As I described in the previous chapter, in Mind and World McDowell offers an account of perceptual experience
as both an application of conceptual capacities and so, by a standard he
rejects, an apparently non-natural state but at the same time informed by our
second nature, and hence natural on the more relaxed conception of nature he
outlines [McDowell 1994]. Such is the rapprochement between denying that the
space of reasons can be reduced to the realm of law – and hence be naturalised
in the manner preferred by reductionist naturalists – whilst at the same time
denying that conceptual capacities (and their governing faculty of spontaneity)
are non-natural. They are natural in that we, rational animals, can be educated
to see the rational demands that the space of concepts or reasons makes upon
us. Whilst a subject may not take a perceptual appearance at face value, if
they do then the connections between the world, experience and judgement even though
seamless are nevertheless conceptually mediated. They are expressions of the
subject’s rationality even when there is no conscious deliberation.
Mind
and World also offers a thumbnail sketch of the corresponding ‘output’ to
reasoning: action. McDowell first highlights the source of the philosophical
resistance to the account of perceptual ‘input’ he has sketched:
Now the difficulty concerns not the
passivity of experience as such, but its naturalness. The problem is that
operations of sensibility are actualizations of a potentiality that is part of
our nature. When we take sensing to be a way of being acted on by the world, we
are thinking of it as a natural phenomenon, and then we have trouble seeing how
a sui generis spontaneity could be
anything but externally related to it. But passivity is not part of the very
idea of what it is for a natural potentiality to be actualized. So we should be
able to construct a train of thought about actualization of active natural powers,
duplicating the difficulties I have exploited in the case of passive natural
powers. [McDowell 1994: 89]
According
to McDowell, philosophical resistance to his account does not concern the potentially
problematic idea that conceptual capacities can be passively drawn on in perception but rather the idea that concepts can
form part of the natural world on the assumption that they cannot be reduced to
a more basic scientific view of the world (abbreviated to the ‘realm of law’).
And hence there should be both the same resistance to, but also logical space
for, a corresponding picture of how concepts are, rather than passively
actualised in perception, actively deployed in action.
He
motivates this corresponding account by invoking the same Kantian slogan that
he used, at the start of Mind and World,
to motivate his account of perception, which weaves together a more obviously
natural element of receptivity with an apparently non-natural element of
spontaneity.
Kant says ‘Thoughts without content are
empty, intuitions without concepts are blind’. Similarly, intentions without
overt activity are idle, and movements of limbs without concepts are mere
happenings, not expressions of agency. I have urged that we can accommodate the
point of Kant’s remark if we accept this claim: experiences are actualizations
of our sentient nature in which conceptual capacities are inextricably
implicated. The parallel is this: intentional bodily actions are actualizations
of our active nature in which conceptual capacities are inextricably
implicated. [McDowell 1994: 89-90.]
The final
sentence suggests a key idea for understanding McDowell’s subsequent
development of an account of action. Actions are not merely the brute causal
bodily consequences of inner conceptual activity, they are themselves saturated
with concepts. Thus the reworking of the Kantian slogan is supposed to head off
a mistaken assumption that divides the mental and conceptual, on the one hand,
from the merely bodily, on the other: a dualism of rationality and merely
bodily animal nature. McDowell characterises this division as follows:
[S]hut out from the realm of happenings
constituted by movements of ordinary natural stuff, the spontaneity of agency
typically tries to take up residence in a specially conceived interior realm…
[T]his style of thinking gives spontaneity a role in bodily action only in the
guise of inner items, pictured as initiating bodily goings-on from within, and
taken on that ground to be recognisable as intentions or volitions. [ibid: 90]
In reacting against this picture, McDowell is reacting against the
account of action and intentionality popularised in the final decades of the
twentieth century by Donald Davidson in papers such as ‘Actions, reasons and
causes’ and ‘Intending’ [Davidson 1980: 3-19, 83-102]. According to Davidson,
actions are events which are both caused and rationalised by suitable mental
states. (More strictly, they are caused by events related to mental states.) In stressing a causal connection,
Davidson argued counter to Wittgensteinian arguments that the reasons for
actions could not be causes. Thus whilst claiming to be building on the work of
the Wittgensteinian philosopher Elizabeth Anscombe in her book Intention, his picture of action is
fundamentally different [Anscombe 2000].
