polishing it to bring out the color ofits markings? A further complication is that many uses to whichnaturally occurring objects are put cause modifications. An unmodifiedstone used as a hammer soon acquires a spherical shape (Schick &Toth 1993, 130 ff.). At what point did it first count asmodified, since even the first strike would break off some fragments?Or do these use-induced modifications not count for satisfying thedefinition at all? If not, why not? The stone is certainly being usedintentionally for a purpose, so the rest of the definition issatisfied.
Finally, Dan Sperber (2007) argues that even function is continuousbetween nature and culture. He begins with the observation that whathe calls biological artifacts—domesticated plants and animals,for the most part—have both biological and cultural functions.But they carry out their cultural functions in virtue of carrying outtheir biological functions, andvice versa. Take seedlessgrapes. Their seedlessness might seem to make them purely artifactual,since the reproductive function of the fruit appears to be lost alongwith the seeds. But in fact, Sperber argues, the fruit retains thebiological function of attracting us to eat the fruit and then spreadthe plant—not by dispersing seeds, as with seeded grapes, but bypropagating the grapevines vegetatively. This coincidence ofbiological and cultural functions in domesticates shows that far frombeing the locus of a divide between nature and culture, the realm ofdomestication is the locus of their imperceptible merger.
Sperber concludes that “artifact” as a theoretical termcannot be usefully defined, as any attempt to do so will befrustrated by the continua detailed above. We may call this thecontinuum problem. This concern is echoed by Kathrin Koslicki (2018),who notes that the common reliance on creators’ intentional activityto distinguish artifacts from naturally occurring objects inevitablyleaves us with objects such as unintended by-products and naturallyoccurring objects pressed into service for human purposes whichdo not seem to fall readily into either category. She does notthink that current approaches in metaphysics have the resourcesto deal with such puzzles about artifacts, and concludes that furtherdevelopment of these approaches is necessary. ForSperber—whose training is in anthropology—the lesson isthat the social sciences simply do not need “artifact” asa term of art. But philosophers, and some other social scientists,have reacted to the continuum problem by doubling down on theirclassification efforts. Risto Hilpinen (2011), following theanthropologist Wendell Oswalt (1973; 1976), uses the term“naturefact” for naturally occurring objects usedintentionally, but without modification, for some purpose. Naturefactsthus lie between naturally occurring objects and artifacts on thecontinuum. Hilpinen also suggests that what he calls“residue”—modified but unintended by-products ofproductive activity, such as sawdust—are a conceptually distinctcategory of objects also lying somewhere between artifacts andnaturally occurring objects. (A terminological note: in archaeology,“naturefact” is more usually used to mean an object thatis in fact the result of purely natural processes, but is difficult todistinguish from an intentionally modified object. This is a problemthat bedevils paleoarchaeologists studying stone tools, in particular(Schnurrenberger & Bryan 1985). Archaeologists alsosometimes distinguish artifacts from ecofacts—organic orinorganic remains of archaeological significance that have undergoneno, or minimal, modification by humans, such as animal bones, storedgrain, pollen, charcoal, and the like. Naturefacts and residues inHilpinen’s sense are usually included in the ecofactcategory.)
Randall Dipert (1993) proposes a slightly different, triadicclassification.
This continuum problem for artifacts is really just a version of awell-known problem besetting classification schemes in the natural andsocial sciences. The traditional assumption was that classification isan exclusively ontological operation. What we are doing, it is oftensaid, is carving the world at its joints. On this assumption, acontinuum is a problem because it suggests that there are no joints toguide our carving efforts. A continuum is thus incompatible withclassification schemes understood as grounded solely in objectivefeatures of the world, and with essentialist understandings of naturalkinds. We can, of course, carve the continuum up any way we like, butthis must be understood as in part a pragmatic operation, not astrictly ontological one reflecting only the fixed essences of things.This problem has loomed large in discussions of natural kinds inphilosophy of science, as bothersome continua are increasinglyidentified in both natural and social sciences. Muhammad Khalidi(2013, Chapter 5) details cases in the chemical, biological,physiological and social sciences where widely accepted kinds are“fuzzy”, or have graded membership, for instance. Inresponse, he advocates an account of natural kinds that incorporatesthe influence of human interests and epistemic concerns, while stillinsisting that these interests and concerns are constrained byobjective features of the world identifiable by science.Khalidi’s account joins a growing list of non-essentialistaccounts of natural kinds, according to which kinds are real, buttheir reality does not require that they be defined in total isolationfrom human beings, their activities, interests, epistemic projects,pragmatic concerns, and so on (Dupré 1993; Boyd 1999; Reydon2014; Kendig 2016).
Understood in this way, classification schemes such as those proposedby Hilpinen and Dipert could, in principle, constitute a perfectlyadequate response to the continuum problem. It would, of course, benice to have a commonly accepted scheme in philosophy—or betteryet, a scheme shared with the other disciplines that study artifactsand material culture. But even failing that, classification schemesgrounded in clear methodological considerations would be helpful, evenif the methodological considerations varied from scheme to scheme.Unfortunately, it appears that the main consideration driving theschemes proposed so far is merely the desire to shore up thetraditional ontological distinction between artifacts and naturallyoccurring objects. This leaves the methodological challenge voiced bySperber and Miller unanswered. What do we need this distinction for?Does it help us understand how objects function in human life andculture, or does it actually hinder this understanding? If the latter,would other distinctions serve us better? The continuum problem doesnot,pace Sperber, prove that there are no goodmethodological considerations in favor of maintaining the ontologicaldivide between artifacts and naturally occurring objects. But in lightof the “epistemological” (Reydon 2014) or“practice” (Kendig 2016) turn in the recent literature onnatural kinds, it does show that we cannot assume that“artifact” itself is a pure, natural kind, identifiable onontological grounds alone. In short, there is no guarantee that thestandard definition of “artifact” with which we startedthis section expresses anything like a traditional essence. We arethus left with more questions than answers in the matter ofdefinition.
Discussions of the metaphysics of artifacts have typicallyarisen only in broader investigative contexts in which they arenot the primary focus of attention. In particular, the metaphysics ofordinary objects has generated a significant literature in recentyears, and the puzzles about existence around which it revolves doapply to artifacts, but equally to the vast array of other ordinaryobjects, like stones, stars, trees, jellyfish and deer. Similarly,reflection on artifact kinds has been largely overshadowed by the vastliterature on natural kinds, and discussions of artifact functionexist on the periphery of the much more prominent discussions ofbiological function. Finally, questions about the existence ofabstract artifacts have arisen in the context of investigations intothe ontology of works of art. We will take up these topics inturn.
Skepticism about the existence of artifacts goes back at least toAristotle. For him, the primary existents aresubstances—independent things on which all other things depend.Individual things, such as horses or houses, are compounds of matterand form, but it is not entirely clear whether the substance of thething is the form, the matter, or the compound (Shields 2022). Thatsaid, Aristotle is clearly ambivalent as to whether artifacts havewhat it takes. In thePhysics (192b8–39), for instance,he says that some things, such as chipmunks or geraniums, exist bynature and that each such thing is a substance. He follows this up intheMetaphysics (1043b15–25), saying that perhapsonly such things as exist by nature are substances, thusimplying that things made by art, such as pots or pincushions, arenot. Exactly why Aristotle thinks artifacts are not substances is notentirely clear—he suggests different reasons in different places(Katayama 1999, 18–19). But it is clear that he doubts thatthey really exist in the full sense enjoyed by things that exist bynature.
