Motivational internalists hold that there is a necessary connection between an agent's moral judgments and what she is motivated to do. One way to express the central thesis of this view is as follows:

This is, to borrow a phrase from David Lewis, quite an unlovely mouthful. Perhaps a simpler way of articulating things would be:

Yet another formulation of motivation internalism is:

Necessarily, if an agent makes a moral judgment, then she has some desire that favours, inter alia, any course of action that judgment entails.

Sleeping Beauty has become like Newcomb's problem used to be: a puzzle where both intuitions and arguments cluster around two competing responses. In both cases, the real interest is in the frameworks that are constructed to treat the problem: causal vs. evidential decision theory in the case of Newcomb's problem, and different accounts of essentially indexical or self-locating belief in the case of Sleeping Beauty. Many of the arguments about Sleeping Beauty have been carried out in a common framework for representing self-locating belief, with alternative responses agreeing about the presuppositions of that framework. I want to question some of these presuppositions and to set the problem up in a way that is only subtly different from the standard formulation, but different in a way that I think is important.

How do you know your own beliefs? And how well do you know them? The two questions are related. I'll recommend a pluralist answer to the first question. The answer to the second question, I'll suggest, varies depending on features of the case.

Self-scanning. Shaun Nichols and Stephen Stich (2003) say this: You have in your mind a functionally defined “belief box.” To believe some propositionP is just to have a representation with the content “P” in the belief box. You also have a monitoring mechanism that can scan the contents of the belief box. Normally, you come to know what you believe by deploying that scanner, creating a new belief in the belief box, a belief with the content “I believe thatP.” Self-scanning accounts admit of many possible variations and complications (e.g., Armstrong 1968, 1981, 1999; Lycan 1996; Goldman 2006), but the basic idea is that people have one or more interior monitors or scanners that detect the presence of beliefs and produce, as output, beliefs about those beliefs (or judgments about those beliefs, or representations of those beliefs).

There is a difference between those things one does that manifest agency and those things that merely happen to one or that are the effects of one's agency. My typing these words manifests my agency – is an action of mine – whereas growing older is merely happening to me and making sounds as I type is but an effect of my action. Actions are sometimes but not always done for reasons and are characteristically but perhaps not invariably known by the agent without observation or inference. I'm typing in order to get my paper done on time, and I don't need to look to know that this is what I am doing, though I wouldn't know without hearing it that I am making noises as I type. In this paper I will offer an account of these facts about action. The account starts from the idea that an agent performing an action guides what she is doing.

Most contemporary action theorists accept – or at least find plausible – a belief condition on intention (especially on intention in action) and a knowledge condition on intentional action. The belief condition says that I can only intend to ɸ if I believe that I will ɸ or am ɸ-ing, and the knowledge condition says that I am only intentionally ɸ-ing if I know that I am ɸ-ing. The belief condition in intention and the knowledge condition in action go hand in hand. After all, if intending implies belief, and if ɸ-ing intentionally implies intending to ɸ, then in ɸ-ing, I intend to be ɸ-ing, and, by the belief condition, I believe that I am ɸ-ing, and if this belief is justified, and we are not in a Gettier situation, etc., then, I will also satisfy the knowledge condition. Moreover, the claim that when intentions properly result in action, the corresponding belief constitutes knowledge is a relatively safe assumption, at least as an assumption about what it is generally the case.

A point of persistent controversy in recent philosophical discussions of belief concerns whether we can exercise some sort of agential control over what we believe. On the one hand, the idea that we have some kind of discretion over what we believe has appealed to philosophers working in several areas. This idea has been invoked, for instance, to characterize the basic difference between rational and non-rational cognition, to account for our epistemic responsibility for what we believe, and to explain how we are able, normally, to say what we presently believe without relying on self-observation or inference. On the other hand, most contemporary philosophers agree that, in one significant sense, what we believe is not up to us: we cannot simply believe “at will,” and, although what we wish were so can influence what we believe to be so, this influence hardly amounts to a form of control or agency.

It has seemed to many philosophers - perhaps to most - that believing is not voluntary, that we cannot believe at will. It has seemed to many of these that this inability is not a merely contingent psychological limitation but rather is a deep fact about belief, perhaps a conceptual limitation. But it has been very difficult to say exactly why we cannot believe at will.

I earlier offered an account of why we cannot believe at will. I argued that nothing could qualify both as having been done “at will,” in the relevant sense, and as a belief. Thus, no believer could believe at will. If my arguments are correct, our inability to believe at will reveals no genuine lack in our powers of mind, any more than an inability to draw a Square circle reveals a lack of artistic skill.

As Descartes famously pointed out in the Second Meditation, the thought that someone is thinking is true anytime anyone thinks it. Furthermore, thinking it makes it true. Conversely, anytime anyone thinks that it is not the case that someone is thinking, this thought is false, and thinking it makes it false.

l will argue that the propositions ‘There is at least one true normative proposition’ and ‘There are no true normative propositions’ have very similar properties. The proposition ‘There is at least one true normative proposition,’ like the proposition ‘Someone is thinking,’ is true anytime anyone believes it, and, in an important sense, it is made true by someone's believing it. Conversely, anytime anyone believes that there are no true normative propositions, the proposition he believes is false and his believing it makes it false.

We think that some facts - for example, the fact that someone is suffering, or the fact that all previously encountered tigers were carnivorous – supply us with normative reasons for action and belief. The former fact, we think, is a reason to help the suffering person; the latter fact is a reason to believe that the next tiger we see will also be carnivorous. But how is the reason-giving status of such facts best understood? In particular, is it best understood as ultimately “conferred” upon these facts by our own evaluative attitudes, or do at least some facts possess normative reason-giving status in a way that is robustly independent of our attitudes? This is the modern, secular version of Plato's “Euthyphro question” - couched here in the philosophically useful, though not essential, language of normative reasons.

Frege taught us to strictly distinguish between the logical and the psychological. This doctrine has deeply influenced the analytic tradition in the philosophy of mind, language and logic. And it was praised, of course, by Wittgenstein, early and late. On closer inspection, however, the way in which Frege frames his anti-psychologism opens a crack in his system that appears in several places. I want to suggest that Wittgenstein's so called ‘rule-following considerations” address this difficulty and are intended to show that the ‘crack’ eventually brings down the whole edifice and with it this way of framing the celebrated distinction between the logical and the psychological. The investigation of how the rule-following paradox arises within Frege sheds, I think, light on the systematic difficulty and brings out the fact that the solutions that have been proposed in the literature don't get to the root of the problem.

[1] Much has been learned in recent decades about the behaviour and abilities of many species of non-human animals. Increasingly many who reflect on the abilities of languageless animals are uncomfortable with a once prevalent dichotomy of either assigning these abilities to the realm of mere (usually “associative”) mechanism or granting such creatures full rationality and more or less the entire range of abilities that involves. This has lead to no little reflection and debate regarding how to proceed in studying animal “cognition,” and about what counts as adequately or accurately explaining animal behaviour. I cautiously hope herein to contribute to the clarity of what is already a discussion too rich and complex to do any justice to here. Little of what I say will be original, but the particular way of approaching the issues herein may shed some light on why certain issues have endured.