write a hypothesis stating why you think the artist created this painting

Uncovering a Mystery: Making a Hypothesis

Students will imagine what it might be like to be an art historian or art collector by hypothesizing possible uses of a discovered wooden leg in a descriptive journal entry.

Students will be able to:

• describe activities and challenges of being an art historian or art collector;
• hypothesize possible original use(s) of the wooden Leg ; and
• create a written or illustrated journal entry from an art collector’s perspective that includes realistic, descriptive details.
• Warm-up: Give each student three copies of the handout that shows the shape of a leg. Have students design a background scene for the leg. Encourage them to be creative—they might want to draw the rest of a human being, turn the leg into a lamp, or create something new! Give them 2–3 minutes for each handout.
• Display the Polynesian Leg and ask students to look at it closely. Start by having them describe what they see.
• Have them brainstorm as a class what the Leg might have been used for. No idea is stupid! When they think they have exhausted the possibilities, encourage them to come up with three more ideas.
• Explain to students that archaeologists and art historians often have a general idea about what particular art objects were used for, but many times they do not know for certain. Even the Denver Art Museum isn’t sure why each piece of art was created!
• Have students pretend that they are art collectors who discover this wooden Leg in the Marquesas Islands. For older students, have them write a journal entry about the day they discover the Leg . Their entries should provide realistic, descriptive details that address “who, what, when, where, why, and how” questions. The students should also include some possible ideas about what the wooden Leg was originally used for and their reasons for thinking this way. Which possible use for the wooden Leg is the most likely given the relevant evidence?
• For younger students (and if time allows for older students), have them draw pictures in their journals of the Leg , illustrating different ways it might have been used.
• Encourage students to share their final writing pieces or show their drawings in small groups. Have students share one positive comment and one recommendation for improvement for each piece. You may want to make this a special occasion by bringing in snacks and hosting a writer’s breakfast or tea.
• Lined paper and pen/pencil for each student
• Handout with drawing of Leg , three copies for each student
• About the Art section on the Polynesian Leg
• One color copy of the Leg for every four students, or the ability to project the image onto a wall or screen
• Observe and Learn to Comprehend
• Relate and Connect to Transfer
• Oral Expression and Listening
• Research and Reasoning
• Writing and Composition
• Reading for All Purposes
• Collaboration
• Critical Thinking & Reasoning
• Information Literacy
• Self-Direction

Height: 22.625 in; Width: 5.38 in; Length of Foot: 7.75 in.

Native arts acquisition funds, 1948.795

Photograph © Denver Art Museum 2009. All Rights Reserved.

This wooden leg was carved by an artist from the Marquesas [mar-KAY-zas] Islands, a group of volcanic islands in French Polynesia, located in the Pacific Ocean. The Marquesas are the farthest group of islands from any continent. In terms of the arts, they are well-known for their tattoo art, as well as for their carvings in wood, bone, and shell. The process of tattooing in the Marquesas was treated as a ritual and the tattoo artist was a highly skilled artisan. Even today, many Marquesans beautify their bodies, proclaim their identities, and preserve their memories and experiences with tattoos.

We’re not sure why this particular object was created. It’s possible that it served as the leg for a specially constructed raised bed, made only for certain priests to lie on following the performance of important sacrifices. Tattoos were believed to protect a person’s body from harm and this belief applied to objects as well. Tattooing the bed’s leg may have served to protect these priests’ tapu , or sacred, state by preventing contact with the earth. This leg may also have been a model placed outside of a tattoo shop, advertising the services of the artist inside.

In the past, tattooing was a major art form in the Marquesas Islands and it inevitably influenced other art forms. The tattooing style of the Marquesas was the most elaborate in all of Polynesia. Tattoo images were marks of beauty as well as a reflection of knowledge and cultural beliefs. They also signaled a person’s social status—a higher ranking individual would have more tattoos than an individual of a lesser rank. All-over tattooing was a development unique to this area. Both males and females were tattooed, although only men covered their bodies from head to toe. Designs were also different for women and men.

Tattoo Imagery

Tattoo images have been carved all around the circumference of the wooden leg. The carving is particularly detailed on the foot.

The large crack down the front of the leg happened before the leg came into the Denver Art Museum’s possession. It is evidence of curing of the wood as it aged.

The peg, or wooden block at the top of the leg tells us that it may have been attached to something else.

Related Creativity Resources

A Triumphant Message

Students will examine the sequencing of events in the paintings and create a six-part story of sequential “triumphs” that ends with an important message.

Natural Resource Collars

Students will discuss the artistic characteristics of the Mummy Case , describe natural resources found in ancient Egypt and in their local area or state, and create a natural resource collar made from materials found in their local environments.

Adventures in Toyland

Students will watch a short clip from the Disney-Pixar movie Toy Story and compare it to the toy in Richard Patterson’s painting If . Inspired by adventures in the movie, they will brainstorm a list of ideas that describe how Patterson’s toy might have ended up under layers of paint. They will then write a creative short story documenting the adventures.

Creating a First-Hand Detailed Description

Students will examine the artistic characteristics of the Mummy Case by journeying into an ancient tomb. They will then create a detailed written piece describing a portion of the Mummy Case .

How Coyote Came to Shuffle Off to Buffalo

Students will use Harry Fonseca’s painting Shuffle Off to Buffalo #V to spur their imaginations. They will write their own stories about how Coyote came to dance on stage dressed up as Uncle Sam.

Making the Commonplace Distinguished and Beautiful

Students will learn how William Merritt Chase aimed to portray commonplace objects in ways that made them appear distinguished and beautiful. They will then create a written description of a commonplace object that makes it appear distinguished and beautiful.

Funding for object education resources provided by a grant from the Morgridge Family Foundation. Additional funding provided by the William Randolph Hearst Endowment for Education Programs, and Xcel Energy Foundation. We thank our colleagues at the University of Denver Morgridge College of Education.

The images on this page are intended for classroom use only and may not be reproduced for other reasons without the permission of the Denver Art Museum. This object may not currently be on display at the museum.

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How Do You Write an Hypothesis? Detailed Explanation and Examples

Writing a hypothesis is a fundamental step in the scientific research process. It serves as a tentative explanation or prediction that can be tested through experimentation and observation. A well-crafted hypothesis provides a clear direction for research and helps in drawing meaningful conclusions. This article will guide you through the process of writing a hypothesis, including understanding its concept, formulating it, and avoiding common pitfalls, with illustrative examples from various fields of study.

Key Takeaways

• A hypothesis is a testable and falsifiable statement that predicts an outcome based on certain conditions.
• There are different types of hypotheses, including null, alternative, and directional hypotheses, each serving a specific purpose in research.
• Formulating a hypothesis involves identifying research questions, conducting preliminary research, and crafting a clear and precise statement.
• A strong hypothesis is characterized by its testability, clarity, precision, and relevance to the research objectives.
• Common pitfalls in hypothesis writing include vague statements, overly complex hypotheses, and lack of testability.

Understanding the Concept of a Hypothesis

A hypothesis is a foundational element in scientific research, serving as a preliminary statement that proposes a potential relationship between variables. It is essential for guiding the direction of your study and providing a basis for data collection and analysis.

Steps to Formulate a Hypothesis

Identifying research questions.

The first step in formulating a hypothesis is to identify your research question . This involves observing the subject matter and recognizing patterns or relationships between variables. Crafting a clear, testable, and grounded hypothesis is essential for research success. By pinpointing the exact question you aim to answer, you lay the foundation for a focused and effective hypothesis.

Conducting Preliminary Research

Once you have your research question, the next step is to conduct preliminary research. This involves gathering as much information as possible about the topic. Evaluate these observations to identify potential causes and effects related to your research question. This stage helps you understand the existing knowledge and gaps, which is crucial for developing a well-informed hypothesis.

Formulating the Hypothesis Statement

After conducting preliminary research, you can begin formulating your hypothesis statement. This statement should clearly define the variables involved and the expected relationship between them. Ensure that your hypothesis is specific, testable, and falsifiable. A well-crafted hypothesis not only guides your research but also provides a clear direction for your experimental design and data collection methods.

Characteristics of a Strong Hypothesis

A strong hypothesis is essential for guiding your research and ensuring that your study is both meaningful and scientifically valid. Here are the key characteristics that define a robust hypothesis:

Testability and Falsifiability

A strong hypothesis must be testable, meaning you can design experiments to verify or refute it. Falsifiability is equally important; there should be a possibility to collect data that could disprove the hypothesis. This ensures that your hypothesis is grounded in empirical research rather than mere speculation.

Clarity and Precision

Your hypothesis should be clear and precise, leaving no room for ambiguity. This clarity helps in designing experiments and interpreting results. A well-defined hypothesis often begins with a specific research question and is articulated in simple, straightforward language.

Relevance to Research Objectives

A strong hypothesis is directly related to your research objectives. It should address the core question of your study and be aligned with the goals you aim to achieve. This relevance ensures that your hypothesis is not just an isolated statement but a crucial part of your overall research framework.

Common Pitfalls in Hypothesis Writing

When crafting a hypothesis, it's crucial to avoid common mistakes that can undermine your research. Vague statements are a frequent issue; they lack the specificity needed to be testable. For instance, saying "exercise improves health" is too broad. Instead, specify the type of exercise and the health outcome you are measuring.

Overly complex hypotheses can also be problematic. A hypothesis should be straightforward and focused. If it includes too many variables or conditions, it becomes difficult to test and analyze. Simplify your hypothesis to ensure clarity and feasibility.

Another major pitfall is the lack of testability. A hypothesis must be testable through empirical methods. If you cannot design an experiment or collect data to support or refute your hypothesis, it is not scientifically valid. Ensure your hypothesis can be tested with the resources and methods available to you.

Examples of Well-Written Hypotheses

In this section, you will explore various examples of well-crafted hypotheses across different fields of study. Understanding these examples will help you grasp the nuances of formulating a strong hypothesis.

Hypotheses in Natural Sciences

A well-written hypothesis in the natural sciences is both specific and testable. For instance, consider the hypothesis: "If plants are exposed to higher levels of sunlight, then their growth rate will increase." This statement clearly defines the variables and the expected relationship between them, making it a robust hypothesis for experimental testing.

Hypotheses in Social Sciences

In the social sciences, hypotheses often address complex human behaviors and societal trends. An example of a good hypothesis in this field is: "Individuals who participate in regular physical activity are more likely to report higher levels of mental well-being." This hypothesis is specific, testable, and relevant to the research objectives, providing a clear direction for the study.

Hypotheses in Applied Research

Applied research focuses on practical problem-solving. A strong hypothesis in this area might be: "Implementing a new software system will reduce the time required to complete administrative tasks by 20%." This hypothesis is not only testable but also directly applicable to real-world scenarios, making it highly valuable for applied research.

By examining these examples, you can better understand how to construct hypotheses that are clear, precise, and aligned with your research goals.

Testing and Refining Your Hypothesis

Designing experiments.

Before you dive into any experiment, you first formulate what you think will happen. This is where your hypothesis comes into play. A hypothesis in experimental design is essentially a testable prediction. Ensure that your hypothesis has clear and relevant variables, identifies the relationship between its variables, and is specific and testable. Designing a robust experiment involves controlling the independent variable and observing the dependent variable to validate or refute your hypothesis.

Data Collection Methods

Once your experiment is designed, the next step is to collect data. This involves choosing appropriate methods to gather data that will support or refute your hypothesis. Whether you use surveys, observations, or experiments, the key is to ensure that your data collection methods are reliable and valid. Remember, the priority of any scientific research is the conclusion, so collect data meticulously.

Analyzing Results and Making Adjustments

After data collection, the next step is to analyze the results. This involves statistical analysis to determine whether the data supports your hypothesis. If the data does not support your hypothesis, do not worry. This is a normal part of the scientific method. You may need to refine your hypothesis based on the findings. Use the results to identify weaknesses in your hypothesis and revise it if necessary. This iterative process helps in honing a more accurate and testable hypothesis.

The Importance of Hypotheses in Academic Writing

In academic writing, hypotheses serve as foundational elements that guide the direction and structure of your research. A well-formulated hypothesis not only provides a clear focus for your study but also helps in organizing your research methods and analysis. This is crucial for ensuring that your research remains coherent and targeted.

Guiding Research Direction

A hypothesis plays an important role in the scientific method by helping to create an appropriate experimental design. By establishing a specific, testable statement, you can streamline your research process and avoid unnecessary detours. This focused approach is essential for producing meaningful and reliable results.

Facilitating Critical Thinking

Formulating a hypothesis requires you to engage in critical thinking and problem-solving. This process helps you to clarify your research questions and objectives, making your study more robust and intellectually rigorous. It also encourages you to consider various outcomes and their implications, thereby enhancing the depth of your analysis.

Enhancing Academic Rigor

A well-constructed hypothesis adds a layer of academic rigor to your work. It demonstrates that you have a clear understanding of the theoretical framework and existing literature related to your topic. This not only strengthens your argument but also makes your research more credible and persuasive. In essence, a strong hypothesis is a testament to the quality and seriousness of your academic endeavor.

In academic writing, hypotheses play a crucial role in guiding research and providing a clear focus for your study. They help in formulating research questions and determining the direction of your investigation. If you're struggling with your thesis and need a structured approach, our Thesis Action Plan is here to help. Visit our website to claim your special offer now and overcome the challenges of thesis writing with ease.

In conclusion, writing a hypothesis is a fundamental step in the scientific research process that requires careful consideration and a structured approach. By observing the subject, identifying variables, and formulating a clear and testable statement, researchers can lay a solid foundation for their experiments. A well-crafted hypothesis not only guides the research but also provides a framework for analyzing results and drawing meaningful conclusions. As demonstrated in this article, understanding the components and steps involved in hypothesis writing is crucial for academic success and contributes significantly to the advancement of knowledge in various fields. By following the detailed explanations and examples provided, students and researchers can enhance their ability to construct effective hypotheses, thereby improving the quality and impact of their scientific inquiries.

Frequently Asked Questions

What is a hypothesis.

A hypothesis is a statement that predicts the outcome of a scientific study. It is an educated guess based on prior knowledge and observations.

Why is a hypothesis important in scientific research?