Aristotle’s invidious ontological downgrading of artifacts fedstraight into 20th century trends in metaphysics thattended to downgrade ordinary objects in general (Thomasson 2009). Evenafter the baleful anti-metaphysical influence of logical positivismwaned, metaphysics took itself to be merely working out the details ofwhat the dominant scientific theories, particularly in physics andbiology, say exists. Since there is no science of artifacts, let aloneof sticks and stones and rivers, such ordinary objects had to beeliminated from our ontologies. On the radical left fringe of theeliminativist spectrum is a startling long list of theorists who denythe existence of ordinary objectstout court, including evenliving organisms and persons (for the list, see Korman2015, 19–23). In the moderate middle are theorists such asTrenton Merricks (2001), who denies the existence of artifacts andother inanimate macrophysical objects, as well as living organisms,with the exception of humans; Peter van Inwagen (1990), who denies theexistence of artifacts and other inanimate macrophysical objects, butaccepts the existence of living organisms, including humans; and SimonEvnine (2016), who denies the existence of inanimate natural objects,but accepts the existence of artifacts and living organisms.
The arguments for these varieties of eliminativism are themselvesvarious, but they revolve around what Daniel Korman(2015, 4–7) calls debunking arguments. Why do we think thatordinary objects exist? Only because they correspond to our humanneeds and interests, as embodied in our biology and enshrined in ourcultural practices. But there is no good reason to think that theobjects we pick out in accordance with our needs and interestscorrespond to the objects that actually exist in reality. Debunkingarguments go back to the very beginning of Western philosophy.Parmenides declared that what truly is—Being, or theOne—cannot be multiple, changing and transient after the fashionof ordinary objects. Plato followed up with the doctrine of theeternal and unchanging Forms, which truly exist, and of which ordinaryobjects are at best ontologically deficient copies. Thus the idea thatwe have no good reason to think that ordinary objects exist isentrenched in our metaphysical tradition.
On the other hand,prima facie grounds for rehabilitatingordinary objects also have ancient roots in atomism, which holds thatmacrophysical objects are composed of particles which, while multiple,do meet the other criteria for true being laid down by Parmenides. Onthe assumption that composition follows regular principles, then,ordinary objects may be said to exist insofar as they are wholescomposed of existing proper parts. This brings us face to face withwhat Peter van Inwagen (1990, 21 ff.) calls the SpecialComposition Question—under what conditionsdo unifiedwholes arise out of parts? Answering this question has turned out tobe far from simple, and has latterly given rise to mereology, aspecial area of metaphysics devoted to investigating the principles ofcomposition. Most of the other main arguments against the existence ofartifacts and other ordinary objects reflect problems arising in thecourse of these investigations. For example, there is the materialconstitution problem. An artifact such as a cookie is made out ofdough. So everywhere there is a cookie there is a coincident lump of(baked) dough, which shares all of its parts with the cookie. But thiscoincidence violates our intuitions about the identity of ordinaryobjects. Considerations of this sort have been used by van Inwagen(1990, 124 ff.) and others to argue that there are no artifacts.Cookie makers do not bring anything new into existence; they merelymove pre-existing elementary things around. Thus, while debunkingarguments show that we have no good reason to believe ordinary objectsdo exist, mereological problems show that we have goodreasons to believe they donot.
A growing chorus of voices has been raised against this ontologicaldowngrading of ordinary objects, several of whom have been especiallyconcerned to rehabilitate artifacts. Lynne Rudder Baker’sMetaphysics of Everyday Life (2007) foregrounds artifacts asparadigmatic examples of existing ordinary objects. Baker subscribesto a constitution view, according to which material things arenon-reductively made up of other material things.
The fundamental idea of constitution is this: when a thing of oneprimary kind is in certain circumstances, a thing of another primarykind—a new thing, with new causal powers—comes to exist.When an octagonal piece of metal is in circumstances of being paintedred with white marks of the shape S-T-O-P, and is in an environmentthat has certain conventions and laws, a new thing—a trafficsign—comes into existence. (Baker 2007, 32)
Importantly, for Baker artifacts are intention-dependent (ID)objects—they cannot exist in the absence of beings with relevantintentional states. Thus the cosmic ray striking a sheet of scrapmetal in the proverbial swamp and turning it red with white letteringhas not created any artifact at all, let alone a stop sign. Bakerbuilds the intentional states into the specification of the requiredcircumstances in terms of a relationship between the constructionmaterials and the intentions and knowledge of the constructor. For astop sign to exist, for example, it must be constructed from metal andpaint by someone who understands the function of stop signs, knows howto construct one, intends to construct one to fulfill this function,and is reasonably successful in executing her intentions(2007, 53–55). This view puts Baker at odds withAristotle’s view that only things with an internal principle ofmovement truly exist, as well as with the common view that ID objectsdo not truly exist. Both of these views are aimed at firstdistinguishing natural from artificial objects and then downgradingthe latter. Baker argues that the distinction itself is suspect, bothin light of technologies such as genetic engineering and the naturalstatus of the beings with intentional states who create artifacts(2007, 59–66). In short, the whole process of makingartifacts is internal to nature and cannot be legitimately consideredseparate from it by those inclined to be judgmental in ontologicalmatters.
Simon Evnine (2016) argues for a version of hylomorphism that is verysimilar to the constitution view espoused by Baker. Evnine abandonstraditional notions of form and focuses instead on the intertwining ofthe causes that bring a thing into existence and make it the thing itis. Artifacts thus take pride of place in his metaphysics, because, heclaims, they typically have a specifiable origin in the intentions ofa maker who chooses material and works it up in accordance with anenvisioned function and shape. Evnine’s account of organisms asexistents rests on an analogy between this paradigmatic intentionalmaking and organic development. But he does not try to account fornon-living natural objects, whose existence he denies. On the otherhand, Evnine deploys his account of artifacts in an interesting way toargue that actions are artifacts—artifactual events rather thanartifactual objects. Higher-level actions such as turning on a lightare governed by the agent’s intention and constructed ultimatelyout of the “matter” of basic, bodily actions.
Amie Thomasson (2007a; and for a succinct summary, 2009) takes adifferent tack, arguing that the existence of artifacts and otherordinary objects is established by the connection between our terms onthe one hand, and facts about the world on the other. On her view, themeaning of our terms includes a specification of the conditions fortheir application. If we then determine empirically that theapplication conditions of a term are met, the thing to which it refersexists. For example, “spoon” refers to a utensilintentionally made by humans for the purposes of stirring, serving andeating food, consisting of a shallow bowl with a long handle. A quickcheck of any kitchen will assure you that these conditions are in factsatisfied, and that spoons therefore exist. On the other hand,“devil’s tuning fork” refers to an implementconsisting of three cylindrical prongs on one end and two rectangularprongs on the other, intentionally made by devils for the purpose oftuning their instruments, one would suppose. Check the music studiosand the concert halls as thoroughly as you like, you will not findthese conditions satisfied. So devil’s tuning forks do notexist. Thomasson’s approach does not privilege artifacts asparadigmatic existents the way Baker’s and Evnine’saccounts do. But she makes the intention-dependent status of artifactsequally comprehensible, since the intentional states of makers figureprominently in the application conditions of concepts.