This difference between the world-pictures of Davidson and
Anscombe is set out by Rederick Stoutland in the following outline.
In the Davidsonian picture, the fundamental relations
human beings as such— as knowing the world and acting intentionally in it— have
to the world are causal… Our acting in the world is… indirect. We act when our
beliefs and desires cause bodily movements that cause events outside our body.
The movement of our fingers causes the switch to flip, which causes the light
to go on, and so on. Whatever we do in the world is the causal result of moving
our bodies and limbs, and hence we might intentionally move them without
intentionally doing anything in the world beyond our bodies… The Davidsonian
picture has its roots in the Cartesian revolution, which conceived of the
physical world as consisting only of what plays a role in the new physics, a
physics purified of the teleological, intentional, and normative terms of
Aristotelian physics. [Stoutland 2011: 19]
That final description reflects the version of naturalism
described by McDowell in Mind and World
as disenchanting nature. Stoutland summarises Anscombe’s rival pre-modern
approach thus:
Anscombe’s picture is different… Action is… direct. To
act is not to have one’s bodily movements caused by one’s beliefs and desires;
it is to exercise the power to move one’s body directly and intentionally.
Further, to exercise that power is not primarily to cause events outside
one’s body; it is to perform actions that extend beyond one’s body and its
movements. Walking, running, eating, drinking, pounding, skiing, greeting,
writing — ordinary bodily activities all — do not consist of bodily movements
plus events they cause; they are our moving our bodies in ways that
extend beyond them… [Stoutland 2011: 19]
Although there is a significant different in style, to which I
will return, McDowell’s account returns to Ansombe’s tradition. The earlier
quotation from Mind and World continues:
Here too, we can return to sanity if we
can recapture the Aristotelian idea that a normal mature human being is a
rational animal, with its rationality part of its animal, and so natural,
being, not a mysterious foothold in another realm. [ibid: 91]
Thus the
agenda for his subsequent account of action is to set out just such an
Aristotelian picture in which concepts are realised not just in prior
deliberation about action, as in Davidson’s picture, but in the actions
themselves.
This helps
to motivate a further choice McDowell makes. In her book Intention, Anscombe writes:
Very
often, when a man says, ‘I am going to do such and such’, we should say that
this was an expression of intention. We also sometimes speak of an action as
intentional, and we may also ask with what intention the thing was done… [I]f
we set out to describe this concept, and took only one of these three kinds of
statement as containing our whole topic, we might very likely say things about
what ‘intention’ means which it would be false to say in one of the other
cases... Realising this might lead us to say that there are various senses of ‘intention’,
and perhaps that it is thoroughly misleading that the word ‘intentional’ should
be connected with the word ‘intention’... Where we are tempted to speak of ‘different
senses’ of a word which is clearly not equivocal, we may infer that we are in
fact pretty much in the dark about the character of the concept it represents.
[Anscombe 2000: 1]
Anscombe
thus sets herself the target of shedding light on the concept of ‘intention’ so
as to show the complex pattern of usage underlying a univocal concept.
Neglecting her emphasis on expression,
subsequent philosophy of action has also taken unification to be a challenge. What
is the connection between an intention for the future, a ‘prior intention’,
intentional action and the interlocking structure of intentions with or for
which an action is done? One difficulty is that a prior intention may not lead
to an action. The action may be stopped by environmental factors or the agent
may change her mind. On one approach, such as Davidson’s, prior intention is
taken to be a pure form of intention with its connection to intention in action
a secondary task. Given his aim of showing how concepts can structure actions
themselves rather than just mental antecedents, McDowell takes intentional
action or intentions in action as his starting point. As well as Anscombe and
Davidson, he draws on John Searle, Brian 1991,
2003; Searle 1983; Sellars 1966].
One key
element of the emerging picture is that it is able to resist at least the first
moves of an objection raised by Dreyfus that McDowell falsifies the
phenomenology of skilful absorbed behaviour or ‘skilled coping’ [Dreyfus 2005].
Dreyfus objects that McDowell over intellectualises skilful activity by arguing
that it is an exercise of conceptually structured rationality. That, according
to Dreyfus, presupposes an unengaged, contemplative perspective. As I will
describe, McDowell’s central claim is that action, like experience on his
account of perception, can be engaged and unreflective whilst nevertheless
expressing a conceptually structured rationality.