A hypothesis provides a focused direction for research. It helps researchers make predictions that can be tested through experiments and observations, thereby advancing scientific knowledge.

What are the types of hypotheses?

There are several types of hypotheses, including null hypotheses, alternative hypotheses, directional hypotheses, and non-directional hypotheses. Each serves a different purpose in research.

How do you formulate a hypothesis?

Formulating a hypothesis involves identifying a research question, conducting preliminary research, and then crafting a clear and testable statement that predicts an outcome.

What makes a hypothesis strong?

A strong hypothesis is testable, falsifiable, clear, precise, and relevant to the research objectives. It should be specific enough to be tested but broad enough to cover the scope of the research.

What are common pitfalls in writing a hypothesis?

Common pitfalls include making vague statements, creating overly complex hypotheses, and failing to ensure that the hypothesis is testable.

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How to Write a Hypothesis in 6 Steps, With Examples

A hypothesis is a statement that explains the predictions and reasoning of your research—an “educated guess” about how your scientific experiments will end. As a fundamental part of the scientific method, a good hypothesis is carefully written, but even the simplest ones can be difficult to put into words. 

Want to know how to write a hypothesis for your academic paper ? Below we explain the different types of hypotheses, what a good hypothesis requires, the steps to write your own, and plenty of examples.

Write with confidence Grammarly helps you polish your academic writing Write with Grammarly  

What is a hypothesis? 

One of our 10 essential words for university success , a hypothesis is one of the earliest stages of the scientific method. It’s essentially an educated guess—based on observations—of what the results of your experiment or research will be. 

Some hypothesis examples include:

• If I water plants daily they will grow faster.
• Adults can more accurately guess the temperature than children can. 
• Butterflies prefer white flowers to orange ones.

If you’ve noticed that watering your plants every day makes them grow faster, your hypothesis might be “plants grow better with regular watering.” From there, you can begin experiments to test your hypothesis; in this example, you might set aside two plants, water one but not the other, and then record the results to see the differences. 

The language of hypotheses always discusses variables , or the elements that you’re testing. Variables can be objects, events, concepts, etc.—whatever is observable. 

There are two types of variables: independent and dependent. Independent variables are the ones that you change for your experiment, whereas dependent variables are the ones that you can only observe. In the above example, our independent variable is how often we water the plants and the dependent variable is how well they grow. 

Hypotheses determine the direction and organization of your subsequent research methods, and that makes them a big part of writing a research paper . Ultimately the reader wants to know whether your hypothesis was proven true or false, so it must be written clearly in the introduction and/or abstract of your paper. 

7 examples of hypotheses

Depending on the nature of your research and what you expect to find, your hypothesis will fall into one or more of the seven main categories. Keep in mind that these categories are not exclusive, so the same hypothesis might qualify as several different types. 

1 Simple hypothesis

A simple hypothesis suggests only the relationship between two variables: one independent and one dependent. 

• If you stay up late, then you feel tired the next day. 
• Turning off your phone makes it charge faster. 

2 Complex hypothesis

A complex hypothesis suggests the relationship between more than two variables, for example, two independents and one dependent, or vice versa. 

• People who both (1) eat a lot of fatty foods and (2) have a family history of health problems are more likely to develop heart diseases. 
• Older people who live in rural areas are happier than younger people who live in rural areas. 

3 Null hypothesis

A null hypothesis, abbreviated as H 0 , suggests that there is no relationship between variables. 

• There is no difference in plant growth when using either bottled water or tap water. 
• Professional psychics do not win the lottery more than other people. 

4 Alternative hypothesis

An alternative hypothesis, abbreviated as H 1 or H A , is used in conjunction with a null hypothesis. It states the opposite of the null hypothesis, so that one and only one must be true. 

• Plants grow better with bottled water than tap water. 
• Professional psychics win the lottery more than other people. 

5 Logical hypothesis

A logical hypothesis suggests a relationship between variables without actual evidence. Claims are instead based on reasoning or deduction, but lack actual data.  

• An alien raised on Venus would have trouble breathing in Earth’s atmosphere. 
• Dinosaurs with sharp, pointed teeth were probably carnivores. 

6 Empirical hypothesis

An empirical hypothesis, also known as a “working hypothesis,” is one that is currently being tested. Unlike logical hypotheses, empirical hypotheses rely on concrete data. 

• Customers at restaurants will tip the same even if the wait staff’s base salary is raised. 
• Washing your hands every hour can reduce the frequency of illness. 

7 Statistical hypothesis

A statistical hypothesis is when you test only a sample of a population and then apply statistical evidence to the results to draw a conclusion about the entire population. Instead of testing everything , you test only a portion and generalize the rest based on preexisting data. 

• In humans, the birth-gender ratio of males to females is 1.05 to 1.00.  
• Approximately 2% of the world population has natural red hair. 

What makes a good hypothesis?

No matter what you’re testing, a good hypothesis is written according to the same guidelines. In particular, keep these five characteristics in mind: 

Cause and effect

Hypotheses always include a cause-and-effect relationship where one variable causes another to change (or not change if you’re using a null hypothesis). This can best be reflected as an if-then statement: If one variable occurs, then another variable changes. 

Testable prediction

Most hypotheses are designed to be tested (with the exception of logical hypotheses). Before committing to a hypothesis, make sure you’re actually able to conduct experiments on it. Choose a testable hypothesis with an independent variable that you have absolute control over. 

Independent and dependent variables

Define your variables in your hypothesis so your readers understand the big picture. You don’t have to specifically say which ones are independent and dependent variables, but you definitely want to mention them all. 

Candid language

Writing can easily get convoluted, so make sure your hypothesis remains as simple and clear as possible. Readers use your hypothesis as a contextual pillar to unify your entire paper, so there should be no confusion or ambiguity. If you’re unsure about your phrasing, try reading your hypothesis to a friend to see if they understand. 

Adherence to ethics

It’s not always about what you can test, but what you should test. Avoid hypotheses that require questionable or taboo experiments to keep ethics (and therefore, credibility) intact.

How to write a hypothesis in 6 steps

1 ask a question.

Curiosity has inspired some of history’s greatest scientific achievements, so a good place to start is to ask yourself questions about the world around you. Why are things the way they are? What causes the factors you see around you? If you can, choose a research topic that you’re interested in so your curiosity comes naturally. 

2 Conduct preliminary research

Next, collect some background information on your topic. How much background information you need depends on what you’re attempting. It could require reading several books, or it could be as simple as performing a web search for a quick answer. You don’t necessarily have to prove or disprove your hypothesis at this stage; rather, collect only what you need to prove or disprove it yourself. 

3 Define your variables

Once you have an idea of what your hypothesis will be, select which variables are independent and which are dependent. Remember that independent variables can only be factors that you have absolute control over, so consider the limits of your experiment before finalizing your hypothesis. 

4 Phrase it as an if-then statement

When writing a hypothesis, it helps to phrase it using an if-then format, such as, “ If I water a plant every day, then it will grow better.” This format can get tricky when dealing with multiple variables, but in general, it’s a reliable method for expressing the cause-and-effect relationship you’re testing. 

5  Collect data to support your hypothesis

A hypothesis is merely a means to an end. The priority of any scientific research is the conclusion. Once you have your hypothesis laid out and your variables chosen, you can then begin your experiments. Ideally, you’ll collect data to support your hypothesis, but don’t worry if your research ends up proving it wrong—that’s all part of the scientific method. 

6 Write with confidence

Last, you’ll want to record your findings in a research paper for others to see. This requires a bit of writing know-how, quite a different skill set than conducting experiments. 

That’s where Grammarly can be a major help; our writing suggestions point out not only grammar and spelling mistakes , but also new word choices and better phrasing. While you write, Grammarly automatically recommends optimal language and highlights areas where readers might get confused, ensuring that your hypothesis—and your final paper—are clear and polished.

CAROLE A. FEUERMAN

How to understand meaning and creativity in art / december 11, 2020 by carole.

By Alex Chaban

Art is a dynamic phenomenon that keeps on changing, first as a visual in the artist’s mind and then as a  creation. However, art can only be created by those who have a sense of it, so it is necessary to find and define the meaning and creativity in art. Finding meaning and creativity in art is not an easy task, as much has already been inquired about it through artistic expressions. One must understand its implications through creativity, aesthetic forms, imagination, color, and expression. Defining the meaning and creativity of art is difficult, as many people can view it based on their perception. Many philosophers, theorists, critics, artists and muscians have argued about having the best approach to understanding art, meaning, and creativity.

Image Source

Famous Artists of the World

It still emerges as a question in contemporary literature. True artists who have a greater understanding of art can attempt to determine the meaning and creativity of art, as they have spent their entire lifetime to view and understand art. Artists like Carole Feuerman , Andy Warhol, Pablo Picasso, Vincent van Gogh, Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Henri Matisse, Jackson Pollock, Edvard Munch, Claude Monet, Edward Hopper, Frida Kahlo, and many more. These artists can easily express their art and define its meaning and creativity. Art is always meant to be appreciated even when it may appear controversial or disturbing, as there is always a hidden meaning behind it. Art can only be appreciated by those who can understand and enjoy art. The best way to appreciate art is to understand its meaning and creativity from a different perspective, and not just look like different shades of color aesthetics.

  Does Art Need to be ‘Understood’ or ‘Enjoyed’

 Most people argue that art needs to be enjoyed rather than understood. Just like life is simply meant to be experienced. However, the more we understand anything, the more we learn how it can  enhance our experience. To have a deeper understanding of art, its meaning, and creativity, we need to understand that art is more than just a visual expression. It can also represent an idea, experience, imagination, a thought-provoking subject , or even invoke motivation for the viewer.

It can be made by using different techniques, materials, technology, or even ideas. More importantly, an artist needs to have the ability to bring his thoughts, ideas, and imagination onto the canvas, a patch or a paper, through the use of different materials. Mere novelty is not enough. He or she must have something unique, relevant or unlock a new way of imagining or thinking. It can be difficult , but true artists find it to be intriguing to bring their imagination and ideas through the use of art. Many have accomplished so much more than just money through their artworks. Many of us may even think that creating art only belongs to those naturally gifted. However, every one of us has some level of creativity and potential or even some unique talent that we may not know. You just need to find and exploit it, just as an artist does with their paintings. One must understand to find its meaning and purpose.     

Defining Meaning and Creativity in Art

 Most of us can view art as a product, but true artist finds their work to have a profound meaning and can easily define the creativity behind it. Art is not something that can be created by merely thinking about it. There is a thought process behind it. For example, the famous painting, Mona Lisa , by Leonardo Da Vinci, is believed to be painted between 1503 and 1506. The painting itself has captured the fascination of millions of people around the world. The artist claims that he wanted to capture the enigmatic facial expressions of Mona Lisa’s smile, but there are more hidden messages and creativity behind this painting. Many have argued that the painting reflects the idea of establishing a link between humanity and nature.

 In contrast, others think her smile is fake or forceful, yet it appears to be alluring. Many historians, philosophers, and thinkers have argued over its hidden meaning and creativity, but none have achieved its conclusion. Yet, the painting has inspired millions of people to still look and think upon it. As art is taken as an expression, it can give out a unique meaning and creativity.

 To learn more about art and it's meaning and creativity, I would recommend the book ‘For my Legacy’ by the artist Carole Feuerman , who has motivated many people around the world through her story and art. She tells us about how she was inspired to become an artist as she loved paintings. She also tells us about how she never gave up on her dream to become an artist , as she started painting on the floor and decided to nurture her gift since the age of ten by perfecting different art techniques. She has founded the  Carole A. Feuerman Sculpture Foundation , and her artworks are owned by 18 museums. She is also one of the three founding members of the hyper-realist movement that began in the late ’70s and still exists today.  

The ceiling of the Altamira caves in Cantabria, Spain. Photo by Stephen Alvarez/Alvarez Photography

Why make art in the dark?

New research transports us back to the shadowy firelight of ancient caves, imagining the minds and feelings of the artists.

by Izzy Wisher   + BIO

Charcoal drawings of stags, elegantly rendered in fluid lines, emerge under my torchlight as we squeeze through a tiny hidden entrance to a small chamber deep within Las Chimeneas cave in northern Spain. The chamber has space for just a couple of people, and certainly not standing, so we crouch on the cave floor and stare in awe at the depictions. Despite their remarkable freshness, they were drawn nearly 18,000 years ago. We sit in silence for a moment, soaking in the deep history of the space and realising that our ancient ancestors must have sat in the same cramped position as us. ‘Why do you think they drew these stags here?’ Eduardo Palacio-Pérez, the conservator of the cave, asks me. ‘I really don’t think we’ll ever know for sure,’ I reply.

An 18,000-year-old drawing of a stag from Las Chimeneas cave in Spain. Photo by Izzy Wisher, courtesy of the Gobierno de Cantabria

What we do know is that during the Upper Palaeolithic ( c 45,000-15,000 years ago), our distant ancestors ventured deep underground to make these images. In these unfamiliar environments, they produced a rich display – from unusual abstract forms to highly detailed renderings of animals – under the dim glow of firelight cast by their lamps. Naturalistic animal outlines, rows of finger-dotted marks and splatter marks preserving the shadows of ancient hands remain frozen in time within the caves, representing tens of thousands of years of people returning to the darkness to engage in art-making.

This curious, yet deeply creative, behaviour captures the imagination. Yet as Jean Clottes – a prominent Palaeolithic art researcher – succinctly put it, the key unanswered question for us all is: ‘Why did they draw in those caves?’

C ertainly, since the earliest discovery of cave art in 1868 at Altamira in Spain, thousands of academic researchers have used an arsenal of different approaches – from high-resolution 3D scanning to analogies with contemporary hunter-gatherer societies – to try to unlock the intentions of Ice Age artists. There has been no shortage of hypotheses, some more plausible than others. Since the fragmentary archaeological record cannot provide answers alone, these theories draw on ethnographic and psychological research, and suggestions have varied from the mythical and magical, the symbolic and linguistic, to the mundane.