If artifacts do not exist, then the kinds into which we classifythem—pillow, book, painting, flowerpot—are not real kindson a par with natural kinds, such as oak, owl or anole. But questionsabout the reality and nature of artifact kinds also arise for thosewho do take artifacts to exist. As we have seen, these theoristsresist the objection that the mind-dependence of artifacts compromisestheir ontological status. But this objection resurfaces with regard toartifact kinds. The mind-dependence of artifacts implies, at aminimum, that an account of artifact kinds will be very different froman account of natural kinds. This implication is resisted by CrawfordElder (2004; 2007), who seeks to establish the existence ofartifacts on the basis of a realist account of kinds. On Elder’sview, artifact kinds and many natural kinds are equally copied kinds,and equally mind-independent. A copied kind is defined by a set ofproperties that naturally cluster together—a distinctive shapeor make-up, a proper function established by a mechanism that copiesthings of that shape on the basis of successful performance, and ahistorically proper placement. For example, cats’ whiskers aredistinctively shaped organs that are copied from cat to cat by abiologically based reproductive mechanism because they help cats getaround in the dark by performing successfully as touch receptorsstrategically located with respect to the cat’s other bodilyparts. Similarly, floor lamps are distinctively shaped artifacts thatare copied from household to household by a socially basedreproductive mechanism because they help humans get around in the darkby performing successfully as light sources strategically located withrespect to other household furniture. Human intentional states do, ofcourse, figure in the copying process for artifacts. However, Elderargues:
[C]reation does not begin with the artisan’s intending what hedoes. Rather, the essential properties that his product will inheritstem from a history of function and of copying that began well beforethe artisan undertook his work. This history reaches forward throughthe artisan’s motions—it shapes his shaping. Its existenceand its efficacy are independent, largely or even entirely, of theartisan’s will. (Elder 2004, 142–143)
All copied kinds are thus natural, mind-independent kinds whoseclustered features we discover rather than invent.
One acknowledged problem with Elder’s account is that manyerstwhile artifact kinds turn out not to be copied kinds. Neckties,for example, do not qualify because they do not appear to have aproper function (Elder 2004, 158–159). But his account doeshave the virtue of drawing out useful analogies between natural kindsand artifact kinds. A number of other accounts also focus on analogiesbetween (at least some) natural kinds and (at least some) artifactkinds (Lowe 2014; Franssen & Kroes 2014). The underlying motivefor pushing this analogy, clearly, is the fear that artifact kinds arenot real if human intentional states and/or classificatory practicesare constitutive of what kinds there are.
Amie Thomasson does not share this fear. In a series of importantpapers (2003; 2007b; 2014), she points out that realistsabout kinds are not, in fact, forced to choose between showing thatartifact kinds can be understood on the mind-independent model ofnatural kinds, or denying that artifact kinds are real. There is athird option—denying that mind-independence is the touchstone ofreality. Thomasson then builds human intentions and their historicalconnections into her account of artifact kinds.
Necessarily, for allx and all artifactual kindsK,x is aK only ifx is the product of alargely successful intention that (Kx), where one intends(Kx) only if one has a substantive concept of the nature ofKs that largely matches that of some group of prior makers ofKs (if there are any) and intends to realize that concept byimposingK-relevant features on the object. (Thomasson2003, 600)
Thus for Thomasson, human intentions and concepts are actuallyconstitutive of artifact kinds. Thomasson (2014) also objects to thecommon assumption that concepts of artifact kinds revolve exclusivelyaround intended function. While it is true that inEnglish we often label artifact kinds in accordance withfunction—flashlight, bedspread, pincushion, frying pan, and soon—artifacts actually have an array of features that figure intheir concepts. These include structural or perceptible features, forexample, that are also often reflected in our terms—armchair,tripod, zebra crossing (definitely not a function designation!), fork,and so on. Most importantly for Thomasson, they also include normativefeatures concerned with how that kind of artifact is to be treated orregarded. Although sponges and paper towels can both be used to wipeup spills, it is normal to dispose of the paper towel, but to cleanthe sponge and reuse it.
A distinct approach to artifact kinds is proposed by Thomas Reydon(2014). He points out that the nature of natural kinds is currently inplay in philosophy of science. Their mind-independence istraditionally predicated on their having essences. But essentialismran into trouble when Darwin showed that species—up to thatpoint the very paradigm of natural kinds—are historically fluidand have no clear boundaries. Similar problems have now beenrecognized even in the kinds of chemistry and physics (Khalidi 2013).Nevertheless, grouping natural objects into kinds does license usefulinferences and ground successful explanations. This has led to whatReydon calls an “epistemological turn”.
The principal criteria for being a natural kind used to bemetaphysical: a kind is a natural kind if and only if it really existsin the world…independently of human consciousness, humaninterests, and human practices, and is associated with a particularkind essence…. On the alternative approach the principalcriteria for being a natural kind no longer are metaphysical butepistemological: what counts is being useful in humanepistemic practices, such as inference and explanation, bycorresponding in some way (which is still to be explicated)to the state of affairs in nature. (Reydon 2014, 132)
Rather than assimilating artifact kinds to natural kinds by showingthat artifacts are actually mind-independent in some way, as Elder andothers have tried to do, the epistemological turn suggests that sincenatural kinds were never mind-independent to begin with, there is inprinciple no barrier to a unified account of artifact and naturalkinds.
Finally, we should note that questions have been raised about thelegitimacy of the kind—or perhaps more precisely, thecategory—“artifact” itself. We have already touchedon this inSection 1 above, in the context of the definitional issues raised by thecontinuum problem. This discussion clearly reflects Reydon’sepistemological turn in that it foregrounds methodologicalconsiderations and lets the ontological chips fall where they may. Wewill discuss methodological issues inSection 3.
Function is a salient feature of artifacts. Clearly there would be nogood reason to keep so many of them around unless they did somethingfor us. Function is also a salient feature of biological traits.Accounts of biological function, which now comprise a largeliterature, have inspired many accounts of artifact function. Butunlike organisms, artifacts are made to serve human purposes, so humanintentional states must be considered. Accounts of artifact functioncan be usefully categorized in terms of the role they give tointentions in the establishment of functions (Preston 2009; Houkes& Vermaas 2010). At one end of the spectrum are accounts thatrevolve around human intentions, while at the other end are accountsthat focus on non-intentional factors; in between are a variety ofaccounts that mix intentional and non-intentional factors in variousproportions.
Karen Neander (1991) distinguishes artifact function sharply frombiological function. Natural selection acting over the long course ofevolutionary history establishes specific effects of biological traitsas their functions, in virtue of the reproduction of those traits forthose effects. For example, the wings of birds are the result of eonsof selection for their effect as airfoils. In contrast, intentionalhuman selection, acting with knowledge and foresight, establishesspecific effects of artifacts as their functions immediately, withoutany reference to a history of reproduction for those effects.
It is enough, in the case of intentional selection, if the designerbelieves or hopes that the artifact will have the desired effect andselects it for that purpose. (Neander 1991, 462)
For example, an individual who designs a hammer, or who uses the heelof her shoe to pound in a nail, believing these items to have thecapacity to deliver a hard blow and intending to use that effect forher purposes, endows them with the relevant function forthwith. JohnSearle (1995) calls such artifact functions “agentive”functions to distinguish them from the “non-agentive”functions of biological traits. Searle also distinguishes a specialsub-category of agentive functions which he terms “status”functions. These are related in a relatively arbitrary way to thephysical structure of the artifact. Money, for example, runs the gamutfrom gold ingots to bitcoin. Its functions—medium of exchange,measure of value, and so on—are imposed on these physicalbearers by our collective acceptance of them as money. According toSearle, the intentional states constituting this collective acceptancecreate an “institutional fact” that would not existwithout collective human agency. Status functions thus illustrate notonly the creative capacity of human intentionality alreadyforegrounded in Neander’s account, but also its typicallycollective nature in the case of artifact function. Searle supplies anaccount of collective intentionality to underwrite this feature. Otherauthors who subscribe to intentionalist theories of artifact functioninclude Randall Dipert (1993), Peter McLaughlin (2001), Lynne RudderBaker (2007), and Simon Evnine (2016).