In the final
chapter of this book, I will return to the issue of whether McDowell is right
to downplay the distinction between passive
actualisations of conceptual rationality in experience and active expressions in action in favour, simply, of the natural or
otherwise status of concepts in both cases under the faculty of spontaneity. I
will argue, instead, that the account of action looks more philosophically
innocent than the developing account of perceptual experience because of this
difference between active and passive.
Intention
in action
McDowell
offers a three-part account of intentions and intentional action comprising:
·
an account of the nature of intentions.
·
a discussion of the connection between intentions,
practical reasoning and self-knowledge of intentional action.
·
a discussion of the (right way to express the)
content of an intention.
But starting,
in this section, with his discussion of the nature of intentions and intention
in action is a good way to highlight the parallels with his account of
perception. I will describe the second and third element together in the next
section.
Intentions
in action are a mark of the deliberateness of actions but they can be the
result of prior deliberation or practical reasoning or they can be spontaneous.
Thus, as Searle comments:
All intentional actions have intentions
in action but not all intentional actions have prior intentions. I can do
something intentionally without having formed a prior intention to do it, and I
can have a prior intention to do something and yet not act on that intention.
Still, in cases where the agent is acting on his prior intention there must be
a close connection between the prior intention and the intention in action, and
we will also have to explain this connection. [Searle 1980: 52-3]
McDowell’s starting point is to aim to give an account of
intention in action. But this then generalised into an ‘image of intentions as a kind of continuant whose instances change
their shape as time passes’ [McDowell 2011: 16]. Once he has clarified the
nature of intentions in action he will connect prior intentions to them through
the notion of changes in shape. To shed light on his account, McDowell
contrasts it with Searle’s. Taking the example of someone who is standing on a
kerb with the prior intention to cross the street when the lights turn green,
McDowell summarises Searle’s account thus:
[W]hen she
sees the light turn green, that intention – a prior intention, an intention for
the future – starts to generate intentions in action. The object of the
intention for the future is crossing the street; the objects of the intentions
in action that it generates are the limb movements that need to happen if the
person is to cross the street. As those limb movements begin, she begins
crossing the street. If all goes well, she gets to the other side, thereby
completing an action of crossing the street. On Searle’s account, the action is
a causally structured complex: its components are, first, the intentions in
action that the prior intention began to generate when the agent saw the light
turn green, and, second, the limb movements on which the intentions in action
are targeted, which the intentions in action will have caused. [ibid: 2]
When one
realizes that the time determined for acting by the original prior intention
has come (when one sees the light turn green, in my example), the intention
that was the prior intention starts to generate, directly, suitable intentions
in action, and thereby indirectly to generate suitable limb movements. [ibid: 4]
On this account, the prior intention and the intention in action
are distinct psychological entities with the former generating the latter when
the time is right. Further, they have distinct contents. The prior intention
has as its object or content a future action such as getting to the other side
of the road. By contrast, according to Searle, the intention in action concerns
subsidiary components of such an action: in this case, limb movements.
McDowell stresses that his own account is simpler and more
natural. The key idea is that, rather than there being (at least: see below)
two distinct intentions, a prior intention simply becomes an intention in action when the time is right. It changes
its shape. Of course, cases of changing one’s mind between forming the prior
intention and having the opportunity to execute it have to be excluded. Thus he
adds the qualifications ‘provided the agent does not
forget the intention, knows the time has come, is not prevented from acting
accordingly, and does not change her mind’ [ibid: 3].
To help to make the idea that the same
intention changes shape from prior intention to intention in action, McDowell invokes
Gareth Evans’ discussion of the changing shape of de re thoughts [Evans 1980].
With the passing of time, the same piece of knowledge can be expressed at one
time as: ‘the light is turning green’ and then later as ‘the light just turned
green’ and then ‘the light turned green a while ago’. These differences require
that the subject keeps track of time, whether informally or with a clock. Such
keeping track of events across time mirrors similar structures in keeping track
of objects across space reflected in the difference between the thought that ‘this
object…’ and the thought, about the same object, expressed as ‘that object…’.
If the combination of sameness and difference can be accommodated in those
cases (within a neo-Fregean account of singular thought) then the idea of a
prior intention simply becoming an intention in action is so much more
familiar.