One suggestion is that Ice Age artists were high-status shamans who performed mysterious rites in the dark. These spiritual individuals are thought to have induced trance-like states deep in the caves, either through rhythmic drumming or mind-altering drugs. Altered states of consciousness may have facilitated communicating with ancestors, experiencing otherworldly psychedelic imagery, or coaxing animals out from a spirit world beyond the rocky surfaces of deep cave environments. The shaman hypothesis draws on ethnographic accounts and has come under significant criticism both for inappropriately drawing parallels between peoples today and those who lived in the deep past, and for subsuming a huge breadth of cultural behaviours under one label: ‘shamanism’.

Flickering firelight, echoing acoustics and tactile interactions form visceral experiences for each artist

A different hypothesis is that abstract marks and ‘signs’ on cave walls were a proto-writing system or part of a widespread means of communication. These communication systems are posited to have had a plethora of different contexts of use, from marking the changing seasons to denoting group identities. On this view, caves were rich resources for understanding the surrounding environment, for recording which animals were where, when they would reproduce, and for developing awareness of the presence of other local populations of people in the area. As supporting evidence, some researchers have singled out the ethologically accurate details: the colouring of the horses depicted reflects the genetic diversity of Ice Age horses; the shaggy winter coats of animals are shown accurately; and even specific animal behaviour can be identified. Yet, somewhat paradoxically, these interpretations assume a kind of stasis to the cave art. Temporal dimensions of the art are collapsed into one system that is assumed to have persisted across thousands of years of changing climates and shifting population dynamics.

These kinds of evocative interpretations of cave art , situating it within rich cultural milieus, contrast with the view that Palaeolithic art was merely ‘art for art’s sake’. Here, the enigmatic images on cave walls are assumed to have been produced by bored hunters who spent time honing their artistic abilities to create aesthetically pleasing depictions. Abstract signs are explained neurologically as pleasing patterns: intersecting lines, for example, resonate within the visual system to stimulate aesthetic pleasure. This view casts Ice Age art-making as a practice that emerged from our ancestors’ neurology – the tendency for some shapes and patterns to be ‘pleasing’ – and held no deeper meaning to the societies that created the depictions.

More nuanced approaches to Ice Age art that, unlike the above hypotheses discussed so far, do not seek one explanation for the artist’s motivations have revealed the multisensory experiences that would have been the context in which Ice Age art was created. Flickering firelight, echoing acoustics, multigenerational engagements with artistic behaviours and tactile interactions with the rough limestone walls and smooth stalagmites coalesce to form unique, visceral experiences for each artist at a specific time in a specific place. While the actual motivations of our ancestors are locked in time, these more nuanced perspectives situate us in the deeply human experiences of the past. We can begin to understand why our ancestors may have been attracted to particular cave spaces and to the sorts of sensory experiences stimulated in these environments, particularly visual experiences.

C lose your eyes. Take a deep breath. You’re standing in a cave, tens of thousands of years ago. The damp, earthen smell mixes with the warm smoke from your firelit torch and saturates your nostrils. The muted silence is broken only by the subtle crackles of the fire and distant drips of water that echo around the space. You’re alone, but feel the presence of those who have stood in this place before you.

Open your eyes. The darkness is encompassing, and the warm glow of firelight desperately tries to illuminate the vast space around you. It is almost impossible to distinguish anything. As you gingerly move forward, feeling your way through the dark, the flickering light cast from your torch partially illuminates a peculiar formation on the cave wall.

Our vision can rarely be trusted. Far from faithfully reproducing an accurate image of the world around us, our visual system selectively focuses on important information in our environment. As you read the words in this article, your eyes are rapidly flicking between different letters, as your visual system is making educated guesses about what each of the words says. This means that lteters can appaer out of oredr, but you can still read them with relative ease. Your surroundings are not the focus of your attention right now, and your visual system is making a fundamental assumption that these surroundings will remain mostly static. In your peripheral vision, a significant amount of visual information can change without your knowledge; colours can shift, and objects themselves can completely change their form. Only movement appears to be readily detected by peripheral vision, presumably so as not to render us completely inert when danger approaches and our attention is focused elsewhere. Visual illusions play on exactly these processes, demonstrating how unfaithful our vision truly is in relaying an unbiased representation of our surroundings.

All of us have perceived twisting tree trunks in dim light as unusual creatures emerging from the darkness

The reason behind this selectivity in our visual attention is not some flaw in human evolution, but the opposite. By focusing attention and making educated guesses about missing information, we can rapidly process visual information and sharpen our gaze on only the most salient pieces of information in our visual sphere. This is intrinsically informed by our lived experience of the world. As elegantly framed by the neuropsychologist Chris Frith in his book Making Up the Mind (2007), what we perceive is ‘not the crude and ambiguous cues that impinge from the outside world onto [our] eyes and [our] ears and [our] fingers. [We] perceive something much richer – a picture that combines all these crude signals with a wealth of past experience.’

Our visual system is thus trained to become expert in certain kinds of visual information that are understood to be important to us. This visual expertise is defined as the ability to holistically process certain kinds of information, so that we identify the individual as rapidly as the group classification; for example, we can identify the identity of an individual person (‘Joolz’) as quickly as we identify that it is ‘a person’ standing in front of us. While it is often culturally determined what kinds of visual information we develop expertise in, we can also consciously develop this ability. Expert birdwatchers, for example, rapidly identify the specific species of bird as quickly as they identify that it is, indeed, a bird that they are looking at. This kind of expertise shapes how the visual system both focuses its attention and fills in the blanks when information is missing.

Pareidolia – a visual phenomenon of seeing meaningful forms in random patterns – seems to be a product of this way in which our visual system selectively focuses on certain visual information and makes assumptions when ‘completing’ the image. Pareidolia is a universal experience; all of us have looked at clouds and recognised faces and animals, or perceived gnarled, twisting tree trunks in dim light as unusual creatures emerging from the darkness. While we might think of these visual images as a mistake – we know there isn’t a large face looming down at us from the clouds – it seems to have emerged as an evolutionary advantage. By assuming that a fragmentary outline is, in fact, a predator hiding in foliage, we can react quickly and avoid a grisly death, even if said predator turns out to be an illusion caused by merely branches and leaves.

This evolutionary advantage is stimulated even further in compromised visual conditions, such as low light. Our visual system kicks into overdrive and uses what we know about the world, formed by our daily lived experience, to fill in missing information. For those of us living in highly populated, socially orientated societies, this means our experience of pareidolia often manifests as faces. We have been culturally trained to focus our visual attention primarily on facial intricacies, rapidly processing the similarities and differences in appearances, or even subtle cues that may indicate an emotional state. This lived experience of an oversaturation of facial information shapes our response to ambiguous visual information: we see faces everywhere.

If we imagine, however, that we lived in small groups within a sparsely populated landscape where our survival depended on the ability to identify, track and hunt animals, we might reasonably expect that our visual system would become attuned to certain animal forms instead. We would be visually trained to identify the partial outlines of animals hiding behind foliage or the distant, vague outlines of creatures far away in the landscape. We would even have an intimate knowledge of their behaviours, how they move through the landscape, the subtle cues of twitching ears or raised heads that indicate they might be alerted to our presence. Our Ice Age ancestors may have therefore experienced animal pareidolia to the same degree that we experience face pareidolia. Where we anthropomorphise and perceive faces, they would have zoomorphised and perceived animals.

‘I s that…?’ You begin to doubt your own eyes. A shadow flickers, drawing your attention to the movement. Cracks, fissures and undulating shapes of the cave wall start to blur in the darkness to form something familiar to your eyes. Under the firelight, it is difficult to distinguish it immediately. As it flickers in and out of view, you start to see horns formed by cracks, the subtle curvature of the wall as muscular features. A bison takes shape and emerges from the darkness.

How do these visual, sensory experiences relate to Ice Age cave art-making? This was the question that burned in my mind during my research. For some time, it has been known that the artists who created animal imagery in caves often utilised natural features, integrating cracks to represent the backs of animals or the varied topography to add a sense of three-dimensionality to their images. The first known cave-art discovery – the bison at Altamira – represents the use of undulating convexities and concavities to give dimension and form to the depictions of bison, which silently lay with their legs curled underneath their bodies on the low cave ceiling. So-called ‘masks’ from this cave and others in the region are further examples of using the natural forms of caves to produce depictions; these often take a formation that appears to be a zoomorphic head and add subtle details of the eyes and nostrils to complete the form. Similarly, subtle animal depictions emerge from natural shapes embedded in cave walls that are enhanced with a few details added by ochre-covered fingers. Thus, far from perceiving the cave wall as a blank canvas, it seems these innovative artists actively used cave features to shape and enrich their depictions.

A bird depiction from La Pasiega cave uses a natural shape in the cave wall, with the artist adding details of legs and an eye using red ochre. Photo by Izzy Wisher, courtesy of the Gobierno de Cantabria

These striking examples clearly indicate the role of pareidolia in the production of at least some cave-art depictions. The most robust theoretical discussions of the potential role of pareidolia in Ice Age art have been presented by Derek Hodgson. He suggests that the dark conditions of caves would have heightened visual responses, triggering pareidolia or more visceral visual responses such as hyper-images (think of that split second when you perceive a person standing in your room at night, before you realise it’s just your coat hanging on the back of the door). Although compelling, the inherent challenge with these interpretations is that they do not provide empirical evidence – beyond informal observations of the archaeological record – to scientifically test whether pareidolia was indeed informing the making of Ice Age art.

Some even saw the same animal in the same cracks and undulations of the cave wall as depicted by Ice Age people

I wanted to see if there was a way to empirically test whether cave environments do trigger certain visual psychological phenomena. How can we create immersive cave environments that stimulate ecologically valid responses, yet allow us to experimentally control conditions? Since bringing flaming torches into precious Ice Age cave-art sites was absolutely out of the question, virtual reality (VR) seemed to be the natural answer. By recreating the conditions in which Ice Age artists would have viewed cave walls, we could do something that has not been possible previously: see whether people today are visually drawn to the same areas of the cave walls used by ancient artists.

In a recent study published in Nature: Scientific Reports , we did exactly this. We built VR cave environments that integrated 3D models of the real cave walls from sites in northern Spain, and modified the 3D models to remove any traces of the Palaeolithic art. We modified the lighting conditions to replicate the darkness of caves, and gave participants a virtual torch that had the same properties as lighting technologies available to Ice Age artists, to illuminate their surroundings. We asked participants to view the cave walls, and gradually gave more focused questions about whether they would draw anything on the wall, where their drawings would be, and why. Using eye-tracking technology, we were also able to see where the participants were unconsciously focusing their visual attention during the experiment. We hypothesised that both the participants’ experiential responses and their unconscious eye movements would correspond to the same areas of the cave wall that Palaeolithic artists used.

‘What do you see?’ a distant voice echoes out. ‘This crack and the undulating shape of the wall… it looks like a bison, the shape of the cave wall almost completes the head and back of it,’ you reply, and stretch out your hand in the virtual space to trace the shape. Later you find out that this corresponded to the same area a Palaeolithic artist also depicted a bison, using the same natural features that drew your own visual attention.

Our results supported our hypothesis: it seems pareidolia may have played a role in the making of some of the cave-art images. Participants not only experienced pareidolia in response to the cave walls they viewed, but also had this experience in response to the same features that Ice Age artists utilised for their drawings. Some participants had potent responses, where they literally perceived certain animals as already existing on the cave wall in front of them. Others even saw the same animal in the same cracks and undulations of the cave wall as was depicted by Ice Age people – ie, they perceived a bison in the same place as a bison was drawn. Not all of the art had such a convincing relationship with pareidolia, however. In some cases, it seems that pareidolia may not have motivated the making of the art. This is supported by another study we conducted, where we suggest the degree to which pareidolia-informed cave art varied: it was part of a ‘conversation’ that occurred between the artist and the cave wall.

The deep meaning of seeing these animal forms in cave walls and ‘releasing’ them would have undoubtedly varied cross-culturally and temporally. In one instance, it may have been part of powerful rites in the dark, where elusive figures integrated this act within other cultural or cosmological rituals, witnessed by ancestral spirits and the community alike. In another, it may have been a more intimate, discreet engagement between just one individual and the cave wall; the soft whispers of fingers brushing pigment on stone to depict an animal of deep importance to them. The perspective of time may prevent us from ever distinguishing between the two, but the foundations of these actions may have been the phenomenon of pareidolia.

This has significant implications for understanding art-making – its emergence and experience – and not just within the Ice Age. The ability to draw something that exists in four dimensions (with time, expressed as the movement of an animal, representing the fourth dimension) is non-trivial; it requires the complex processing and abstraction of visual information. Pareidolia may have been the mechanism through which figurative representation emerged, scaffolding the ability to draw things two-dimensionally. By seeing hidden forms in cave walls, we learnt how forms can be represented. It may have started as adding subtle details to elucidate the form; a small smear of ochre here or there, and suddenly the animal emerges. As time passed, the potential of using pigment to produce animal representations developed, and gradually more detailed forms were produced on a greater variety of material substrates. It became engrained more and more within every culture and society on Earth, until one day a cave artist drew an animal on a smooth rock surface.

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• 7. Hypothesis

How to write a hypothesis

Once you have created your three topic sentences , you are ready to create your hypothesis.

What is a 'hypothesis'?

A hypothesis is a single sentence answer to the Key Inquiry Question  that clearly states what your entire essay is going to argue.

It contains both the argument and the main reasons in support of your argument. Each hypothesis should clearly state the ‘answer’ to the question, followed by a ‘why’.

For Example:  

The Indigenous people of Australia were treated as second-class citizens until the 1960’s (answer) by the denial of basic political rights by State and Federal governments (why) .

How do you create a hypothesis?

Back in Step 3 of the research process, you split your Key Inquiry Question into three sub-questions .

Then at Step 6 you used the quotes from your Source Research to create answers to each of the sub-questions. These answers became your three Topic Sentences .

To create your hypothesis, you need to combine the three Topic Sentences into a single sentence answer.

By combining your three answers to the sub-questions , you are ultimately providing a complete answer to the original Key Inquiry Question .

For example:

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• How to Write a Strong Hypothesis | Guide & Examples

How to Write a Strong Hypothesis | Guide & Examples

Published on 6 May 2022 by Shona McCombes .

A hypothesis is a statement that can be tested by scientific research. If you want to test a relationship between two or more variables, you need to write hypotheses before you start your experiment or data collection.