Ruth Millikan (1984) offers a general theory of function that, in thecase of artifacts, mixes intentional and non-intentional elements. Hermain interest is in proper functions—what a biological trait orartifact is supposed to do, and is malfunctioning if it cannot do. OnMillikan’s view, what she calls direct proper functions, whetherbiological or artifactual, are established by a history of selectionand reproduction for the effect constituting the function. So what isessential for the establishment of an artifact’s function iswhether or not its ancestors—artifacts of that kind—werereproduced for that effect. This is what the artifact is supposed todo, even if it is not able to do it because of damage or anunfavorable environment. Thus far Millikan’s account isnon-intentional, for the role of human intentional states is merelyone factor in the implementation of the reproduction process. However,the other half of Millikan’s account concerns what she callsderived proper functions. These are functions that are established bysomething that has the direct proper function of producing somethingelse to accomplish a purpose. Millikan’s favored example ofbiological derived proper function is a novel shade of brown sportedby a chameleon. It has no history of selection and reproduction forthe effect of camouflaging the chameleon, and yet we want to say thatthat is its proper function. And we can say so, according to Millikan,because the color-alteration mechanism possessed by chameleons has thedirect proper function of changing chameleons’ skin color tocamouflage them by matching their surroundings. Thus this novel shadeof brown does have thederived proper function ofcamouflaging the chameleon. Derived proper functions in the realm ofartifacts bring intention back to the fore. On Millikan’s view,intentional states have evolutionarily established direct properfunctions. The direct proper function of intentions is to producesomething else to accomplish whatever purpose the intentionincorporates. Thus, if you intend to produce a can opener, theexecution of your intention brings into existence a device having thederived proper function of opening cans. Even if this device works ina completely novel way, and even if it is not capable of performing asenvisioned, opening cans is still what it is supposed to do. Usually,the direct and derived proper functions of artifacts coincide—inthe case of a standard can opener, for instance, we have both ahistory of selection and reproduction and a current intention toreproduce yet another can opener. But in the case of novel prototypes,especially, it is intention alone that establishes the (derived)proper function.
Wybo Houkes and Pieter Vermaas (Houkes & Vermaas 2004; 2010;Vermaas & Houkes 2003) also have a mixed theory, althoughintentionalist factors predominate, in contrast to Millikan’sfocus on non-intentionalist history of reproduction. Their approach isto derive a theory of artifact function from a theory of artifact useand design.
On our theory, an artifact function is a capacity, supposed or actual,which has a preferential status in the context of certain actions andbeliefs. It is therefore a highly relational property, whichsupervenes on both the actual physical makeup of an artifact and onthe beliefs and actions of human agents, designers as well as users.(Houkes & Vermaas 2004, 67)
Houkes and Vermaas focus on the use plan formulated by designers asestablishing the function of the artifact in the first instance. Thisis the predominant intentionalist element in their account. But ontheir view, this use plan must be supported by a justification thatthe plan will realize the function, and this requires knowledge of thecausal roles of the physicochemical capacities of the artifact.Through this required justification the actual physical structure ofthe artifact constrains the intentions articulated in the use plan.This is a non-intentionalist element. In addition, they require ahistorical element in the form of the communication of the use planfrom designer to user and subsequently from user to user. They referto this element as “evolutionary”, in an apparentreference to cultural evolution, but clearly this element, too, isprimarily intentional since the evolution is carried out in a seriesof intentional communications. Houkes and Vermaas refer to theirtheory as the ICE (Intention, Causal role, Evolution) theory ofartifact function. Other mixed theories include those of PaulGriffiths (1993) and Philip Kitcher (1993).
At the lonelier, non-intentionalist end of the spectrum is BethPreston’s (1998; 2013) account. Her initial concern is toadvance a pluralist theory of artifact function according to whichartifacts have both proper functions and what Preston calls systemfunctions. For example, the proper function of plates is to hold foodfor serving or eating. But they function equally well as saucers forpotted plants, or in a stack to weight down tofu or eggplant slices toextract the moisture. For proper function, Preston relies onMillikan’s account of direct proper function, but without theadded element of derived proper function that brings intention backin. For system function, she relies on Robert Cummins’ (1975)theory of biological function, according to which function isestablished by the causal role a component plays in a system. NeitherMillikan’s nor Cummins’ account is intrinsicallyintentionalist, since they are designed to fit both the biological andthe artifactual cases. Preston resists reformulating them inintentionalist terms, while acknowledging that in the artifact casehuman intentions and other intentional states do play a role inimplementing the history of selective reproduction and the systemcontext, respectively. In support of this resolutelynon-intentionalist stance, Preston argues that human intentions do notarise in a vacuum, but are reproduced in and through the process bywhich material culture, with its myriad of functional artifacts, isreproduced. Intentions to make plates are reproduced in plate culturesas surely as the plates themselves; and only in cultures with bothpotted plants and plates can intentions to use plates as potsaucers form.
The only viable view is one that sees human purposes and the properfunctions of items of material culture indissolubly linked in patternsof use and reproduction. Thus, it no longer seems reasonable to askwhich came first, the purpose or the proper function. Both areproduced and reproduced through the self-same social process. (Preston2013, 206)
Preston is joined here by Crawford Elder (2004), whose account ofcopied kinds, as we noted above, similarly characterizes humanintentions as themselves dependent on the copying process rather thaninitiating and controlling it.
The theories discussed in this section encounter a number of importantproblems in accounting for function phenomena in the artifact realm.One such problematic phenomenon is the distinction between proper andnon-proper functions. This does occur in the biologicalrealm—pigeon beaks did not evolve to peck buttons for a foodreward, for example—but it is relatively rare. In materialculture, it is ubiquitous. Humans are just very good at adoptingwhatever artifact will accomplish their purposes, regardless of itsproper function. Stop a random person in the street and ask—shewill have a story. Intentionalist approaches have more difficultymaking this distinction, because for these views human intentions arethe only mechanism for establishing functions, and this elides thedistinction unless some difference can be discerned in the intentionsthemselves. Authors who have discussed this issue recently includeWybo Houkes and Pieter Vermaas (2010), Beth Preston (2013) and SimonEvnine (2016). Another problem is accounting for malfunction. Just asany theory of representation must account for misrepresentation, anytheory of function must say something about cases of failure toperform, and whether or not that failure is a malfunction or somethingelse. Addressing this issue depends to some extent on the distinctionbetween proper and non-proper functions, because malfunction onlyseems an appropriate designation in the case of failure to perform aproper function—failure to do what the artifact is supposed todo, in other words. This issue is especially important for thephilosophy of technology and engineering side of the artifact debates,where understanding the epistemology of problem solving and innovationdepends in part on understanding failure to function and how to learnfrom and deal with it. Authors who have covered this issue includeNeander (1995), Baker (2007), Franssen (2006; 2009), Houkes andVermaas (2010) and Kroes (2012).