Furthermore, it seems natural to think that the idea of keeping
track of things is a feature of an intention in action in another way. In the
example of crossing the street, the intention in action remains future directed
until the action is complete. At any given point in street crossing, one still
intends to get from that point to the far side. Thus, the very idea of acting
requires an ability to track the progress of one’s action. ‘Unless one is keeping track of how far one has come, one
cannot intelligibly intend to go on from there to the other side of the street’
[ibid: 5]. And hence, the idea of an intention that changes its shape as events
are tracked through time seems natural. And hence, again, the idea that the
connection between prior intention and intention in action might simply be a
matter of the same entity, the same continuant, changing its shape as events
are tracked.
Given that McDowell invokes Evans’ analysis of singular thought
in order to shed light on the role that tracking plays in action, one might
think that the future directed quality of an intention in action is itself a
form of de re thought as George
Wilson (and to a lesser extent Robert Brandom) suggests [Wilson 1989, Brandom 1994].
But as McDowell argues, this cannot be right because an ongoing action is not
yet the sort of particular to which a de
re thought can attach. Crossing a street can be interrupted. And thus the
intention in action of street crossing can be frustrated. But that does not
make it false to say that the intention was to cross the street even if no such
crossing actually comes to pass because, for example, blocked by traffic in the
second lane. Since actions only become the particulars aimed at on completion,
they cannot be the targets of intentions in the way that de re thoughts single
out objects. (I will ignore the contrasting case McDowell discusses of activities, by contrast with actions,
such as walking where as soon as one is walking, one
has walked and hence a de re form of
intentionality is possible).
Michael Thompson makes a similar point:
[T]hough the truth of, say, “I baked a
loaf of bread” or “I have baked a loaf of bread” entails the existence of an
act of baking a loaf of bread with myself as agent, yet, I want to say, the
truth of “I am baking a loaf of bread” does not. The situation with the
supposed event, or act, of bread-baking is just as it is with the would-be loaf
itself: if it is true to say that I have baked a loaf, then it is true to say
that there is a loaf that I have baked. We might give it, or each of them, if
there are several, a name. But the truth of “I am baking a loaf” does not
entail anything of the sort. [Thompson 2008: 134-5]
Both Searle and O’Shaughnessy
propose accounts of intention in action which are in one sense more fine
grained than McDowell’s. Of the latter’s account, he says:
Now O’Shaughnessy
also envisages another set of intentions that would figure in someone’s
crossing a street: intentions directed at moving one’s limbs in the necessary
ways. The idea is that these intentions reflect motor skills – not just the
ability to make the movements needed for the routine exercise of a skill such
as walking, but sometimes a more finely-tuned responsiveness to circumstances,
as when one puts a foot down carefully to compensate for an unevenness in the
surface. [McDowell 2011: 10]
Rather than multiplying intentions or the components of
intentions, McDowell again suggests a role for the notion of changing shape to
accommodate the fine grained details of the limb movements, or
motor-intentionality that underpins the execution of action. Motor intentions are the shapes taken by the overarching
intentions in actions as they realise themselves. One reason for thinking this
is that, in general, one does not intend to move one’s limbs as the means to an
end of an overall action. One intends the action and then the subsidiary limb
movements take care of themselves as a matter of ordinary competence. They are
presupposed, just as the tracking of time and the tracking of the progress of
actions are presupposed by intentional agency. But the specific movements of
limbs are only intentional in so far as they underpin an overall intended
action such as crossing the road by walking.
One’s limb
movements in walking are surely not intentional under descriptions that involve
the specifics of what one does at a given moment with one’s hips and knees.
Normally competent walkers do not know what they do when they walk at that
level of description. What we can say is, perhaps, that one’s movements are
intentional under specifications like “moving as walking requires,” or perhaps “moving
as stepping over that obstacle requires.” Ordinary competence in walking
determines which movements, described in terms of what one does at the relevant
joints, conform to such specifications; that determination is not a task for
the practical thinking that intention belongs to. [ibid: 11]
In cases where one adjusts one’s footfall to compensate for an unevenness in the surface, one’s competence in walking
further determines the shape of the somewhat indeterminate intention to cross
the street. That is not to say that the further determination requires standing
back and taking further thought. Nevertheless, the accommodations made are
things one intentionally does. This helps to emphasise the way in which
intentions are not distinct from actions and hence the unfolding action
determines with greater specificity the shape of the overall intention.
