Benjamin Schnieder
Benjamin Schnieder is a philosopher working in theoretical philosophy. He previously led an Emmy-Noether Research Group at Humboldt University in Berlin, served as Professor of Theoretical Philosophy at the University of Hamburg, and has been Professor of Theoretical Philosophy at the University of Vienna since March 2021.
Most of his research has centered on metaphysics and ontology, philosophy of language, and philosophy of logic. The central themes of his current work are relations of grounding (ground-effect relations), “because”-statements, and expressions of dependence.
Q1 As we know, your research focuses on metaphysics, philosophy of language, and philosophy of logic. What first drew you to these topics?
When I was in high school I decided I wanted to go to university, and I chose to study philosophy. None of the areas you mention were on my radar at that point—I did not even know that philosophy of language or logic were distinct subfields. What I knew was Nietzsche.
So in high school I read Nietzsche and enjoyed his work. That was basically why I decided to study philosophy: I thought, “He’s a philosopher; if I study philosophy I can read more Nietzsche.” That was my motive. But once I arrived at university I never read Nietzsche again; there were no courses or seminars on him. Philosophy is a broad subject but there are only a limited number of instructors, and at my university none of them taught Nietzsche at the time, so I had to turn to other things.
What really mattered for steering me toward the areas I now work on was the character of my teachers. I had a few average teachers, but two or three were outstanding—charismatic, clearly enthusiastic about their work, and that enthusiasm was contagious. Crucially, those teachers worked in philosophy of language, logic, and metaphysics.
That, I think, was the decisive factor: there were people seriously engaged with those topics who could explain things clearly and involve students. Looking back, that was the dominant influence. Had I encountered excellent teachers in other areas, I might well have ended up working in those areas instead. Many parts of philosophy are interesting and worthwhile, but you first need an entry point—and a major part of gaining entry is having people who guide you, who love their work and show it.
Q2 One of your research focuses is on “because”-statements and dependency relations. How do you think studying these topics helps us understand the structure of reality?
I’m not entirely sure how to answer, because the obvious answer can sound too straightforward. “Because”-statements report facts about the world: they tell us that one fact holds because of another. In that sense they reveal the structure of reality. But perhaps that answer isn’t what people expect when they ask this question.
A deeper worry is whether “because”-statements reflect a reality that exists independently of us. Maybe when we use “because” and speak of dependence, we describe reality as it appears to us rather than reality “in itself.” I’m skeptical that we can know reality as it is in itself. Some contemporary metaphysicians think that is precisely the aim, but I’m not convinced we can reach it. I’m content to investigate how reality is structured as it appears to us, and in that respect our use of “because” seems a good tool for describing that structure.
Q3 Do you see yourself as working within a particular philosophical tradition or methodology, or do you combine different approaches?
I’m situated in what is commonly called the analytic tradition. That’s one way to put it. On the other hand, the label “analytic philosophy” isn’t especially illuminating: historically it covered groups of philosophers who disagreed on many matters, so it doesn’t pick out a single, unified methodology.
Informally, however, I identify with that tradition in methodological terms. What I consider important—though not everyone agrees—is formulating the views we discuss in as transparent and precise a way as possible. Precision helps make progress and enables productive discussion; it clarifies what we mean and what we’re talking about.
That said, precision isn’t equally appropriate in every context. I sometimes have informal conversations that are enjoyable precisely because they are not overly precise. If I talk about pop music with a friend, I wouldn’t want to translate that into formal logical notation. But in the areas I research I value precision—sometimes achieved with formal methods, sometimes simply with careful natural-language formulation in English or another language.
Q4 Our workshop centers on causation, grounding, and explanation. How do you think these three notions relate, and from which angle do you approach them?
That is a difficult and controversial question; people working on these topics disagree strongly. I’m not sure I have a fully worked-out view, but I can say something about my angle: I focus on our use of “because.” I study where and how we use the connective “because,” the conditions under which “because”-statements appear true, and when they seem defective.
Taking “because” as the starting point helps to illuminate causation, grounding, and explanation. Many “because”-statements involve causal relations. If I say “The ship sank because it hit an iceberg,” I’m reporting a cause–effect relation. Grounding is also often expressed with “because”-language, but it isn’t a causal relation in the event-to-event sense: grounding connects a simpler fact to a more complex one that depends on it. For example, when we explain why a painting counts as a good example of a particular artistic tradition, we might say “It is a good example because of its formal configuration, its palette, its subject matter.” Those are co-existing facts, not events causing events; some facts underlie or constitute others. That is the idea of grounding, and we often introduce it via “because”-statements.
Explanation, finally, is an activity we perform—often by giving “because”-statements. So for me the three notions can be studied together by examining the various ways we use “because.”
Q5 How can insights from neighboring fields inform your metaphysical work, and how can your metaphysical research reciprocally enrich those fields?
Certain topics—grounding and causation, for example—are studied across different areas of philosophy from different perspectives. Philosophers of science study causation; metaphysicians study grounding. I don’t care much about strict disciplinary boundaries. What matters is that colleagues in philosophy of science and related fields have valuable things to say about causation and explanation, and engaging with that literature has been important for my work.
When I began working on these topics, I read much philosophy of science and gained key ideas there. Conversely, metaphysical work on grounding and causation can contribute back to philosophy of science, because the same questions can be framed with different methods and priorities. Focusing solely on one perspective risks missing relevant aspects. Cross-conversation helps you see that what others have long known may be crucial to debates you are currently engaged in.
Q6 Many students are interested in metaphysics and philosophy of logic but find the subjects too abstract. What advice do you have for them?
That’s a hard question. My best and simplest advice is: find a good teacher—someone who loves their subject, enjoys teaching, and can explain things well. A good teacher makes a huge difference. The problem, of course, is that good teachers aren’t always available or don’t always have the time for every student.
Topics in metaphysics and logic are indeed abstract. Some people manage abstractness easily—mathematicians, for instance. But you can approach these subjects in less abstract ways. There is a certain level of abstraction you can’t avoid, especially in logic where formal tools are central, but your attitude and motivation don’t have to be abstract. I try to demonstrate this to students.
I regularly teach an introductory elementary logic course that is mandatory for students across fields—ethics, aesthetics, or political philosophy alike. Many students dread the requirement. To help them get past that, I try to make the material enjoyable. I include puzzles and logical riddles in the weekly exercises—problems posed in a playful or engaging form, sometimes the sort of puzzle you can discuss with your family. Students often tell me, “I never wanted to take this course, but now I see it can be fun.” When that happens I feel I’ve done my job.
Doing this on your own is harder; a good teacher makes the path far easier. Still, anyone with an open mind and intellectual curiosity can find an entry. Personally, I often start with topics I find dull or opaque and try to treat them like a game—“How far can I get with this set of ideas? How good can I get at these skills?” Turning study into a personal challenge can make abstract material engaging.
And again: find a good teacher.