Table of contents

What is a hypothesis, developing a hypothesis (with example), hypothesis examples, frequently asked questions about writing hypotheses.

A hypothesis states your predictions about what your research will find. It is a tentative answer to your research question that has not yet been tested. For some research projects, you might have to write several hypotheses that address different aspects of your research question.

A hypothesis is not just a guess – it should be based on existing theories and knowledge. It also has to be testable, which means you can support or refute it through scientific research methods (such as experiments, observations, and statistical analysis of data).

Variables in hypotheses

Hypotheses propose a relationship between two or more variables . An independent variable is something the researcher changes or controls. A dependent variable is something the researcher observes and measures.

In this example, the independent variable is exposure to the sun – the assumed cause . The dependent variable is the level of happiness – the assumed effect .

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Step 1: ask a question.

Writing a hypothesis begins with a research question that you want to answer. The question should be focused, specific, and researchable within the constraints of your project.

Step 2: Do some preliminary research

Your initial answer to the question should be based on what is already known about the topic. Look for theories and previous studies to help you form educated assumptions about what your research will find.

At this stage, you might construct a conceptual framework to identify which variables you will study and what you think the relationships are between them. Sometimes, you’ll have to operationalise more complex constructs.

Step 3: Formulate your hypothesis

Now you should have some idea of what you expect to find. Write your initial answer to the question in a clear, concise sentence.

Step 4: Refine your hypothesis

You need to make sure your hypothesis is specific and testable. There are various ways of phrasing a hypothesis, but all the terms you use should have clear definitions, and the hypothesis should contain:

• The relevant variables
• The specific group being studied
• The predicted outcome of the experiment or analysis

Step 5: Phrase your hypothesis in three ways

To identify the variables, you can write a simple prediction in if … then form. The first part of the sentence states the independent variable and the second part states the dependent variable.

In academic research, hypotheses are more commonly phrased in terms of correlations or effects, where you directly state the predicted relationship between variables.

If you are comparing two groups, the hypothesis can state what difference you expect to find between them.

Step 6. Write a null hypothesis

If your research involves statistical hypothesis testing , you will also have to write a null hypothesis. The null hypothesis is the default position that there is no association between the variables. The null hypothesis is written as H 0 , while the alternative hypothesis is H 1 or H a .

Hypothesis testing is a formal procedure for investigating our ideas about the world using statistics. It is used by scientists to test specific predictions, called hypotheses , by calculating how likely it is that a pattern or relationship between variables could have arisen by chance.

A hypothesis is not just a guess. It should be based on existing theories and knowledge. It also has to be testable, which means you can support or refute it through scientific research methods (such as experiments, observations, and statistical analysis of data).

A research hypothesis is your proposed answer to your research question. The research hypothesis usually includes an explanation (‘ x affects y because …’).

A statistical hypothesis, on the other hand, is a mathematical statement about a population parameter. Statistical hypotheses always come in pairs: the null and alternative hypotheses. In a well-designed study , the statistical hypotheses correspond logically to the research hypothesis.

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What makes an artist great? 5 reasons why the likes of Goya, Frida Kahlo and Da Vinci are still revered today

Director Departamento de Artes, Universidad Nebrija

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Pablo Alvarez de Toledo Müller does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

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How can we explain, in simple terms, what makes a great artist? This question is more complex than it seems, as it forces us to think more broadly about what art is and who artists are. Above all, it forces us to reflect on what makes one artist more important than another.

This is a question that many of us – who are by and large not connoisseurs of art – have wondered about, especially since some contemporary works of art might not appear to be all that excellent at first sight.

How can we, for instance, assess the quality of Italian conceptual artist Maurizio Cattelan ’s infamous work Comedian , which consists of nothing more than a banana taped to a wall? The piece was exhibited at the Art Basel Miami art fair in 2019, and made headlines all over the world.

Irony, humour and parody have been part of art since its conception, especially the more self-questioning artistic movements that have emerged since the beginning of the 20th century. The French writer Alfred Jarry and the Dadaist movement , which included artists like Marcel Duchamp , were the first to take an ironic, critical attitude towards what they considered to be the uselessness of art.

Today, however, art has become a million-dollar business. Through its laughable technique and execution, Cattelan’s work was likely intended to poke fun at a market that was going to determine its worth solely on the basis of its financial value, regardless of its meaning. Indeed, two of the three pieces that Cattelan produced sold for $120,000 each.

This is not to say that Maurizio Cattelan is not a great artist. The scandal caused by his banana taped to the wall indicates that nowadays money alone seems to dictate what art is worthwhile. But if we leave market forces to one side, how do we decide whether a work is a masterpiece, and whether the artist who made it is a master?

History holds the answers

In answering the question of what makes an artist great, we have one indispensable resource that allows us to learn, understand and recognise certain defining characteristics. We can use it to assess the quality, expressiveness and originality of artists’ works, both in the historical context of their time and in relation to other artists. This resource is the history of art.

By looking back at artists of the past, we can pinpoint five key, clear elements of what makes a great artist.

Innovation and originality. Great artists have a unique perspective that allows them to introduce new ideas, techniques or styles that revolutionise the way art is understood and practised.

In this way, masters of art discover new ways of using artistic materials and tools. They also introduce a new vision – what we might call “conceptual originality” – by creating works with unique ideas and themes that have not been explored before and offering new narratives that end up becoming part of our culture. For instance, Leonardo da Vinci, known for works like The Mona Lisa and The Last Supper, was an innovator in both technique and concepts.

Technical skill. All the great masters of art possess, in one form or another, great control of their artistic medium, be it painting, sculpture, photography, or something else – tools like brushes, chisels, cameras and so on are handled masterfully to produce their works.

They also show consistent control and precision in their work, with the ability to capture detail accurately, realistically, or expressively depending on their style.

Cultural and historical impact. A great artist’s work has resonance, be it in their own time or after, and has a profound influence on both audiences and other artists.

Their works often document or respond to important moments of their time. For example, Goya captured the horrors of the 1808-1814 Peninsular War in an evocative series of etchings . Picasso also starkly expressed the pain and suffering experienced by civilians in the Basque town of Guernica when it was bombed in 1937, in what is now one of his most famous works.

Breaking new ground. A master artist often inspires and opens up avenues for other artists. This includes artists like Vincent van Gogh, who, though unrecognised during his lifetime, developed a unique and emotive style that has profoundly influenced modern art. Or Frida Kahlo, whose deeply personal and symbolic works exploring themes of identity, pain and femininity inspire countless artists to this day.

The work of the masters sets new standards in the art world. They are founding or key figures in artistic movements, as Picasso was with Cubism, making them a constant, dependable reference for new generations of artists.

Connection with the viewer. The works of a master artist often have an emotional and conceptual depth that resonates with the viewer, evoking strong emotions or deep reflections.

Art history is a source of knowledge, a discipline that combines criticism, aesthetics and market forces. Despite the different standards of each era, which change and evolve over time, its criteria can help us not only to understand who the great artists are, but also to continue learning and enjoying their works, as well as discovering new perspectives and stories about them.

These factors combine to help explain why the work of some artists transcends time and trends, making them immortal figures in the art world.

This article was originally published in Spanish

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• Frida Kahlo
• The Conversation Europe

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Writing Guides  /  How to Write a Hypothesis w/ Strong Examples

How to Write a Hypothesis w/ Strong Examples

A hypothesis is a guess about what’s going to happen.  In research, the hypothesis is what you the researcher expects the outcome of an experiment, a study, a test, or a program to be.  It is a belief based on the evidence you have before you, the reasoning of your mind, and what prior experience tells you.  The hypothesis is not 100% guaranteed—that’s why there are different kinds of hypotheses.  In this article, we’ll explain what those are when they should be used.  So let’s dive in!

What is a Hypothesis / Definition

A hypothesis is like a bet:  you size things up and tell your mates exactly what you think is going to happen with respect to X, Y, Z.  It can also be like an explanation for a phenomenon, or a logical prediction of a possible causal correlation among multiple factors. In science—or, really, in any field, a hypothesis is used as a basis for further investigation.  For example, many qualitative or exploratory studies are conducted just so that the researcher in the end can formulate a hypothesis after all the data is collected an analyzed.

In short, it is an educated guess, based on existing knowledge or observation.  It is a way of proposing a possible explanation for a relationship between variables.

One thing to remember is this:  the key characteristic of a hypothesis is that it must be testable and potentially falsifiable. This means that it should be possible to design an experiment or observation that could potentially prove the hypothesis wrong.  That is a very important point to keep in mind.

For that reason, hypotheses are usually only formulated after conducting a preliminary review of existing literature, observations, or after obtaining a general understanding of the subject area. They are not random guesses.  They are grounded in some form of evidence or understanding of the phenomena being studied. The formulation of a hypothesis is a big step in the scientific method, as it defines the focus and direction of the research.  A lot of time is often spent simply on developing a good hypothesis.

Why?  A well-constructed hypothesis not only proposes an explanation for an observation but also often predicts measurable and testable outcomes. It is not merely a question, but rather a statement that includes a clear explanation or prediction. For example, rather than asking “Does temperature affect the growth of bacteria?”, a hypothesis would be something like this:  “If the temperature increases, then the growth rate of bacteria will increase.”  It is clear, measurable, testable, and potentially falsifiable.

In the scientific community, a hypothesis is respected when it has the potential to advance knowledge, regardless of whether testing proves it to be true or false. The process of testing, refining, or nullifying hypotheses through experimentation and observation is part of what research is all about.

 Different types of Hypotheses

Hypotheses can be categorized into several types.  Each type has a unique purpose in scientific research.  Understanding these types is helpful for formulating a hypothesis that is appropriate to your specific research question. The main types of hypotheses include the following:

• Simple Hypothesis : This formulates a relationship between two variables, one independent and one dependent. It is straightforward and concise, making it easy to test.  It is most often used in basic scientific experiments where the aim is to investigate the relationship between two variables, such as in laboratory experiments or controlled field studies.
• Complex Hypothesis : Unlike the simple hypothesis, a complex hypothesis involves multiple independent and dependent variables. It is used in studies that are looking at several factors simultaneously, where there is an interplay of multiple variables. These are common in fields like social sciences, behavioral studies, and large-scale environmental research.
• Directional Hypothesis : This type predicts the nature of the effect of the independent variable on the dependent variable. It specifies the direction of the expected relationship.  It tends to be used studies where prior research or theory has already suggested a specific direction of influence or effect, such as in clinical trials or in studies testing theoretical models.
• Non-directional Hypothesis : In contrast to the directional hypothesis, a non-directional hypothesis does not specify the direction of the relationship. It simply suggests that there is a relationship between variables without stating whether it is positive or negative.  It is often used in exploratory research where the direction of the relationship is not known, such as in early-stage psychological research or when studying new phenomena.
• Null Hypothesis : The null hypothesis states that there is no relationship between the variables being studied. It is a default position that assumes no effect until evidence suggests otherwise.  It is also a fundamental aspect of virtually all quantitative research, serving as the hypothesis that there is no effect or no difference, against which the alternative hypothesis is tested.
• Associative and Causal Hypotheses : Associative hypotheses propose a relationship between variables where changes in one variable correspond with changes in another.  They are common in observational studies, such as epidemiological research or surveys, where the goal is to identify correlations between variables.  Causal hypotheses go a step further by suggesting that one variable causes the change in the other.  They are used in experimental research designed to determine cause-and-effect relationships, such as randomized controlled trials in medical research or controlled experiments in psychology.

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How to Write a Good Hypothesis

Writing a good hypothesis is definitely a good skill to have in scientific research. But it is also one that you can definitely learn with some practice if you don’t already have it.  Just keep in mind that the hypothesis is what sets the stage for the entire investigation.  It guides the methods and analysis.  Everything you do in research stems from your research question and hypothesis.

Here are four essential steps to follow when crafting a hypothesis:

• Start with a Research Question

Every hypothesis begins with a clear, focused research question. This question should arise from a review of existing literature, some observations you have made in the field, or an information gap that is apparent in current knowledge. The question should be specific and researchable.  For example, instead of a broad question like “What affects plant growth?”, a more specific question would be “How does the amount of water affect the growth of sunflowers?”  This is a specific question, and sets up a stage for a perfect hypothesis.

How did you develop the question?  Easy.  You simply took a broad view first, and then began looking more closely.  You looked into the subject matter.  And, as with anything, the more you look into it, the more likely you are to have questions.  So, the most important step here is to get a sense of your subject.  The more you learn about it, the more likely you will be to have a good research question.  Ask yourself:  what about this subject would I like to know more about?  It helps if you have a genuine interest in the topic!  Say, for example, you want to know more about cryptocurrency security or scalability:  wouldn’t you start asking questions about how to achieve either?  And wouldn’t you need to know a bit about the topic before you can ask the right question?  Of course!  Apply that same logic to whatever subject you are researching and your research question will appear rather quickly.

• Do Preliminary Research

Before formulating your hypothesis, you of course should conduct preliminary research. This involves reviewing existing literature, understanding the current state of knowledge in the field, doing some critical thinking on the subject, and considering any existing theories and findings that might be relevant. This preliminary research helps in developing an educated guess.  If you do your background research well, your hypothesis will be grounded in existing knowledge.

This is basically the step that comes after you ask your research question but before you make a prediction about the subject matter.  Just like if you went to a racetrack and wanted to place a bet on a horse, you would research the horses, the owners, the teams, and make an educated guess about which one is most likely to win, doing preliminary research is the same:  you want to become very familiar with the topic—know it inside and out.  Then you will have everything you need to formulate your hypothesis.

• Formulate the Hypothesis

Based on your research question and preliminary research, now you can create your hypothesis. A good hypothesis should be clear, concise, and testable. It typically takes a statement form, predicting a potential outcome or relationship between variables. Make sure that your hypothesis is focused and answers your research question.  For example, a hypothesis for the research question stated above might be:   “If sunflower plants are watered with varying amounts of water, then those watered more frequently will grow taller due to better hydration.”