Whilst rejecting the need for a multiplicity of intentions marks
a contrast between his account and both those of Searle and
Acting
physically is exercising motor capacities. And exercising a motor capacity is
as such a bodily phenomenon. But according to the dual aspect conception, it is
also psychological, and not just in an isolable component but through and
through. A psychological concept, expressible by “willing,” applies not to some
supposed psychic initiating occurrence, but to the relevant bodily goings-on,
those describable as a subject’s exercising a motor capacity, in their
entirety. Willing is not something that causally initiates bodily acting and
perhaps supervises it from outside. Willing is in the acting, not in the sense
that willing is part of an action, but in the sense that “willing” is a
characterization of the acting itself, apt for capturing its psychological
aspect. [McDowell 2011: 13]
O’Shaughnessy
thinks that willing, so understood, is widespread in animal life. By contrast,
intending is more restricted, although it does apply outside rational animals.
The fine grained apparently purposive behaviour of a cat, for example, merits
the description that it is intentionally stalking a bird [cf Anscombe 2000: 86].
Where it exists, such intending is a distinct addition to willing, itself
understood as acting viewed psychologically. O’Shaughnessy suggests that it
causes the willing. For this reason, he thinks that intentions do not ‘actually
enter the precincts of the action itself’ [O’Shaughnessy 1991: 282].
McDowell compares this account of the
relation of intention and action with the case of sawing through a tree trunk
with the aim of causing the tree to fall. In such a case, the intention remains
external to the tree’s actually falling. But surely that cannot be an apt model
of the connection between an intention in action and, say, crossing the street?
Instead, McDowell extends the dual
aspect theory from willing to intention in action.
Why not
conceive intention in action as a special form taken by willing, in animals
that are at least, as we might put it, proto-rational?... If intention in action is a species of willing, then, like
the willing plain and simple… it can be in action… in an O’Shaughnessy-like
sense, that it just is acting, characterized in a way that captures a now more
sophisticated psychological aspect that this kind of acting has. [McDowell
2011: 14]
Such a move is akin to the way that the picture of perceptual
experience in Mind and World is made
to accommodate non-rational (rather than proto-rational as here) animal
experience. Rationality structures the perceptual experiences of rational
animals. Non-rational animals can also have perceptual experiences. But
McDowell argues that the experiences of non-rational animals does not form a
pre-conceptual component of the conceptually structured experience of a
rational animal. Rather, experience can take these two distinct forms, as
distinct species of the same genus. The same goes for sensations such as pain
which are conceptually structured for rational, linguistic animals (see chapter
2).
There is an obvious difficulty with this suggestion, however.
Whilst ‘proto-rational’ animals such as cats may be describable as acting
intentionally, it is rather less plausible to ascribe to them prior intentions
such as the intention to stalk the bird when the light turns green. Does not
the existence of prior intentions block the idea that intentions in action can
be regarded simply as actions themselves under a partly sophisticated
psychological – mental – description?
McDowell concedes that such an objection would be difficult to
accommodate if the order for accounting for intentions had to start with prior
intentions and offer an independent account of them before then connecting that
to intention in action, now construed as just a way of thinking about acting.
Such an approach would have difficulty with merely proto-rational animals capable
of intention in action but not prior intention.
But his alternative is to start with intention in action, now
understood as action construed either rationally or proto-rationally, and then
build an account of prior intentions, or intentions for the future, for
rational animals on its basis. The worry is that because an intention for the
future cannot be a redescription of an actual action then, because of the link
between the two, neither can intention in action just be an action. But holding
onto the idea that an intention in action is an action then a prior intention
or intention for the future can be thought of as a ‘potential action biding its
time’ [ibid: 15]. Just as a prior intention becomes an intention in action when
the time is right (given the qualifications set out earlier) so a potential
action becomes an action when its time has come (given the same
qualifications).
If rationality can be in bodily activity
as opposed to behind it, we have a vivid contrast with a familiar picture
according to which a person’s mind occupies a more or less mysterious inner
realm, concealed from the view of others. If physical activity can be
rationality in action, as opposed to a mere result of exercises of rationality,
we have a vivid contrast with the tendency to distance a person’s body from the
mind that is the seat of her rationality. [McDowell 2011: 17]
This then is McDowell’s account of intentions: as a species of
continuant, which changes its shape through time and the course of an action.