A third problem is how to account for the functions—ifany—of novel prototypes. Non-intentional accounts have moredifficulty in this case, for a truly novel prototype has no history ofselection and reproduction; and if it does not work, as manyprototypes in fact do not, then function established in terms ofsystemic causal role or physicochemical capacities is not possibleeither. This problem is one of the main motivations forMillikan’s (1984) introduction of derived proper function, sincedesigner intention seems to be the only way unsuccessful novelprototypes could acquire any kind of function at all. Thenon-intentionalist then is caught between biting thebullet—unsuccessful novel prototypes just do not havefunctions—or introducing anad hoc intentionalistelement. This issue has been canvassed by Preston(1998; 2003; 2013), Millikan (1999), Vermaas and Houkes(2003) and Kroes (2012). A related problem is how to account forso-called phantom functions (Preston 2013)—the functions ofartifacts that are constitutionally incapable of ever fulfilling them.Talismans to ensure fertility, for example, are now widely believed inWestern culture to have no efficacy, but it is difficult to escape theintuition that ensuring fertility is nevertheless their properfunction. Here again, it is the non-intentionalist who is caughtflatfooted. Although artifacts like fertility talismans are indeedreproduced for a purpose, the standard requirement for establishingproper function is that the artifact be selected for reproduction onthe basis of successful performance. Similarly, function establishedby systemic causal role requires that the artifact actually performthe relevant causal role. Worse yet, the option of just biting thebullet and agreeing that such artifacts have no functions is nowherenear as plausible as in the case of unsuccessful novel prototypesbecause of the prevalence of talismans, amulets, religious artifacts,inefficacious medicines and supplements, and the like. Authors whohave addressed this issue include Griffiths (1993), Preston(1998; 2013), Thomasson (2009), Parsons (2016) and Holm(2017).
Many works of art are typical artifacts, ontologically no more or lessmysterious than hats or hacksaws. Vermeer’sGirl with aPearl Earring has extraordinary aesthetic qualities, butotherwise it is just a concrete, spatiotemporal object, created bysomeone and straightforwardly subject to change and destruction. Notso with Amy Beach’sGaelic Symphony, which we hesitateto identify with its performances, singly or collectively, and whichtherefore does not appear to be located in time and space. However, itdoes purport to have a creator, and may perhaps be destroyed if alltraces of its performances and scores are wiped away. A symphony is aso-called repeatable work of art, that is, a work with multipleinstances. Performance arts of all kinds fall into this category, butso do cast sculptures, limited edition prints, art photographs, films,and the like. So understanding the ontology of repeatable works is acentral task for philosophy of art.
The initial difficulty is that such works do not fit neatly into thestandard ontological bifurcation between concrete, spatiotemporalobjects such as hats and hacksaws and abstract, eternal objects suchas numbers and sets. Like concrete objects, but unlike abstractobjects, repeatable works of art appear to be created and may changeor be destroyed. Unlike concrete objects, but like abstract objects,they do not appear to be located in space and time. Amie Thomasson(1999; 2004; 2006) sought to resolve this difficulty by proposing anintermediate ontological category of abstract artifacts—abstractin that they are not located in space and time; artifactual in thatthey are intentionally created and can be destroyed. Thomassonoriginally proposed this new category as part of her theory offictional characters, but she noted its usefulness to the analysis ofthe literary works those characters inhabit, repeatable works of artin general, and perhaps other social objects as well. (For applicationto repeatable works of art, see the essays inArt and AbstractObjects (Mag Uidhir 2012). Applications to other social objectsinclude software (Irmak 2012), establishments (Korman 2020), andnormativity (Frugé 2022).)
However, further difficulties beset the positing of abstractartifacts. It is commonly thought that abstract objects are not justnon-spatiotemporal, but non-causal. Our causal commerce is with theirinstances, not with the abstract objects themselves. But this makes ithard to understand how abstract objects could possibly be created.Erik Satie could certainly create an instance of hisGymnopédies by playing it on his piano, but it isunclear in what sense he could be the author of this musical work asan abstract object separate from its instances. According to JerroldLevinson (1980), the last decades of the 20th century saw anear consensus that musical works are abstract objects of a morefamiliar sort—structural types that exist eternally and withoutchange, independent of their instances in the causally governed,spatiotemporal realm. A leading objection to this consensus is thatcomposers cannot then bring their works into existence, contrary tocommon sense. So the music ontologist faces a dilemma—give up onthe idea that musical works are abstract structural types, or explainhow the composer can reasonably be said to create musical works eventhough the abstract structural types that comprise them are already inexistence. This difficulty generalizes to other repeatable types ofartworks that are held to be abstract objects. But most importantly,characterizing repeatable artworks as abstract artifacts does notallow the ontologist to escape this difficulty. Abstract artifacts donot belong to the causal realm of space and time any more than theireternal and changeless cousins do. So simply saying that they areartifacts, and therefore created and destroyed like all otherartifacts, does not by itself explain how this creation anddestruction is possible.
Responses run the gamut. Julian Dodd (2000) bites the bullet andargues that musical works are discovered, not created. Levinson (1980)famously proposes that composers create musical works by selectingamong and indicating pre-existing abstract sound structures andpreferred performance means. In western classical music, for example,these indications are embodied in the written score for the work,which guides the production of instances. However, abstract artifacts,by hypothesis, do not pre-exist the creative acts of authors, so theycannot be created by Levinson’s selection-and-indicationprocess. A popular alternative involves the metaphysical relationshipof existential dependence. On this view, repeatable works of art havea dependence base, typically consisting of an author’s mentaland physical acts which bring an initial instance of the work intoexistence, subsequent copies of that instance that sustain the work,and an audience capable of appreciating and interpreting thoseinstances. The work itself is an abstract artifact, dependent on, butexisting separately from, these acts and instances. It begins whenthey begin and ends when they all cease or are destroyed. Nurbay Irmak(2021) argues that existential dependence allows for a non-causal typeof creation. The artist engages in causal relations with concreteobjects and by so doing non-causally creates the dependent abstractartifact. Lee Walters (2013), on the other hand, argues that someabstract objects can enter into causal relationships, so the processof creating an existentially dependent abstract artifact mightconceivably qualify as ordinary causal creation.
These difficulties have prompted some philosophers to avoid the movesthat generate them. An early such attempt is Guy Rohrbaugh’s(2003) view that works of art are not abstract objects at all, butrather historical individuals—non-physical entitiesontologically dependent on a physical series of historically andcausally linked physical objects. For example, a photograph is anon-physical entity dependent on its “embodiments” in a negativeand subsequent prints. In a more recent proposal, Christy MagUidhir (2013) argues that works of art must have authors, but thatneither discovery, nor indication of abstract structures, norexistential dependence satisfies the requirements for authorship. Heconcludes that repeatable works of art cannot be abstract objects ofany kind, but must rather be ordinary concrete objects. Their apparentrepeatability does not mean that they are instances of an abstractwork, but only that they bear relevant similarity to one another. In arelated vein, Allan Hazlett (2012) claims that there are no repeatableartworks. If there were, he says, they would have to be abstractobjects. But abstract objects have all their intrinsic propertiesessentially, whereas artworks typically do not. For example, AlvinAiley’s major work,Revelations, premiered as a 10section work lasting an hour, but evolved into a half hour long piecein three sections. So, clearly, many of its original properties werenot essential to it. Hazlett concludes that apparent repetitions arenot instances of an abstract object. They are either separate, similarartworks, or copies of an original.