Keep in mind that when you reach the stage of formulating your hypothesis, you are essentially ready to make a statement that can be tested through research or experimentation. Your hypothesis should be as precise as possible. Don’t ever use ambiguous language in your hypothesis.  Also, you should be very specific about the variables involved and the expected relationship between them (if applicable).  For example, let’s look at the hypothesis we generated above:  “If sunflower plants are watered with varying amounts of water, then those watered more frequently will grow taller due to better hydration.”  We have clearly identified the variables (frequency of watering and plant growth height) and the expected outcome.

But what else should your hypothesis do?  Well, when we say it should address your research question, we mean it should be a logical extension of the question and your preliminary research.  If your research question is about the effect of watering frequency on sunflower growth, your hypothesis should specifically predict how these two variables are related.  It should not get into the types of soil, sunshine, temperature, or other variables unless these were brought up specifically in your research question.

Above all, you want your hypothesis to make a prediction. This means stating an expected outcome based on your understanding of the subject. The prediction is what will be tested through experiments or observations.

• Ensure Testability and Falsifiability

An important aspect of a good hypothesis is that it must be testable and potentially falsifiable. This means you should be able to conduct experiments or make observations that can support or refute the hypothesis. Avoid vague or broad statements that cannot be empirically tested.  Also, make sure that your hypothesis is potentially falsifiable; i.e., there should exist the possibility that it can be proven wrong.  For example, a hypothesis like “Sunflower plants need water to grow” is not falsifiable, as it is already a well-established fact.  But a hypothesis regarding frequency or amount of watering does have the potential to be nullified.

Therefore, keep that in mind during this step:  for a hypothesis to be testable, there must be a way to conduct an experiment or make observations that can confirm or disprove it. This means you should be able to measure or observe the variables involved. In the sunflower example, you can measure plant growth and control the frequency of watering very easily.  This is precisely what makes the hypothesis testable.

Another important point is falsifiability, as this is what separates scientific hypotheses from non-scientific ones.  If it doesn’t have the potential to be proven wrong, it’s not a hypothesis.  Being falsifiable doesn’t mean a hypothesis is false. It means that if the hypothesis is false, there is a way to demonstrate this. The potential for falsification is what allows researchers to make scientific progress no matter the problem or field.

Also, don’t be vague.  Your hypothesis needs to be specific: hypotheses that are too vague or broad are not useful in research, as there is no way to test them.  For example, saying “Water affects plant growth” is too vague.  How does water affect growth?  Is it the amount, frequency, or type of water?  Such a hypothesis needs to be more specific to be testable.  See what we mean?

Remember:   A hypothesis does not need to be correct.  It just needs to be testable.  It is a starting point for investigation. The value of a hypothesis lies in its ability to be tested.  The results of that test are what can potentially contribute to the existing body of scientific knowledge, regardless of whether the hypothesis is supported or refuted by the resulting data.

Hypothesis Examples

Simple hypothesis examples.

• Increasing the amount of natural light in a classroom will improve students’ test scores.
• Drinking at least eight glasses of water a day reduces the frequency of headaches in adults.
• Plant growth is faster when the plant is exposed to music for at least one hour per day.

Complex Hypothesis Examples

• Students’ academic performance is influenced by their study habits, family income, and the educational level of their parents.
• Employee productivity is affected by workplace environment, job satisfaction, and the level of personal stress the worker encounters both on the job and at home.
• The effectiveness of a weight loss program is dependent on the participant’s age, gender, and adherence to an appropriate diet plan.

Directional Hypothesis Examples

• Exposure to high levels of air pollution during pregnancy will increase the risk of asthma in children.
• A diet high in antioxidants will decrease the risk of heart disease in middle-aged adults.
• Regular physical exercise leads to a significant decrease in the symptoms of depression in adults.

Non-directional Hypothesis Examples

• There is a relationship between the amount of sleep a person gets and their level of stress.
• A change in classroom environment has an effect on student concentration.
• The introduction of ergonomics in the workplace environment impacts employee productivity.

Null Hypothesis Examples

• There is no significant difference in test scores between students who study in groups and those who study alone.
• Dietary changes have no effect on the improvement of symptoms in patients with type 2 diabetes.
• The new marketing strategy does not affect the sales numbers of the product.

Associative Hypothesis Examples

• There is an association between the number of hours spent on social media and the level of anxiety in teenagers.
• Daily consumption of green tea is associated with weight loss in adults.
• The frequency of public transport use correlates with the level of urban air pollution.

Causal Hypotheses Examples

• Implementing a school-based exercise program causes a reduction in obesity rates among children.
• High levels of job stress cause an increase in blood pressure.
• Smoking causes an increase in the risk of developing lung cancer.

In conclusion, understanding and effectively formulating a solid hypothesis is what scientific research and inquiry is all about—regardless of the type of work you’re doing.  It may be a simple, complex, directional, non-directional, null, associative, or causal hypothesis—no matter:  each type has its own specific purpose and guides the direction of a study in a different way. A simple hypothesis explores the relationship between two variables, while a complex hypothesis involves multiple variables. Directional hypotheses specify the expected direction of a relationship, whereas non-directional hypotheses do not. The null hypothesis, a fundamental aspect of statistical testing, posits no effect or relationship, serving as a baseline for analysis. Associative hypotheses explore correlations between variables, and causal hypotheses aim to establish cause-and-effect relationships.

The ability to craft a clear, concise, and testable hypothesis is important for any researcher. It is what shapes the course of the investigation.  It is also the backbone of the scientific method itself. A well-formulated hypothesis can lead to groundbreaking research or make significant contributions to knowledge in different fields.

As we have shown you with our examples, the hypothesis is more than a mere guess; it is an educated, testable prediction that guides you through the process of scientific discovery. When you master the art of hypothesis formulation, you can set off on your investigation with a clear roadmap and a clear sense of purpose.

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• How to Write a Strong Hypothesis | Steps & Examples

How to Write a Strong Hypothesis | Steps & Examples

Published on May 6, 2022 by Shona McCombes . Revised on November 20, 2023.

A hypothesis is a statement that can be tested by scientific research. If you want to test a relationship between two or more variables, you need to write hypotheses before you start your experiment or data collection .

Example: Hypothesis

Daily apple consumption leads to fewer doctor’s visits.

Table of contents

What is a hypothesis, developing a hypothesis (with example), hypothesis examples, other interesting articles, frequently asked questions about writing hypotheses.

A hypothesis states your predictions about what your research will find. It is a tentative answer to your research question that has not yet been tested. For some research projects, you might have to write several hypotheses that address different aspects of your research question.

A hypothesis is not just a guess – it should be based on existing theories and knowledge. It also has to be testable, which means you can support or refute it through scientific research methods (such as experiments, observations and statistical analysis of data).

Variables in hypotheses

Hypotheses propose a relationship between two or more types of variables .

• An independent variable is something the researcher changes or controls.
• A dependent variable is something the researcher observes and measures.

If there are any control variables , extraneous variables , or confounding variables , be sure to jot those down as you go to minimize the chances that research bias  will affect your results.

In this example, the independent variable is exposure to the sun – the assumed cause . The dependent variable is the level of happiness – the assumed effect .

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Step 1. Ask a question

Writing a hypothesis begins with a research question that you want to answer. The question should be focused, specific, and researchable within the constraints of your project.

Step 2. Do some preliminary research

Your initial answer to the question should be based on what is already known about the topic. Look for theories and previous studies to help you form educated assumptions about what your research will find.

At this stage, you might construct a conceptual framework to ensure that you’re embarking on a relevant topic . This can also help you identify which variables you will study and what you think the relationships are between them. Sometimes, you’ll have to operationalize more complex constructs.

Step 3. Formulate your hypothesis

Now you should have some idea of what you expect to find. Write your initial answer to the question in a clear, concise sentence.

4. Refine your hypothesis

You need to make sure your hypothesis is specific and testable. There are various ways of phrasing a hypothesis, but all the terms you use should have clear definitions, and the hypothesis should contain:

• The relevant variables
• The specific group being studied
• The predicted outcome of the experiment or analysis

5. Phrase your hypothesis in three ways

To identify the variables, you can write a simple prediction in  if…then form. The first part of the sentence states the independent variable and the second part states the dependent variable.

In academic research, hypotheses are more commonly phrased in terms of correlations or effects, where you directly state the predicted relationship between variables.

If you are comparing two groups, the hypothesis can state what difference you expect to find between them.

6. Write a null hypothesis

If your research involves statistical hypothesis testing , you will also have to write a null hypothesis . The null hypothesis is the default position that there is no association between the variables. The null hypothesis is written as H 0 , while the alternative hypothesis is H 1 or H a .

• H 0 : The number of lectures attended by first-year students has no effect on their final exam scores.
• H 1 : The number of lectures attended by first-year students has a positive effect on their final exam scores.

If you want to know more about the research process , methodology , research bias , or statistics , make sure to check out some of our other articles with explanations and examples.

• Sampling methods
• Simple random sampling
• Stratified sampling
• Cluster sampling
• Likert scales
• Reproducibility

 Statistics

• Null hypothesis
• Statistical power
• Probability distribution
• Effect size
• Poisson distribution

Research bias

• Optimism bias
• Cognitive bias
• Implicit bias
• Hawthorne effect
• Anchoring bias
• Explicit bias

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See an example

A hypothesis is not just a guess — it should be based on existing theories and knowledge. It also has to be testable, which means you can support or refute it through scientific research methods (such as experiments, observations and statistical analysis of data).

Null and alternative hypotheses are used in statistical hypothesis testing . The null hypothesis of a test always predicts no effect or no relationship between variables, while the alternative hypothesis states your research prediction of an effect or relationship.

Hypothesis testing is a formal procedure for investigating our ideas about the world using statistics. It is used by scientists to test specific predictions, called hypotheses , by calculating how likely it is that a pattern or relationship between variables could have arisen by chance.

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Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy

Art and interpretation.

The anti-intentionalist maintains that a work’s meaning is entirely determined by linguistic and literary conventions, thereby rejecting the relevance of the author’s intention. The underlying assumption of this position is that a work enjoys autonomy with respect to meaning and other aesthetically relevant properties. Extra-textual factors, such as the author’s intention, are neither necessary nor sufficient for meaning determination. This early position in the analytic tradition is often called conventionalism because of its strong emphasis on convention. Anti-intentionalism gradually went out of favor at the end of the 20th century, but it has seen a revival in the so-called value-maximizing theory, which recommends that the interpreter seek value-maximizing interpretations constrained by convention and, according to a different version of the theory, by the relevant contextual factors at the time of the work’s production.

By contrast, the initial brand of intentionalism—actual intentionalism—holds that interpreters should concern themselves with the author’s intention, for a work’s meaning is affected by such intention. There are at least three versions of actual intentionalism. The absolute version identifies a work’s meaning fully with the author’s intention, therefore allowing that an author can intend her work to mean whatever she wants it to mean. The extreme version acknowledges that the possible meanings a work can sustain have to be constrained by convention. According to this version, the author’s intention picks the correct meaning of the work as long as it fits one of the possible meanings; otherwise, the work ends up being meaningless. The moderate version claims that when the author’s intention does not match any of the possible meanings, meaning is fixed instead by convention and perhaps also context.

A second brand of intentionalism, which finds a middle course between actual intentionalism and anti-intentionalism, is hypothetical intentionalism. According to this position, a work’s meaning is the appropriate audience’s best hypothesis about the author’s intention based on publicly available information about the author and her work at the time of the piece’s production. A variation on this position attributes the intention to a hypothetical author who is postulated by the interpreter and who is constituted by work features. Such authors are sometimes said to be fictional because they, being purely conceptual, differ decisively from flesh-and-blood authors.

This article elaborates on these theories of interpretation and considers their notable objections. The debate about interpretation covers other art forms in addition to literature. The theories of interpretation are also extended across many of the arts. This broad outlook is assumed throughout the article, although nothing said is affected even if a narrow focus on literature is adopted.

Table of Contents

• Key Concepts: Intention, Meaning, and Interpretation
• The Intentional Fallacy
• Beardsley’s Speech Act Theory of Literature
• Notable Objections and Replies
• Absolute Version
• Extreme Version
• Moderate Version
• Objections to Actual Intentionalism
• References and Further Reading

1. Key Concepts: Intention, Meaning, and Interpretation

It is common for us to ask questions about works of art due to puzzlement or curiosity. Sometimes we do not understand the point of the work. What is the point of, for example, Metamorphosis by Kafka or Duchamp’s Fountain ? Sometimes there is ambiguity in a work and we want it resolved. For example, is the final sequence of Christopher Nolan’s film Inception reality or another dream? Or do ghosts really exist in Henry James’s The Turn of the Screw ? Sometimes we make hypotheses about details in a work. For instance, does the woman in white in Raphael’s The School of Athens represent Hypatia? Is the conch in William Golding’s Lord of the Flies a symbol for civilization and democracy?

What these questions have in common is that all of them seek after things that go beyond what the work literally presents or says. They are all concerned with the implicit contents of the work or, for simplicity, with the meanings of a work. A distinction can be drawn between two kinds of meaning in terms of scope. Meaning can be global in the sense that it concerns the work’s theme, thesis, or point. For example, an audience first encountering Duchamp’s Fountain would want to know Duchamp’s point in producing this readymade or, put otherwise, what the work as a whole is made to convey. The same goes for Kafka’s Metamorphosis , which contains so bizarre a plot as to make the reader wonder what the story is all about. Meaning can also be local insofar as it is about what a part of a work conveys. Inquiries into the meaning of a particular sequence in Christopher Nolan’s film, the woman in Raphael’s fresco, or the conch in William Golding’s Lord of the Flies are directed at only part of the work.

We are said to be interpreting when trying to find out answers to questions about the meaning of a work. In other words, interpretation is the attempt to attribute work-meaning. Here “attribute” can mean “recover,” which is retrieving something already existing in a work; or it can more weakly mean “impose,” which entails ascribing a meaning to a work without ontologically creating anything. Many of the major positions in the debate endorse either the impositional view or the retrieval view.

When an interpretative question arises, a frequent way to deal with it is to resort to the creator’s intention. We may ask the artist to reveal her intention if such an opportunity is available; we may also check what she says about her work in an interview or autobiography. If we have access to her personal documents such as diaries or letters, they too will become our interpretative resources. These are all evidence of the artist’s intention. When the evidence is compelling, we have good reason to believe it reveals the artist’s intention.