As I have suggested, it is broadly in the tradition of Anscombe’s account in Intention of a direct expression of a
rational, or proto-rational animal’s power to move its body in a way that
manifests conceptual structure. It differs from views in which conceptual activity
take place merely in an interior realm leaving actions as mere causal outputs.
But it varies in one significant respect from the way Anscombe
sets out her account. As has been argued by Richard Moran and Martin Stone and
also by Rachel Wiseman, the emphasis on expression
in Anscombe’s account is not an accident [Moran and Stone 2011; Wiseman 2016].
Rather it marks the importance of the linguistic expression of intentions to
exemplify their role in iterated rationalising explanations that Anscombe
stresses and to which I will turn in the next section. As a result, she
approaches intentions not via an investigation of the nature of a particular
type of mental state but rather through the use of the concept of intention in
a particular style of rational explanation of events.
If one simply attends to the fact that
many actions can be either intentional or unintentional, it can be quite
natural to think that events which are characterisable as intentional are a
certain natural class, ‘intentional’ being an extra property which a
philosopher must try to describe. In fact the term ‘intentional’ has reference
to a form of description of events. What is essential to this form is
displayed by the results of our enquiries into the question ‘Why?’ Events are
typically described in this form when ‘in order to’ or ‘because’ (in one sense)
is attached to their descriptions… [Anscombe 2000: 84–85].
As Wiseman says: ‘The
concept of intention applies in each case to the description and
assigns it to a calculative order; it does not apply to some state or property,
mental or physical, of a human being.’ [Wiseman 2016: 161]. In accord with this
approach, Anscombe argues that expressions of prior intentions should not be
understood to report a present tense mental state but rather a species of
prediction for the future but made, as I will discuss in the next section, on
the basis of practical rather than theoretical reasoning.
Michael Thompson also warns against construing intentions as
mental states [Thompson 2008]. His argument depends on two key claims. The
first is the priority of a naïve action theory of the form: I am doing A
because I am doing B over the sophisticated form: I am doing A because I want
(or intend or am trying) to do B. The second has a move to the interior and is
generally (and wrongly) supposed to be explanatorily prior. The second is the
importance of the imperfective aspect of: I am doing A. As noted earlier in
this section, it does not follow from the fact that I am doing A that there is
any completed or perfected act of doing A to which to refer. Thompson argues
that this imperfective form is the basic form of action explanation and, as I
will describe in the next section, this fits McDowell’s account of the content
of intention (eg. I am crossing the road). From this, however, Thompson argues
that intentions are hardly mental states.
Intention and wanting are states only in
the thinnest possible sense, the sense in which a thing’s falling under any
predicate, or at least any tensible predicate, might be characterized as its “being
in a state”. Though the distinction between “The tree is falling over” and “The
tree was falling over” is one of tense, yet we resist thinking of these
propositions as representations of states in any emphatic sense, for the simple
reason that they are internally related to a third, “The tree fell over,” in
which their content is, as I put it, uncoiled; this places our thoughts in a
radically different categorical space, the space of kinēsis, if you
like, and not of stasis. But “He was doing A intentionally,” “He is
doing A intentionally” and “He did A intentionally” evidently constitute a
triad of just that type (though its elements fit it especially to the
representation of rational life), and so also, on the present conception, do “He
intended to do A,” “He intends to do A” and “He did A intentionally”. [Thompson
2008: 133-4]
The fact that both Anscombe and Thompson develop accounts of
intention both similar to and influential on McDowell’s but both pitch them in
a formal rather than material mode – talking of the concept of intention and
its patterns of explanation rather than the nature of intentions – may form the
grounds of a kind of ad hominem worry about McDowell’s own talk of intentions
as continuants that change their shape. This might buttress an antecedent worry
about the ontological status of prior intentions as actions waiting to happen.
What sort of thing is such a still waiting action?
But this connection to Anscombe and Thompson can be taken the
other way. Without the assumption that mental particulars are states of inner
space, a view McDowell has done much to undermine (see chapters 1 and 4 in
particular), there is no intrinsic danger in speaking of the nature of
intentions as a species of continuant, a process described under a rational
aspect, resisting any temptation then to think of this as a mental state.
Characterising them further, however, requires looking in more detail at the
kind of reasoning involved in forming prior intentions and in intentional
action.