The discussion of abstract artifacts has been largely confined to theontology of art. But as some of the participants have noted (e.g.,Levinson 1980, 21–22), repeatable works are not confined toworks of art. This is particularly clear for named artifacts such asChanel No. 5, the Ford F-150, Campbell’s tomato soup, Earl Greytea, the Hepplewhite chair, or the Washington quarter. It is possibleto see each bottle of Chanel No. 5 or each quarter not as adistinctive artifact in its own right, but as an instance of anabstract artifact—Chanel No. 5tout court, or theWashington quarter. Apart from marketing and branding concerns, whatdoes the naming of such ordinary artifacts accomplish? It highlightstheir standardization, and often designates the entity responsible formaintaining it—Ford, in the case of the F-150, for instance. Butstandardization is a virtually universal feature of human artifacts,from the Acheulean handaxe to the Apple MacBook Air. There arevanishingly few artifacts that are unique in the way non-repeatableartworks like paintings are supposed to be. Failed prototypes thatwere never reproduced might be an example. This means that we arepotentially swimming in abstract artifacts, with all the philosophicaldifficulties that would entail. This, in turn, highlights viewsopposed to the positing of abstract artifacts, which are moreplausible in the case of everyday artifacts. We resist thinking ofperformances of Beach’sGaelic Symphony as separate,relevantly similar artifacts because we are used to thinking ofsymphonies as unique, individual works. But the Washingtonquarter does not seem like a work in the same sense, and there is thusless reason to resist the idea that individual quarters are justrelevantly similar artifacts produced by a copying process managed bythe United States Mint. In this regard, we might consider that thenotion of the work, functioning as a regulatory concept for the arts,is arguably neither universal nor of ancient lineage, even in thewestern tradition (Goehr 1993). In short, the time may be ripefor the discussion of abstract artifacts to be expanded to coverartifacts in general, perhaps with different outcomes than in itsnative context.
The metaphysics of artifacts is a fairly well delineated set ofdiscussions, carried out by a fairly cohesive group of philosophers.In contrast, the epistemology of artifacts is more interdisciplinaryin nature, ranging over anthropology, archaeology, cognitive science,and psychology, in addition to philosophy. Within philosophy it runsthe gamut from environmental philosophy to philosophy of mind.Section 3.1 returns in more detail to the methodological considerations alreadybroached inSection 2.2.Section 3.2 takes up issues concerning artifacts as objects ofknowledge. Finally,Section 3.3 covers issues arising in studies of cognition in which artifacts arepresented as playing significant and sometimes controversial roles incognitive processes themselves.
Reydon’s identification of an epistemological turn in ourunderstanding of kinds and categories leads to a new question aboutthe category “artifact”. Rather than only asking whetherit carves the world at a joint, we can also ask: Is it serving ourepistemic purposes well? A number of authors have argued that“artifact” is methodologically counterproductive. DanSperber (2007, 136–137) claims that it is not a usefulcategory for the purposes of a naturalistic social science.
I have tried to cast doubt on the idea that a theoretically usefulnotion of artifact can be built around its usual prototypes:bracelets, jars, hammers, and other inert objects, or that it can bedefined in a more systematic way…. There is no good reason whya naturalistic social science should treat separately, or even givepride of place to, cultural productions that are both more clearlyintended for a purpose and more thoroughly designed by humans, thatis, to prototypical artifacts. (Sperber 2007, 137)
Sperber’s main argument for this conclusion, as we noted inSection 1, is based on the continuum problem. But Sperber also suggests that infocusing on paradigmatic artifacts as the basis for ourcategorization, we are allowing ourselves to be epistemologicallydisadvantaged by “a doubly obsolete industrial-age revival of aPaleolithic categorization” (2007, 136). In thePaleolithic, before there were any domesticates other than dogs, the(few) technologies people used in their daily liveswereparadigmatic artifacts—stone tools, baskets, beads, and so on.So, Sperber speculates, we evolved a psychological disposition toclassify things in accordance with the predominance of such artifacts.We then retained this disposition right through the Neolithictransition to agriculture 12,000 years ago, which made biologicalartifacts (as Sperber calls domesticates) proportionally the mostcommon type of artifact in human experience until the Industrialtransition of only a couple of centuries ago. This is the first sensein which our “artifact” category is obsolete. Second,Sperber argues, information technology has increasingly contributed toour environment artifacts that would have astonished Aristotle withtheir ability to act on their own, beyond any intention their creatorsmay have. Simultaneously, biotechnology has made impressing ourintentions on our biological artifacts increasingly effective. Thesecountervailing trends further reduce the dominance of erstwhileparadigmatic artifacts in our lives. This is the second sense in whichour “artifact” category is obsolete. In short, Sperberseems to suggest, if we cannot shake the Paleolithic urge to centerthe “artifact” category on the paradigmatic bracelets andjars, we should jettison the category altogether, for the sake of anepistemologically adequate social science.
Beth Preston (2013, 4–7) declines to use the term“artifact”, opting instead for the more open-ended“material culture”. The initial problem she identifies isthat phenomena of interest from the point of view of human interactionwith the environment do not divide naturally into interactions withartifacts and interactions with other sorts of things. We noted anexample of this inSection 1—intentionally made paths, which do qualify as artifacts, are used in the same wayas unintentionally made paths. It thus seems methodologicallywrongheaded to rule the unintentionally made path out of considerationon a definitional technicality. Similarly, residues such as sawdust,whey, or fingerprints often enter into human practices in importantways, but a focus on artifacts as traditionally defined may leavethese phenomena out of account as well. Preston also argues that it isprecisely the central concepts in a field of investigation that shouldbe left open-ended, on pain of epistemic distortion of the results.For example, defining “mind” very strictly might haveruled the extended mind debate out in advance.
Steven Vogel (2003; 2015) argues that no good sense can be madeof the artifact-nature distinction, making it unfit for the purposesof environmental philosophy. His argument unrolls against the backdropof a longstanding controversy in environmental philosophy about thevalue of ecological restoration—the practice of restoring areasdamaged by mining, industrial waste and the like to something as closeas possible to the condition they were in before the damage was done.The ontological status of such sites has been challenged on thegrounds that such restoration does not actually restore nature butrather creates an artifact (Katz 1997). Worse yet, this artifact ispassed off as nature, so it is a fake (Elliot 1997). This casts doubton the ethical and political value of ecological restoration as anenvironmental practice. Vogel responds by questioning the unspokenassumption that environmental philosophy is about nature, andenvironmental activism about protecting nature from human activity. Heargues that nature conceived as pristine and independent in this waydoes not exist—certainly not now that human activity is globalin its effects, as Bill McKibben (1989) noted long ago, but inprinciple, since humans, like all other living things, change theirenvironment simply by living in it. On Vogel’s view,environmental philosophy is about just that—the environment,both built and not-so-built, and what we should do to ensure that itis the environment we want and need, not only for ourselves but forother beings as well.
The important point for our purposes, though, is that Vogel’spost-nature environmental philosophy rests on a full-throatedrejection of the nature-artifact categorization. He begins with theclaim that our concepts of nature—already multiple, and notalways carefully distinguished—are riddled withantinomy-generating ambiguities. The epistemological backwash leavesus mired in nostalgia, unable to see and address environmentalproblems as they actually exist. In particular, we are unable to seethat ecological restoration does not produce artifacts by thetraditional definition, since restored areas are designed precisely toescape our designs and outrun our intentions. They are thus“wild” in a perfectly straightforward sense. Furthermore,Vogel argues, all human productions, including artifacts, are wild inthis sense. Rather than focusing on unintentional creations, asPreston and Sperber tend to do, Vogel emphasizes the ways in whichartifacts outrun all our creative intentions.
Building an artifact requires black boxes all the way down:todesign and build anything requires presupposing a whole set ofprocesses that one does not design, and whose operation beyondone’s understanding and intention is necessary for building totake place. There is agap, in the construction of everyartifact, between the intention with which the builder acts and theconsequences of her acts, a gap that is ineliminable and indeedconstitutive of what it is to construct something, and in this gapresides something like what I earlier called wildness. (Vogel2015, 113)
Thus the traditional definition of“artifact”—something intentionally made for apurpose—while true as far as it goes, merely skates over thesurface, leaving us at an epistemological disadvantage with regard tothe full range and depth of the phenomena.