Certainly, there are cases in which external evidence of the artist’s intention is absent, including when the work is anonymous. This poses no difficulty for philosophers who view appeal to artistic intention as crucial, for they accept that internal evidence—the work itself—is the best evidence of the artist’s intention. Most of the time, close attention to details of the work will lead us to what the artist intended the work to mean.

But what is intention exactly? Intention is a kind of mental state usually characterized as a design or plan in the artist’s mind to be realized in her artistic creation. This crude view of intention is sometimes refined into the reductive analysis one will find in a contemporaneous textbook of philosophy of mind: intention is constituted by belief and desire. Some actual intentionalists explain the nature of intention from a Wittgensteinian perspective: authorial intention is viewed as the purposive structure of the work that can be discerned by close inspection. This view challenges the supposition that intentions are always private and logically independent of the work they cause, which is often interpreted as a position held by anti-intentionalists.

A 2005 proposal holds that intentions are executive attitudes toward plans (Livingston). These attitudes are firm but defeasible commitments to acting on them. Contra the reductive analysis of intention, this view holds that intentions are distinct and real mental states that serve a range of functions irreducible to other mental states.

Clarifying each of these basic terms (meaning, interpretation, and intention) requires an essay-length treatment that cannot be done here. For current purposes, it suffices to introduce the aforesaid views and proposals commonly assumed. Bear in mind that for the most part the debate over art interpretation proceeds without consensus on how to define these terms, and clarifications appear only when necessary.

2. Anti-Intentionalism

Anti-intentionalism is considered the first theory of interpretation to emerge in the analytic tradition. It is normally seen as affiliated with the New Criticism movement that was prevalent in the middle of the twentieth century. The position was initially a reaction against biographical criticism, the main idea of which is that the interpreter, to grasp the meaning of a work, needs to study the life of the author because the work is seen as reflecting the author’s mental world. This approach led to people considering the author’s biographical data rather than her work. Literary criticism became criticism of biography, not criticism of literary works. Against this trend, literary critic William K. Wimsatt and philosopher Monroe C. Beardsley coauthored a seminal paper “The Intentional Fallacy” in 1946, marking the starting point of the intention debate. Beardsley subsequently extended his anti-intentionalist stance across the arts in his monumental book Aesthetics: Problems in the Philosophy of Criticism ([1958] 1981a).

a. The Intentional Fallacy

The main idea of the intentional fallacy is that appeal to the artist’s intention outside the work is fallacious, because the work itself is the verdict of what meaning it bears. This contention is based on the anti-intentionalist’s ontological assumption about works of art.

This underlying assumption is that a work of art enjoys autonomy with respect to meaning and other aesthetically relevant properties. As Beardsley’s Principle of Autonomy shows, critical statements will in the end need to be tested against the work itself, not against factors outside it. To give Beardsley’s example, whether a statue symbolizes human destiny depends not on what its maker says but on our being able to make out that theme from the statue on the basis of our knowledge of artistic conventions: if the statue shows a man confined to a cage, we may well conclude that the statue indeed symbolizes human destiny, for by convention the image of confinement fits that alleged theme. The anti-intentionalist principle hence follows: the interpreter should focus on what she can find in the work itself—the internal evidence—rather than on external evidence, such as the artist’s biography, to reveal her intentions.

Anti-intentionalism is sometimes called conventionalism because it sees convention as necessary and sufficient in determining work-meaning. On this view, the artist’s intention at best underdetermines meaning even when operating successfully. This can be seen from the famous argument offered by Wimsatt and Beardsley: either the artist’s intention is successfully realized in the work, or it fails; if the intention is successfully realized in the work, appeal to external evidence of the artist’s intention is not necessary (we can detect the intention from the work); if it fails, such appeal becomes insufficient (the intention turns out to be extraneous to the work). The conclusion is that an appeal to external evidence of the artist’s intention is either unnecessary or insufficient. As the second premise of the argument shows, the artist’s intention is insufficient in determining meaning for the reason that convention alone can do the trick. As a result, the overall argument entails the irrelevance of external evidence of the artist’s intention. To think of such evidence as relevant commits the intentional fallacy.

There is a second way to formulate the intentional fallacy. Since the artist does not always successfully realize her intention, the inference is invalid from the premise that the artist intended her work to mean p to the conclusion that the work in question does mean p . Therefore, the term “intentional fallacy” has two layers of meaning: normatively, it refers to the questionable principle of interpretation that external evidence of intent should be appealed to; ontologically, it refers to the fallacious inference from probable intention to work-meaning.

b. Beardsley’s Speech Act Theory of Literature

Beardsley at a later point develops an ontology of literature in favor of anti-intentionalism (1981b, 1982). Reviving Plato’s imitation theory of art, Beardsley claims that fictional works are essentially imitations of illocutionary acts. Briefly put, illocutionary acts are performed by utterances in particular contexts. For example, when a detective, convinced that someone is the killer, points his finger at that person and utters the sentence “you did it,” the detective is performing the illocutionary act of accusing someone. What illocutionary act is being performed is traditionally construed as jointly determined by the speaker’s intention to perform that act, the words uttered, and the relevant conditions in that particular context. Other examples of illocutionary acts include asserting, warning, castigating, asking, and the like.

Literary works can be seen as utterances; that is, texts used in a particular context to perform different illocutionary acts by authors. However, Beardsley claims that in the case of fictional works in particular, the purported illocutionary force will always be removed so as to make the utterance an imitation of that illocutionary act. When an attempted act is insufficiently performed, it ends up being represented or imitated. For example, if I say “please pass me the salt” in my dining room when no one except me is there, I end up representing (imitating) the illocutionary act of requesting because there is no uptake from the intended audience. Since the illocutionary act in this case is only imitated, it qualifies as a fictional act. This is why Beardsley sees fiction as representation.

Consider the uptake condition in the case of fictional works. Such works are not addressed to the audience as a talk is: there is no concrete context in which the audience can be readily identified. The uttered text hence loses its illocutionary force and ends up being a representation. Aside from this “address without access,” another obtaining condition for a fictional illocutionary act is the existence of non-referring names and descriptions in a fictional work. If an author writes a poem in which she greets the great detective Sherlock Holmes, this greeting will never obtain, because the name Sherlock Holmes does not refer to any existing person in the world. The greeting will only end up being a representation or a fictional illocution. By parity of reasoning, fictional works end up being representations of illocutionary acts in that they always contain names or descriptions involving events that never take place.

Now we must ask: by what criterion do we determine what illocutionary act is represented? It cannot be the speaker or author’s intention, because even if a speaker intends to represent a particular illocutionary act, she might end up representing another. Since the possibility of failed intention always exists, intention would not be an appropriate criterion. Convention is again invoked to determine the correct illocutionary act being represented. It is true that any practice of representing is intentional at the start in the sense that what is represented is determined by the representer’s intention. Nevertheless, once the connection between a symbol and what it is used to represent is established, intention is said to be detached from that connection, and deciding the content of a representation becomes a sheer matter of convention.

Since a fictional work is essentially a representation of an insufficiently performed illocutionary act, determining what it represents does not require us to go beyond that incomplete performance, just as determining what a mime is imitating does not require the audience to consider anything outside her performance, such as her intention. What the mime is imitating is completely determined by how we conventionally construe the act being performed. In a similar fashion, when considering what illocutionary act is represented by a fictional work, the interpreter should rely on internal evidence rather than on external evidence of authorial intent to construct the illocutionary act being represented. If, based on internal data, a story reads like a castigation of war, it is suitably seen as a representation of that illocutionary act. The conclusion is that the author’s intention plays no role in fixing the content of a fictional work.

Lastly, it is worth mentioning that Beardsley’s attitude toward nonfictional works is ambivalent. Obviously, his speech act argument applies to fictional works only, and he accepts that nonfictional works can be genuine illocutions. This category of works tends to have a more identifiable audience, who is hence not addressed without access. With illocutions, Beardsley continues to argue for an anti-intentionalist view of meaning according to which the utterer’s intention does not determine meaning. But his accepting nonfictional works as illocutions opens the door to considerations of external or contextual factors that go against his earlier stance, which is globally anti-intentionalist.

c. Notable Objections and Replies

One immediate concern with anti-intentionalism is whether convention alone can point to a single meaning (Hirsch, 1967). The common reason why people debate about interpretation is precisely that the work itself does not offer sufficient evidence to disambiguate meaning. Very often a work can sustain multiple meanings and the problem of choice prompts some people to appeal to the artist’s intention. It does not seem plausible to say that one can assign only a single meaning to works like Ulysses or Picasso’s abstract paintings if one concentrates solely on internal evidence. To this objection, Beardsley (1970) insists that, in most cases, appeal to the coherence of the work can eventually leave us with a single correct interpretation.

A second serious objection to anti-intentionalism is the case of irony (Hirsch, 1976, pp. 24–5). It seems reasonable to say that whether a work is ironic depends on if its creator intended it to be so. For instance, based on internal evidence, many people took Daniel Defoe’s pamphlet The Shortest Way with the Dissenters to be genuinely against the Dissenters upon its publication. However, the only ground for saying that the pamphlet is ironic seems to be Defoe’s intention. If irony is a crucial component of the work, ignoring it would fail to respect the work’s identity. It follows that irony cannot be grounded in internal evidence alone. Beardsley’s reply (1982, pp. 203–7) is that irony must offer the possibility of understanding. If the artist cannot imagine anyone taking it ironically, there would be no reason to believe the work to be ironic.

However, the problem of irony is only part of a bigger concern that challenges the irrelevance of external factors to interpretation. Many factors present at the time of the work’s creation seem to play a key role in shaping a work’s identity and content. Missing out on these factors would lead us to misidentifying the work (and hence to misinterpreting it).

For instance, a work will not be seen as revolutionary unless the interpreter knows something about the contemporaneous artistic tradition: ignoring the work’s innovation amounts to accepting that the work can lose its revolutionary character while remaining self-identical. If we see this character as identity-relevant, we should then take it into consideration in our interpretation. The same line of thinking goes for other identity-conferring contextual factors, such as the social-historical conditions and the relations the work bears to contemporaneous or prior works. The present view is thus called ontological contextualism to foreground the ontological claim that the identity and content of a work of art are in part determined by the relations it bears to its context of production.

Contextualism leads to an important distinction between work and text in the case of literature. In a nutshell: a text is not context-dependent but a work is. The anti-intentionalist stance thus leads the interpreter to consider texts rather than works because it rejects considerations of external or contextual factors. The same distinction goes for other art forms when we draw a comparison between an artistic production considered in its brute form and in its context of creation. For convenience, the word “work” is used throughout with notes on whether contextualism is taken or not.

As a reply to the contextualist objection, it has been argued (Davies, 2005) that Beardsley’s position allows for contextualism. If this is convincing, the contextualist criticism of anti-intentionalism would not be conclusive.

3. Value-Maximizing Theory

A. overview.

The value-maximizing theory can be viewed as being derived from anti-intentionalism. Its core claim is that the primary aim of art interpretation is to offer interpretations that maximize the value of a work. There are at least two versions of the maximizing position distinguished by the commitment to contextualism. When the maximizing position is committed to contextualism, the constraint on interpretation will be convention plus context (Davies, 2007); otherwise, the constraint will be convention only, as endorsed by anti-intentionalism (Goldman, 2013).

As indicated, the word “maximize” does not imply monism. That is, the present position does not claim that there can be only a single way to maximize the value of a work of art. On the contrary, it seems reasonable to assume that in most cases the interpreter can envisage several readings to bring out the value of the work. For example, Kafka’s Metamorphosis has generated a number of rewarding interpretations, and it is difficult to argue for a single best among them. As long as an interpretation is revealing or insightful under the relevant interpretative constraints, we may count it as value-maximizing. Such being the case, the value-maximizing theory may be relabelled the “value-enhancing” or “value-satisfying” theory.

Given this pluralist picture, the maximizer, unlike the anti-intentionalist, will need to accept the indeterminacy thesis that convention (and context, if she endorses contextualism) alone does not guarantee the unambiguity of the work. This allows the maximizing position to bypass the challenge posed by said thesis, rendering it a more flexible position than anti-intentionalism in regard to the number of legitimate interpretations.

Encapsulating the maximizing position in a few words: it holds that the primary aim of art interpretation is to enhance appreciative satisfaction by identifying interpretations that bring out the value of a work within reasonable limits set by convention (and context).

b. Notable Objections and Replies

The actual intentionalist will maintain that figurative features such as irony and allusion must be analysed intentionalistically. The maximizer with contextualist commitment can counter this objection by dealing with intentions more sophisticatedly. If the relevant features are identity conferring, they will be respected and accepted in interpretation. In this case, any interpretation that ignores the intended feature ends up misidentifying the work. But if the relevant features are not identity conferring, more room will be left for the interpreter to consider them. The intended feature can be ignored if it does not add to the value of the work. By contrast, where such a feature is not intended but can be put in the work, the interpreter can still build it into the interpretation if it is value enhancing.

The most important objection to the maximizing view has it that the present position is in danger of turning a mediocre work into a masterpiece. Ed Wood’s film Plan 9 from Outer Space is the most discussed example. Many people consider this work to be the worst film ever made. However, interpreted from a postmodern perspective as satire—which is presumably a value-enhancing interpretation—would turn it into a classic.

The maximizer with contextualist leanings can reply that the postmodern reading fails to identify the film as authored by Wood (Davies, 2007, p, 187). Postmodern views were not available in Wood’s time, so it was impossible for the film to be created as such. Identifying the film as postmodernist amounts to anachronism that disrespects the work’s identity. The moral of this example is that the maximizer does not blindly enhance the value of a work. Rather, the work to be interpreted needs to be contextualized first to ensure that subsequent attributions of aesthetic value are done in light of the true and fair presentation of the work.

4. Actual Intentionalism

Contra anti-intentionalism, actual intentionalism maintains that the artist’s intention is relevant to interpretation. The position comes in at least three forms, giving different weights to intention. The absolute version claims that work-meaning is fully determined by the artist’s intention; the extreme version claims that the work ends up being meaningless when the artist’s intention is incompatible with it; and the moderate version claims that either the artist’s intention determines meaning or—if this fails—meaning is determined instead by convention (and context, if contextualism is endorsed).

a. Absolute Version

Absolute actual intentionalism claims that a work means whatever its creator intends it to mean. Put otherwise, it sees the artist’s intention as the necessary and sufficient condition for a work’s meaning. This position is often dubbed Humpty-Dumptyism with reference to the character Humpty-Dumpty in Through the Looking-Glass . This character tries to convince Alice that he can make a word mean what he chooses it to mean. This unsettling conclusion is supported by the argument about intentionless meaning: a mark (or a sequence of marks) cannot have meaning unless it is produced by an agent capable of intentional activities; therefore, meaning is identical to intention.

It seems plausible to abandon the thought that marks on the sand are a poem once we know they were caused by accident. But this at best proves that intention is the necessary condition for something’s being meaningful; it does not prove further that what something means is what the agent intended it to mean. In other words, the argument about intentionless meaning does a better job in showing that intention is an indispensable ingredient for meaningfulness than in showing that intention infallibly determines the meaning conveyed.

b. Extreme Version

To avoid Humpty-Dumptyism, the extreme actual intentionalist rejects the view that the artist’s intention infallibly determines work-meaning and accepts the indeterminacy thesis that convention alone does not guarantee a single evident meaning to be found in a work. The extreme intentionalist claims further that the meaning of the work is fixed by the artist’s intention if her intention identifies one of the possible meanings sustained by the work; otherwise, the work ends up being meaningless (Hirsch, 1967). Better put, the extreme intentionalist sees intention as the necessary rather than sufficient condition for work-meaning.

Aside from the unsatisfactory result that a work becomes meaningless when the artist’s intention fails, the present position faces a dilemma when dealing with the case of figurative language (Nathan, in Iseminger (1992)). Take irony for example. The first horn of the dilemma is as follows: Constrained by linguistic conventions, the range of possible meanings has to include the negation of the literal meaning in order for the intended irony to be effective. But this results in absolute intentionalism: every expression would be ironic as long as the author intends it to be. But—this is the second horn—if the range of possible meanings does not include the negation of literal meaning, the expression simply becomes meaningless in that there is no appropriate meaning possible for the author to actualize. It seems that a broader notion of convention is needed to explain figurative language. But if the extreme intentionalist makes that move, her intentionalist position will be undermined, for the author’s intention would be given a less important role than convention in such cases. However, this problem does not arise when the actual intentionalist is committed to contextualism, for in that case the contextual factors that make the intended irony possible will be taken into account.

c. Moderate Version

Though there are several different versions of moderate actual intentionalism, they share the common ground that when the artist’s intention fails, meaning is fixed instead by convention and context. (Whether all moderate actual intentionalists take context into account is controversial and this article will not dig into this controversy for reasons of space.) That is, when the artist’s intention is successful, it determines meaning; otherwise, meaning is determined by convention plus context (Carroll, 2001; Stecker, 2003; Livingston, 2005).

As seen, an intention is successful so long as it identifies one of the possible meanings sustained by the work even if the meaning identified is less plausible than other candidates. But what exactly is the interpreter doing when she identifies that meaning? It is reasonable to say that the interpreter does not need to ascertain all the possible meanings and see if there is a fit. Rather, all she needs to do is to see whether the intended meaning can be read in accordance with the work. This is why the moderate intentionalist puts the success condition in terms of compatibility: an intention is successful so long as the intended meaning is compatible with the work. The fact that a certain meaning is compatible with the work means that the work can sustain it as one of its possible meanings.

Unfortunately, the notion of compatibility seems to allow strange cases in which an insignificant intention can determine work-meaning as long as it is not explicitly rejected by the relevant interpretative constraint. For example, if Agatha Christie reveals that Hercule Poirot is actually a smart Martian in disguise, the moderate intentionalist would need to accept it because this proclamation of intention can still be said to be compatible with the text in the sense that it is not rejected by textual evidence. To avoid this bad result, compatibility needs to be qualified.

The moderate intentionalist then analyses compatibility in terms of the meshing condition, which refers to a sufficient degree of coherence between the content of the intention and the work’s rhetorical patterns. An intention is compatible with the work in the sense that it meshes well with the work. The Martian case will hence be ruled out by the meshing condition because it does not engage sufficiently with the narrative even if it is not explicitly rejected by textual evidence. The meshing condition is a minimal or weak success condition in that it does not require the intention to mesh with every textual feature. A sufficient amount will do, though the moderate intentionalist admits that the line is not always easy to draw. With this weak standard for success, it can happen that the interpreter is not able to discern the intended meaning in the work before she learns of the artist’s intention.

There is a second kind of success condition which adopts a stronger standard (Stecker, 2003; Davies, 2007, pp. 170–1). This standard for success states that an intention is successful just in case the intended meaning, among the possible meanings sustained by the work, is the one most likely to secure uptake from a well-backgrounded audience (with contextual knowledge and all). For example, if a work of art, within the limits set by convention and context, affords interpretations x , y , and z , and x is more readily discerned than the other two by the appropriate audience, then x is the meaning of the work.

These accounts of the success condition answer a notable objection to moderate intentionalism. This objection claims that moderate intentionalism faces an epistemic dilemma (Trivedi, 2001). Consider an epistemic question: how do we know whether an intention is successfully realized? Presumably, we figure out work-meaning and the artist’s intention respectively and independently of each other. And then we compare the two to see if there is a fit. Nevertheless, this move is redundant: if we can figure out work-meaning independently of actual intention, why do we need the latter? And if work-meaning cannot be independently obtained, how can we know it is a case where intentions are successfully realized and not a case where intentions failed? It follows that appeal to successful intention results in redundancy or indeterminacy.

The first horn of the dilemma assumes that work-meaning can be obtained independently of knowledge of successful intention, but this is false for moderate intentionalists, for they acknowledge that in many cases the work presents ambiguity that cannot be resolved solely in virtue of internal evidence. The moderate intentionalist rejects the second horn by claiming that they do not determine the success of an intention by comparing independently obtained work-meaning with the artist’s intention (Stecker, 2010, pp. 154–5). As already discussed, moderate intentionalists propose different success conditions that do not appeal to the identity between the artist’s intention and work-meaning. Moderate intentionalists adopting the weak standard hold that success is defined by the degree of meshing; those who adopt the strong standard maintain that success is defined by the audience’s ability to grasp the intention. Neither requires the interpreter to identify a work’s meaning independently of the artist’s intention.

d. Objections to Actual Intentionalism

The most commonly raised objection is the epistemic worry, which asks: is intention knowable? It seems impossible for one to really know others’ mental states, and the epistemic gap in this respect is thus unbridgeable. Actual intentionalists tend to dismiss this worry as insignificant and maintain that in many contexts (daily conversation or historical investigations) we have no difficulty in discerning another person’s intention (Carroll, 2009, pp. 71–5). In that case, why would things suddenly stand differently when it comes to art interpretation? This is not to say that we succeed on every occasion of interpretation, but that we do so in an amazingly large number of cases. That being said, we should not reject the appeal to intention solely because of the occasional failure.

Another objection is the publicity paradox (Nathan, 2006). The main idea is this: when someone S conveys something p by a production of an object O for public consumption, there is a second-order intention that the audience need not go beyond O to reach p ; that is, there is no need to consult S ’s first-order intentions to understand O . Therefore, when an artist creates a work for public consumption, there is a second-order intention that her first-order intentions not be consulted, otherwise it would indicate the failure of the artist. Actual intentionalism hence leads to the paradoxical claim that we should and should not consult the artist’s intentions.

The actual intentionalist’s response (Stecker, 2010, pp. 153–4) is this: not all artists have the second-order intention in question. If this premise is false, then the publicity argument becomes unsound. Even if it were true, the argument would still be invalid, because it confuses the intention that the artist intends to create something standing alone with the intention that her first-order intention need not be consulted. The paradox will not hold if this distinction is made.

Lastly, many criticisms are directed at a popular argument among actual intentionalists: the conversation argument (Carroll, 2001; Jannotta, 2014). An analogy between conversation and art interpretation is drawn, and actual intentionalists claim that if we accept that art interpretation is a form of conversation, we need to accept actual intentionalism as the right prescriptive account of interpretation, because the standard goal of an interlocutor in a conversation is to grasp what the speaker intends to say. (This is a premise even anti-intentionalists accept, but they apparently reject the further claim that art interpretation is conversational. See Beardsley, 1970, ch.1.) This analogy has been severely criticized (Dickie, 2006; Nathan, 2006; Huddleston, 2012). The greatest disanalogy between conversation and art is that the latter is more like a monologue delivered by the artist rather than an interchange of ideas.

One way to meet the monologue objection is to specify more clearly the role of the conversational interest. In fact, the actual intentionalist claims that the conversational interest should constrain other interests such as the aesthetic interest. In other words, other interests can be reconciled or work with the conversational interest. Take the case of the hermeneutics of suspicion for example. Hermeneutics of suspicion is a skeptical attitude—often heavily politicized—adopted toward the explicit stance of a work. Interpretations based on the hermeneutics of suspicion have to be constrained by the artist’s non-ironic intention in order for them to count as legitimate interpretations. For instance, in attributing racist tendencies to Jules Verne’s Mysterious Island , in which the black slave Neb is portrayed as docile and superstitious, we need to suppose that the tendencies are not ironic; otherwise, the suspicious reading becomes inappropriate. In this example, the artistic conversation does not end up being a monologue, for the suspicious hermeneut listens and understands Verne before responding with the suspicious reading, which is constrained by the conversational interest. A conversational interchange is hence completed.

5. Hypothetical Intentionalism

A compromise between actual intentionalism and anti-intentionalism is hypothetical intentionalism, the core claim of which is that the correct meaning of a work is determined by the best hypothesis about the artist’s intention made by a selected audience. The aim of interpretation is then to hypothesize what the artist intended when creating the work from the perspective of the qualified audience (Tolhurst, 1979; Levinson, 1996).

Two points call for attention. First, it is hypothesis—not truth—that matters. This means that a hypothesis of the actual intention will never be trumped by knowledge of that very intention. Second, the membership of the audience is crucial because it determines the kind of evidence legitimate for the interpreter to use.

A 1979 proposal (Tolhurst) suggests that the relevant audience be singled out by the artist’s intention, that is, the audience intended to be addressed by the artist. Work-meaning is thus determined by the intended audience’s best hypothesis about the artist’s intention. This means that the interpreter will need to equip herself with the relevant beliefs and background knowledge of the intended audience in order to make the best hypothesis. Put another way, hypothetical intentionalism focuses on the audience’s uptake of an utterance addressed to them. This being so, what the audience relies on in comprehending the utterance will be based on what she knows about the utterer on that particular occasion. Following this contextualist line of thinking, the meaning of Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal will not be the suggestion that the poor in Ireland might ease their economic pressure by selling their children as food to the rich; rather, given the background knowledge of Swift’s intended audience, the best hypothesis about the author’s intention is that he intended the work to be a satire that criticizes the heartless attitude toward the poor and Irish policy in general.

However, there is a serious problem with the notion of an intended audience. If the intended audience is an extremely small group possessing esoteric knowledge of the artist, meaning becomes a private matter, for the work can only be properly understood in terms of private information shared between artist and audience, and this results in something close to Humpty-Dumptyism, which is characteristic of absolute intentionalism.

To cope with this problem, the hypothetical intentionalist replaces the concept of an intended audience with that of an ideal or appropriate audience. Such an audience is not necessarily targeted by the artist’s intention and is ideal in the sense that its members are familiar with the public facts about the artist and her work. In other words, the ideal audience seeks to anchor the work in its context of creation based on public evidence. This avoids the danger of interpreting the work on the basis of private evidence.

The hypothetical intentionalist is aware that in some cases there will be competing interpretations which are equally good. An aesthetic criterion is then introduced to adjudicate between these hypotheses. The aesthetic consideration comes as a tie breaker: when we reach two or more epistemically best hypotheses, the one that makes the work artistically better should win.

Another notable distinction introduced by hypothetical intentionalism is that between semantic and categorial intention (Levinson, 1996, pp. 188–9). The kind of intention we have been discussing is semantic: it is the intention by which an artist conveys her message in the work. By contrast, categorial intention is the artist’s intention to categorize her production, either as a work of art, a certain artform (such as Romantic literature), or a particular genre (such as lyric poetry). Categorial intention indirectly affects a work’s semantic content because it determines how the interpreter conceptualizes the work at the fundamental level. For instance, if a text is taken as a grocery list rather than an experimental story, we will interpret it as saying nothing beyond the named grocery items. For this reason, the artist’s categorial intention should be treated as among the contextual factors relevant to her work’s identity. This move is often adopted by theorists endorsing contextualism, such as maximizers or moderate intentionalists.

Hypothetical intentionalism has received many criticisms and challenges that merit mention. A frequently expressed worry is that it seems odd to stick to a hypothesis when newly found evidence proves it to be false (Carroll, 2001, pp. 208–9). If an artist’s private diary is located and reveals that our best hypothesis about her intention regarding her work is false, why should we cling to that hypothesis if the newly revealed intention meshes well with the work? Hypothetical intentionalism implausibly implies that warranted assertibility constitutes truth.

The hypothetical intentionalist clarifies her position (Levinson, 2006, p. 308) by saying that warranted assertibility does not constitute the truth for the utterer’s meaning, but it does constitute the truth for utterance meaning. The ideal audience’s best hypothesis constitutes utterance meaning even if it is designed to infer the utterer’s meaning.

Another troublesome objection states that hypothetical intentionalism collapses into the value-maximizing theory, for, when making the best hypothesis of what the artist intended, the interpreter inevitably attributes to the artist the intention to produce a piece with the highest degree of aesthetic value that the work can sustain (Davies, 2007, pp. 183–84). That is, the epistemic criterion for determining the best hypothesis is inseparable from the aesthetic criterion.

In reply, it is claimed that this objection may stem from the impression that an artist normally aims for the best; however, this does not imply that she would anticipate and intend the artistically best reading of the work. It follows that it is not necessary that the best reading be what the artist most likely intended even if she could have intended it. The objector replies that, still, the situation in which we have two epistemically plausible readings while one is inferior cannot arise, because we would adopt the inferior reading only when the superior reading is falsified by evidence.