Vogel’s position on environmental ethics resonates in aninteresting way with a much earlier dispute aboutreference—specifically, about whether our capacity to refer todifferent kinds of artifacts is grounded in a definite description ofwhat being a member of that kind requires, or rather in a historicalconnection to a “baptismal” event in which someone slappeda label on something and declared that label henceforth applicable tothings of that sort. Hilary Putnam (1975) famously favors thebaptismal account for both natural kinds and artifact kinds. StevenSchwartz (1978) challenges Putnam’s account in the case ofartifacts. He agrees with Putnam that the “baptismal”account is correct for natural kinds, because they have hidden naturesto which we are not necessarily privy. Thus if we are to refer tonatural objects reliably at all, it cannot be by way of definitedescription. But artifacts, Schwartz says, have publicly accessiblenatures based on form and function, so reference to them is groundedin description rather than a baptismal event. Amie Thomasson(2003; 2007b) carves out a nuanced position based on her viewthat the intentions and concepts of human makers are constitutive ofartifact kinds (Section 2.2 above). If so, then some makers are in an epistemically privilegedposition with regard to given artifacts, and so do refer to them invirtue of having a substantive concept of what being an artifact ofthat kind involves. Thomasson acknowledges that most speakers are notin this epistemically privileged position. Users are not, and evenmany who qualify as makers in the causal sense—workers on aproduction line, for instance—may not be. So Thomasson’sview, unlike Schwartz’s, is not a return to a purely descriptivetheory of reference for artifact terms, but rather a hybrid theory.Hilary Kornblith (2007) argues against Thomasson that she has stillnot demonstrated any essential connection between makers’substantive concepts of artifacts and reference. On the one hand, incases where a type of artifact is no longer used for the purpose themaker intended, the users’ concept would seem decisive. On theother hand, having the concept is arguably the result of familiaritywith the artifact rather than any special semantic capacity enjoyed bymakers. Similarly, Kornblith (1980) argues against Schwartz that thefunction of artifacts is not necessarily accessible—a problemfaced frequently by archaeologists, for instance—and thus thateven in cases of objects where the form and function are familiar, itis not this familiarity that grounds the ability to refer. Thebaptismal account of reference therefore must apply to both artifactsand natural objects, just as Putnam said. Such semantic parity betweenartifacts and natural objects, which rejects any privilege formakers’ intentions, echoes Vogel’s view that artifacts andnatural objects are equally “wild”, because artifactsoutrun their makers’ intentions in practice, just as surely asnatural objects outrun human intentions in principle.
Much of the epistemology of artifacts is, in the first instance, theprovince of cognitive psychology, not philosophy. Artifact kinds, forinstance, can be approached from the side of psychology rather thanmetaphysics, yielding theories about the psychological mechanisms bymeans of which we group artifacts together, apart from any question ofwhether these groupings represent reality (Malt & Sloman 2007a).In an influential article, Paul Bloom (1996) argues that we cannotcategorize artifacts based on form, use, or function. Form and use areboth too variable to be reliable. Beanbag chairs do not look much likeother chairs, and even if every flatiron in existence were currentlybeing used as a doorstop, we would not want to categorize them asdoorstops. Experiments show that even intended function is neithernecessary nor sufficient for categorization (Malt & Johnson 1992).Vary the form of something sufficiently, and people will decline tocategorize it as a chair even if it is made to be sat on. On the otherhand, present them with something that looks like a chair but is madeto be a plant stand, and they will still categorize it as a chair. Inresponse, Bloom proposes an intentional-historical theory, accordingto which categorization of artifacts depends on our being able toinfer that an artifact was successfully made with the intention thatit belong to a particular category. Form and use are good grounds forsuch inferences, and this explains our intuition that these factorshave something to do with how we categorize artifacts. So if somethinglooks like a chair and we regularly observe people sitting on it, wereasonably infer it was made with the intention that it be a chair,and we categorize it accordingly. (Bloom’s view is clearlyancestral to Amie Thomasson’s account of artifact kinds (Section 2.2), but he is concerned only to explain how we group artifacts, and doesnot claim, as Thomasson does, that makers’ intentions andconcepts are ontologically constitutive of artifact kinds.) BarbaraMalt and Eric Johnson (1998) criticize Bloom for failing to make cleareither why we would need to resort to creator’s intention tocategorize artifacts, or exactly how we might assess that intention.More recently, Malt and Steven Sloman (2007a; 2007b) have arguedthat the kind of essentialist approach represented by Bloom’stheory is misguided, and have proposed an alternative, pragmaticapproach. In a series of experiments, they show that artifactcategorization is sensitive to communicative goals in specificsituations. Creators’ intentions are important with regard tosome goals and situations; unimportant with regard to others. If thisapproach is on the right track, artifact kinds are not psychologicallystable or clearly demarcated groupings. Moreover, this raises thepossibility that “categorization” itself is not apsychological natural kind. It may be that this label is used for whatis actually a heterogeneous collection of processes.
Developmental issues with regard to our concepts of“artifact” and specific kinds of artifacts also loom largein cognitive psychology. As philosophers might anticipate, theunderlying general issue is between empiricist and nativist approachesto concept acquisition. But the now vast experimental literature onchild development means that theories in this area are both numerousand highly sophisticated. An empiricist-oriented theory that standsout is Jean Mandler’s (2004; 2007) comprehensive perceptualmeaning analysis view, according to which children construct abstractimage schemas on the basis of their perceptual experience, especiallytheir experience of motion. Since artifacts and animals move incharacteristically different ways, the first level of differentiationthese image schemas provide is vague, global concepts of these twotypes of objects. Mandler holds that there is no good reason to thinkthese concepts are innate, nor is there any good reason to think thatthe perceptual meaning analysis mechanisms that produce them aredomain specific. All that is innate, on her view, is a domain-generalmechanism that enables the child to analyze her perceptual input.Mandler’s work also indicates that artifacts may be firstdifferentiated into indoor and outdoor, and only then into morespecific kinds such as furniture and kitchen utensils, on the onehand, and vehicles and buildings, on the other. The nativistalternative to Mandler’s theory is best represented by SusanCarey’s equally comprehensive “core cognition”theory. Carey (2009, 194–196) has a characteristicallynativist critique of Mandler. On the face of it, Mandler’s imageschemas represent features of motion and the paths motions describethrough space. However, Carey argues, there is no explanation of howthe child gets from these representations to a representation ofagency, for example. No matter how distinctive the motions of animals,they do not by themselves yield concepts of intention, attention, orgoal-directedness. On Carey’s view, these concepts must beinnate in the form of “core knowledge” (Spelke 2000), or“core cognition”, as Carey prefers to call it in her morerecent work. Core cognition is characterized by innate,domain-specific mechanisms for the analysis of perceptual input,designed by natural selection to construct domain-specificrepresentations of the world, such as intention in the agent domain,or causality in the object domain. Both of these domains of corecognition are essential for the development of artifact concepts,because on Carey’s view (Kelemen & Carey 2007) weconceptualize artifacts as objects that have been intentionallydesigned to carry out a specific function. The developmental issue,then, boils down to the question of whether we can construct artifactconcepts with only a single, domain-general mechanism for analyzingperceptual input, or whether we need at least two domain-specificmechanisms with quite different output.