The third objection is that the distinction between public and private evidence is blurry (Carroll, 2001, p. 212). Is public evidence published evidence? Does published information from private sources count as public? The reply from the hypothetical intentionalist emphasizes that this is not a distinction between published and unpublished information (Levinson, 2006, p. 310). The relevant public context should be reconstrued as what the artist appears to have wanted the audience to know about the circumstances of the work’s creation. This means that if it appears that the artist did not want to make certain proclamations of intent known to the audience, then this evidence, even if published at a later point, does not constitute the public context to be considered for interpretation.

Finally, two notable counterexamples to hypothetical intentionalism have been proposed (Stecker, 2010, pp. 159–60). The first counterexample is that W means p but p is not intended by the artist and the audience is justified in believing that p is not intended. In this case hypothetical intentionalism falsely implies that W does not mean p . For example, it is famously known among readers of Sherlock Holmes adventures that Dr. Watson’s war wound appears in two different locations. On one occasion the wound is said to be on his arm, while on another it is on his thigh. In other words the Holmes story fictionally asserts impossibility regarding Watson’s wound. But given the realistic style of the Holmes adventures, the best hypothesis of authorial intent in this case would deny that the impossibility is part of the meaning of the story, which is apparently false.

However, the hypothetical intentionalist would not maintain that W means p , because p is not the best hypothesis. She would not claim that the Holmes story fictionally asserts impossibility regarding Watson’s wound, for the best hypothesis made by the ideal reader would be that Watson has the wound somewhere on his body—his arm or thigh, but exactly where we do not know. It is a mistake to presuppose that W means p without following the strictures imposed by hypothetical intentionalism to properly reach p .

The second counterexample to hypothetical intentionalism is the case where the audience is justified in believing that p is intended by the artist but in fact W means q ; the audience would then falsely conclude that W means p . Again, what W means is determined by the ideal audience’s best hypothesis based on convention and context, not by what the work literally asserts. The meaning of the work is the product of a prudent assessment of the total evidence available.

6. Hypothetical Intentionalism and the Hypothetical Artist

There is a second variety of hypothetical intentionalism that is based on the concept of a hypothetical artist. Generally speaking, it maintains that interpretation is grounded on the intention suitably attributed by the interpreter to a hypothetical or imagined artist. This version of hypothetical intentionalism is sometimes called fictionalist intentionalism or postulated authorism. The theoretical apparatus of a hypothetical artist can be traced back to Wayne Booth’s account of the “implied author,” in which he suggests that the critic should focus on the author we can make out from the work instead of on the historical author, because there is often a gap between the two.

Though proponents of the present brand of intentionalism disagree on the number of acceptable interpretations and on what kind of evidence is legitimate, they agree that the interpreter ought to concentrate on the appearance of the work. If it appears, based on internal evidence (and perhaps contextual information if contextualism is endorsed), that the artist intends the work to mean p , then p is the right interpretation of the work. The artist in question is not the historical artist; rather, it is an artist postulated by the audience to be responsible for the intention made out from, or implied by, the work. For example, if there is an anti-war attitude detected in the work, the intention to castigate war should be attributed to the postulated artist, not to the historical artist. The motivation behind this move is to maintain work-centered interpretation but avoid the fallacious reasoning that whatever we find in the work is intended by the real artist.

Inheriting the spirit of hypothetical intentionalism, fictionalist intentionalism aims to make interpretation work-based but author-related at the same time. The biggest difference between the two stances is that, as said, fictionalist intentionalism does not appeal to the actual or real artist, thereby avoiding any criticisms arising from hypothesizing about the real artist such as that the best hypothesis about the real artist’s intention should be abandoned when compelling evidence against it is obtained.

The first concern with fictionalist intentionalism is that constructing a historical variant of the actual artist sounds suspiciously like hypothesizing about her (Stecker, 1987). But there is still a difference. “Hypothesizing about the actual artist,” or more accurately, “hypothesizing the actual artist’s intention,” would be a characterization of hypothetical intentionalism rather than fictionalist intentionalism. The latter does not track the actual artist’s intention but constructs a virtual one. As shown, fictionalist intentionalism, unlike hypothetical intentionalism, is immune to any criticisms resulting from ignoring the actual artist’s proclamation of her intention.

A second objection criticizes fictionalist intentionalism for not being able to distinguish between different histories of creative processes for the same textual appearance (Livingston, 2005, pp. 165–69). For example, suppose a work that appears to be produced with a well-conceived scheme did result from that kind of scheme; suppose further that a second work that appears the same actually emerged from an uncontrolled process. Then, if we follow the strictures of fictionalist intentionalism, the interpretations we produce for these two works would turn out to be the same, for based on the same appearance the hypothetical artists we construct in both cases would be identical. But these two works have different creative histories and the difference in question seems too crucial to be ignored.

The objection here fails to consider the subtlety of reality-dependent appearances (Walton, 2008, ch. 12). For example, suppose the exhibit note beside a painting tells us it was created when the painter got heavily drunk. Any well-organized feature in the work that appears to result from careful manipulation by the painter might now either look disordered or structured in an eerie way depending on the feature’s actual presentation. Compare this scenario to another where a (almost) visually indistinguishable counterpart is exhibited in the museum with the exhibit note revealing that the painter spent a long period crafting the work. In this second case the audience’s perception of the work is not very likely to be the same as that in the first case. This shows how the apparent artist account can still discriminate between (appearances of) different creative histories of the same artistic presentation.

Finally, there is often the qualm that fictionalist intentionalism ends up postulating phantom entities (hypothetical creators) and phantom actions (their intendings). The fictional intentionalist can reply that she is giving descriptions only of appearances instead of quantifying over hypothetical artists or their actions.

7. Conclusion

From the above discussion we can notice two major trends in the debate. First, most late 20 th century and 21 st century participants are committed to the contextualist ontology of art. The relevance of art’s historical context, since its first philosophical appearance in Arthur Danto’s 1964 essay “The Artworld,” continues to influence analytic theories of art interpretation. There is no sign of this trend diminishing. In Noël Carroll’s 2016 survey article on interpretation, the contextualist basis is still assumed.

Second, actual intentionalism remains the most popular position among all. Many substantial monographs have been written in this century to defend the position (Stecker, 2003; Livingston, 2005; Carroll, 2009; Stock 2017). This intentionalist prevalence probably results from the influence of H. P. Grice’s work on the philosophy of language. And again, this trend, like the contextualist vogue, is still ongoing. And if we see intentionalism as an umbrella term that encompasses not only actual intentionalism but also hypothetical intentionalism and probably fictionalist intentionalism, the influence of intentionalism and its related emphasis on the concept of an artist or author will be even stronger. This presents an interesting contrast with the trend in post-structuralism that tends to downplay authorial presence in theories of interpretation, as embodied in the author-is-dead thesis championed by Barthes and Foucoult (Lamarque, 2009, pp. 104–15).

8. References and Further Reading

• Beardsley, M. C. (1970). The possibility of criticism . Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press.

Contains four philosophical essays on literary criticism. The first two are among Beardsley’s most important contributions to the philsoophy of interpretation.

• Beardsley, M. C. (1981a). Aesthetics: Problems in the philosophy of criticism (2 nd ed.). Indianapolis, IN: Hackett.

A comprehensive volume on philosophical issues across the arts and also a powerful statement of anti-intentionalism.

• Beardsley, M. C. (1981b). Fiction as representation. Synthese, 46 , 291–313.

Presents the speech act theory of literature.

• Beardsley, M. C. (1982). The aesthetic point of view: Selected essays . Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

Contains the essay “Intentions and Interpretations: A Fallacy Revived,” in which Beardsley applies his speech act theory to the interpretation of fictional works.

• Booth, W. C. (1983). The rhetoric of fiction (2 nd ed.). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

Contains the original account of the implied author.

• Carroll, N. (2001). Beyond aesthetics: Philosophical essays. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press.

Contains in particular Carroll’s conversation argument, discussion on the hermenutics of suspicion, defense of moderate intentionalism, and criticism of hypothetical intentionalism.

• Carroll, N. (2009). On criticism. New York, NY: Routledge.

An engaging book on artistic evaluation and interpretation.

• Carroll, N., & Gibson, J. (Eds.). (2016). The Routledge companion to philosophy of literature. New York, NY: Routledge.

Anthologizes Carroll’s survey article on the intention debate.

• Currie, G. (1990). The nature of fiction. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.

Contains a defense of fictionalist intentionalism.

• Currie, G. (1991). Work and text. Mind, 100 , 325–40.

Presents how a commitment to contextualism leads to an important distinction between work and text in the case of literature.

• Danto, A. C. (1964). The artworld. Journal of Philosophy, 61 , 571–84.

First paper to draw attention to the relevance of a work’s context of production.

• Davies, S. (2005). Beardsley and the autonomy of the work of art. Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 63 , 179–83.

Argues that Beardsley is actually a contextualist.

• Davies, S. (2007). Philosophical perspectives on art. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.

Part II contains Davies’ defense of the maximizing position and criticisms of other positions.

• Dickie, G. (2006). Intentions: Conversations and art. British Journal of Aesthetics, 46 , 71–81.

Criticizes Carroll’s conversation argument and actual intentionalism.

• Goldman, A. H. (2013). Philosophy and the novel . Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.

Contains a defense of the value-maximizing theory without a contextualist commitment.

• Hirsch, E. D. (1967). Validity in interpretation. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.

The most representative presentation of extreme intentionalism.

• Hirsch, E. D. (1976). The aims of interpretation. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

Contains a collection of essays expanding Hirsh’s views on interpretation.

• Huddleston, A. (2012). The conversation argument for actual intentionalism. British Journal of Aesthetics, 52 , 241–56.

A brilliant criticism of Carroll’s conversation argument.

• Iseminger, G. (Ed.). (1992). Intention & interpretation. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press.

A valuable collection of essays featuring Beardsley’s account of the work’s autonomy, Knapp and Michaels’ absolute intentionalism, Iseminger’s extreme intentionalism, Nathan’s account of the postulated artist, Levinson’s hypothetical intentionalism, and eight other contributions.

• Jannotta, A. (2014). Interpretation and conversation: A response to Huddleston. British Journal of Aesthetics, 54 , 371–80.

A defense of the conversation argument.

• Krausz, M. (Ed.). (2002). Is there a single right interpretation? University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press.

Another valuable anthology on the intention debate, containing in particular Carroll’s defense of moderate intentionalism, Lamarque’s criticism of viewing work-meaning as utterance meaning.

• Lamarque, P. (2009). The philosophy of literature. Malden, MA: Blackwell.

The third and the fourth chapters discuss analytic theories of interpretation along with a critical assessment of the author-is-dead claim.

• Levinson, J. (1996). The pleasure of aesthetics: Philosophical essays. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

The tenth chapter is Levinson’s revised presentation of hypothetical intentionalism and the distinction between semantic and categorial intention.

• Levinson, J. (2006). Contemplating art: Essays in aesthetics. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.

Contains Levinson’s replies to major objections to hypothetical intentionalism.

• Levinson, J. (2016). Aesthetic pursuits: Essays in philosophy of art. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.

Contains Levinson’s updated defense of hypothetical intentionalism and criticism of Livingston’s moderate intentionalism.

• Livingston, P. (2005). Art and intention: A philosophical study. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.

A thorough discussion on intention, literary ontology, and the problem of interpretation, with emphases on defending the meshing condition and on the criticisms of the two versions of hypothetical intentionalism.

• Nathan, D. O. (1982). Irony and the artist’s intentions. Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 22 , 245–56.

Criticizes the notion of an intended audience.

• Nathan, D. O. (2006). Art, meaning, and artist’s meaning. In M. Kieran (Ed.), Contemporary debates in aesthetics and the philosophy of art (pp. 282–93). Oxford, England: Blackwell.

Presents an account of fictionalist intentionalism, a critique of the conversation argument, and a brief recapitulation of the publicity paradox.

• Nehamas, A. (1981). The postulated author: Critical monism as a regulative ideal. Critical Inquiry, 8 , 133–49.

Presents another version of fictionalist intentionalism.

• Stecker, R. (1987). ‘Apparent, Implied, and Postulated Authors’, Philosophy and Literature 11, pp 258-71.

Criticizes different versions of fictionalist intentionalism

• Stecker, R. (2003). Interpretation and construction: Art, speech, and the law. Oxford, England: Blackwell.

A valuable monograph devoted to the intention debate and its related problems such as the ontology of art, incompatible interpretations and the application of theories of art interpretation to law. The book defends moderate intentionalism in particular.

• Stecker, R. (2010). Aesthetics and the philosophy of art: An introduction. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield.

Contains a chapter that presents the disjunctive formulation of moderate intentionalism and the two counterexamples to hypothetical intentionalism.

• Stecker, R., & Davies, S. (2010). The hypothetical intentionalist’s dilemma: A reply to Levinson. British Journal of Aesthetics, 50 , 307–12.

Counterreplies to Levinson’s replies to criticisms of hypothetical intentionalism.

• Stock, K. (2017). Only imagine: Fiction, interpretation, and imagination. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.

Contains a defense of absolute (the author uses the term “extreme”) intentionalism.

• Tolhurst, W. E. (1979). On what a text is and how it means. British Journal of Aesthetics, 19 , 3–14.

The founding document of hypothetical intentionalism.

• Trivedi, S. (2001). An epistemic dilemma for actual intentionalism. British Journal of Aesthetics, 41 , pp. 192–206.

Presents an epistemic dilemma for actual intentionalism and defense of hypothetical intentionalism.

• Walton, K. L. (2008). Marvelous images: On values and the arts. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.

A collection of essays, including “Categories of Art,” which might have inspired Levinson’s conception of categorial intention; and “Style and the Products and Processes of Art,” which is a defense of fictionalist intentionalism in terms of the notion “apparent artist.”

• Wimsatt, W. K., & Beardsley, M. C. (1946). The intentional fallacy. The Sewanee Review, 54 , 468–88.

The first thorough presentation of anti-intentionalism, commonly regarded as starting point of the intention debate.

Author Information

Szu-Yen Lin Email: [email protected] Chinese Culture University Taiwan

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