Artifacts are not only objects of knowledge; they are also involved incognition itself. No one disputes that humans use artifacts in theircognitive practices—we do our sums on paper or with electronicdevices; and memory aids from individual grocery lists to monumentsenshrining cultural memory are ubiquitous. But in recent years aloosely interconnected collection of approaches has characterizedartifacts as much more intimately involved in these processes thanmere use might suggest. Rather than trying to sort out the complexfamily resemblances among embodied, enactive, situated, distributedand extended approaches to cognition (Sutton 2006; Wilson & Clark2009), we can more profitably focus on some representative studies ofthe way artifacts contribute to cognition in this family ofviews.
In a seminal paper, Andy Clark and David Chalmers (1998) propose theradical thesis that the mind extends beyond the brain and the body,right out into the environment. In their now famous illustration, twocharacters, Inga and Otto, hear about an interesting exhibition at theMuseum of Modern Art. Inga is neurotypical. She recalls the address ofthe museum and travels there. Otto, on the other hand, hasAlzheimer’s disease. Because he forgets things so easily, hemaintains a notebook with the addresses of places he is wont to visit.He looks up the address of the museum and travels there. The moral ofthis illustration is the so-called Parity Principle.
If, as we confront some task, a part of the world functions as aprocess which,were it done in the head, we would have nohesitation in recognizing as part of the cognitive process, then thatpart of the world is (so we claim) part of the cognitive process.(Clark & Chalmers 1998, 8)
This claim is intended as a thesis in the metaphysics of mind, but itfunctions equally well as a thesis about the epistemic status ofartifacts. In Otto’s case—and it is clear Clark andChalmers intend it not as an exceptional case, but as a particularlystriking instance of a commonplace one—the notebook is cognitivein its own right. It is an essential element of a widely individuatedcognitive process, not a cognitively neutral tool used by anencapsulated cognizer. Critics of the extended mind thesis have been,if not legion, extremely persistent (Menary 2010). But they havefocused mostly on the disconcerting metaphysical implications, ratherthan on the equally significant implications about cognition. JohnSutton (2010) anticipates the metaphysical tendentiousness of theParity Principle giving way to the important work of understanding thecomplementarity of inner and outer processes in cognition which ishighlighted by the extended mind thesis. Individuating cognitiveprocesses widely, so that the unit of investigation is not themind/brain but cognitive systems comprising tightly coupled artifacts,people, built environments and natural environments, is a viableproject in its own right, and one that was underway in many quartersbefore the extended mind thesis was proposed.
Thelocus classicus is Edwin Hutchins’Cognition inthe Wild (1995). Hutchins preserves the traditional understandingof cognition as computation—that is, the manipulation ofrepresentations. But he argues that this computation takes place notin individual heads, but distributed across systems of individuals,artifacts, and other environmental structures. Hutchins works out histheory of distributed cognition in the context of a magisterial studyof navigation aboard a US Navy ship. He shows that the representationsand transformations thereof required for navigation are propagatedacross a complex system of charts, logs, instruments and cooperatinghumans, no one of whom is either directing the process or inpossession of all the knowledge the system uses or produces.Hutchins’ own studies typically involve cognition intechnologically sophisticated workplaces. But other researchers in thedistributed cognition vein apply the theory to more easily accessibleeveryday situations. David Kirsh (1995) argues that we use theplacement of artifacts in the surrounding space to simplify ourcognitive lives in various ways. For example, baggers in a grocerystore will first group different types of items—large, heavy,fragile, and so on—on the checkout counter before starting topack the bags. This simplifies the cognitive task of spotting thelarge heavy items you need for the bottom of the bag, or the mediumsized boxed items you need to fill in spaces half way up. Similarly,someone preparing to bake a cake will often array all the ingredientson the kitchen counter first, thus minimizing the possibility that anywill be left out in the heat of the moment. The general point,emphasized across the board by proponents of situated cognition, isthat artifacts and other environmental structures“scaffold” cognition, changing the nature of cognitivetasks in important ways that typically make them more tractable (Lave1988; Donald 1991; Clark 1997; Kirsh 2009; Michaelian & Sutton2013).
Cognition is intimately bound up with action on any construal, but thesituated cognition framework makes it even more difficult to teasethem apart. On a more traditional view, the emphasis is on howcognition shapes action. But on the situated cognition family ofviews, the emphasis is on how bodily activity antecedently shapescognition, and indeed the mind in general (Gallagher 2005). Sincehuman action typically involves the making and manipulation ofartifacts, they, too, contribute to this mind-shaping process(Malafouris 2013). But artifacts shape action and patterns of behaviorin the first instance. Some writers have focused on thisaction-shaping aspect of artifacts rather than on thecognition-shaping aspect. Thelocus classicus in this case isMichel Foucault’s (1975 [1977])Discipline and Punish.On Foucault’s view, human action is substantially shaped by thevery layout of the built environment and the specifics of the smallerartifacts that furnish it, not—as we naively tend toassume—primarily by the interpersonal relationships of theinhabitants. The most obvious examples seem innocuous. In chaircultures, for instance, people sit upright and off the floor to eatmeals, while in non-chair cultures such as Japan they sit in variouspostures—depending on the social situation—on cushions onthe floor. But Foucault focuses on less innocuous examples such asprisons, which shape action in ways that manifest the exercise ofsocial power. He contrasts the dungeon model, in which behavior istemporarily shaped simply by sheer physical control over theprisoners’ freedom of movement, with the Panopticon model, inwhich the prisoners are kept under constant surveillance by invisibleobservers, prompting them to shape their own behavior in varioushabitual ways that survive the term of their imprisonment. Thisensures a kind of continuing social control not available under thedungeon model. Foucault’s further point is that this“disciplinary” model is now pervasive in socialinstitutions from education to workplace to health care to the“smart” home. Related themes surface in BrunoLatour’s (1994; 1999) technical mediation theory. On hisview, agency is not a property of individual humans, but rather ofcollectives of “actants”—humans and nonhumansrelated to each other in specific, systematic ways. In contemporarywestern culture, the non-human actants are typically artifacts.Latour’s telling illustration starts with the well-known disputebetween gun control advocates, who insist that “guns kill”and the National Rifle Association, which insists that “peoplekill”. Against both of these positions, Latour argues that theagent who kills is neither the gun nor the person, but a compositeperson-gun (or gun-person). Neither the person nor the gun remains thesame in this relational context as they were before. Moreover, Latourargues, the relationship is symmetrical. Just as humans haveintentions that enable them to enlist specific artifacts, artifactshave “scripts”—features of their design that enablethem to enlist humans, facilitating certain behaviors and inhibitingothers. Both Foucault and Latour tend to study the phenomena of humanaction in large-scale, institutional contexts—prisons andhospitals in the case of Foucault, scientific laboratories andtransportation systems in the case of the actor-network theorypioneered by Latour and others. But there are also a number of writerswho focus on the role of artifacts in small-scale, everyday contexts.Tim Ingold (2013), for example, focuses on skilled practice,particularly in the context of making things, from stone tools tobaskets to paintings. His work shows that the generation ofartifactual structure is as much due to the nature of the materialsused as to any intention or plan on the part of the maker. Moreover,the nature of the materials and the tools used structure the activityof making itself. In a similar vein, Beth Preston (2013) argues thathuman action is more a matter of improvisation than planning, and thatthe continuously evolving structure of improvisatory action owes muchto the opportunities artifacts afford. Furthermore, it is ininteraction with artifacts in daily life that we develop the purposesand behavior patterns appropriate to them. Thus, having started with atraditional definition of “artifact” that emphasizes thedependence of artifacts on human intentions and purposes, theepistemology of artifacts brings us back around to a view thatemphasizes instead the dependence of human cognition and action onartifacts.
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