A Wanderer Returns

Good news, everybody (as Dr Farnsworth would say)! After a lengthy absence Paul Johnston (author of "Wittgenstein and Moral Philosophy", among other works) is back blogging about Wittgenstein. His new post is The Lightning Speed of Thought. Well worth a look, as always.

Meaning is Use Part 3: Questions and Answers

I ended Meaning is Use Part 1 with the following questions about §43:

1. Why […] has Wittgenstein suddenly moved from what meaning is (or isn’t) to how the word “meaning” is explained?

2. What is the implication of the caveat “though not for all”?

3. What are we supposed to make of the second paragraph (§43b)?

4. In what sense (if any) does Wittgenstein actually say that meaning is use?

I dealt with (2) as best as I could in Meaning is Use Part 2. Here I’ll take (1) and (4) together, as I think they’re connected. But I’ll start with (3), if only to get it out of the way.

3. What are we supposed to make of the second paragraph of §43?

§43b states that “[…] the meaning of a name is sometimes explained by pointing to its bearer”. This is potentially troubling because in §40 Wittgenstein expressly warns us against confusing the meaning of a name with its bearer. Explaining the former by pointing to the latter might seem to go against this warning. After all, when we point to someone and say “This is Jones” surely we are explaining who the bearer of “Jones” is rather than the meaning of the word “Jones”?

This is correct so far as it goes, but there are three points worth considering. First, meaning is use and pointing to the bearer does sometimes provide information on how to use a name. Suppose for example I’ve been describing Jones to someone who’s never met him. Now Jones walks in and I say, “This â€is Jones“. Previously, the other person could use the name up to a point; he could list the qualities I’d mentioned, say that he’d been told about Jones, etc. Now, however, he can also use “Jones” in a range of new ways: he can call to him, point him out to other people, etc, etc.

Still, it’s tempting to argue that I haven’t really explained the meaning of “Jones”; I’ve simply pointed out who Jones is. I’d agree that this is not a typical example of explaining meaning – but isn’t that blinding us to how things work in this type of case? It’s true that if I talk about my car and later, in the driveway, say “that’s my car” this wouldn’t be taken as an explanation of the word “car”. But such words do not function like proper nouns. I can define “car” by pointing to various examples and then, hopefully, my pupil will be able to identify further examples on sight. But I cannot point to a number of people called Jones and now expect my pupil to recognise anyone else with that name. The meaning of “Jones” as a proper noun entails specific definitions as well as the more general one that most readily comes to mind when we think of explaining meaning.

There’s a clear similarity here with the ostensive definition of objects discussed previously, and this leads to the second point: it’s not obvious that “name” in §43 exclusively refers to proper names. We often talk of naming objects (“can you name the different instruments in the woodwind section?”) and in §15 Wittgenstein points out that “naming something is rather like attaching a name tag to a thing”. If “name” in §43b is being used in this more general sense then Wittgenstein is simply reminding us of the function of ostensive definition in explaining use.

Thirdly, there are occasions when we explain ostensively that a word is a proper name. For example, I tell someone “Fetch me Kleb”. My friend looks puzzled and asks what on earth “kleb” is. I point to someone on the other side of the room saying “Him â€! Kleb!” Here we have a two-fold instruction in the use of the word: (a) it is to be used as a proper name rather than the name of a thing; and (b) it is to be used as such in connection with a particular person who has been identified as its bearer.

I think I’ll leave this question now. It’s not of primary importance, but it does highlight the variety of practices which might be classified as explaining meaning (and the fact that it’s not always easy to decide if a particular practice falls under this heading is itself a rather Wittgensteinian observation). Indeed, surely Wittgenstein’s point in §43b is to draw our attention to this variety. As ever we should avoid thinking dogmatically – look and see!

¶

1. Why has Wittgenstein suddenly moved from what meaning is (or isn’t) to how the word “meaning” is explained?

4. In what sense (if any) does Wittgenstein actually say that meaning is use?

Until §43, Wittgenstein’s argument has mainly been negative. He’s analysed potential candidates for meaning – in particular the claim that meaning is the object signified – and pointed out the incoherence of such ideas. But just when we might expect him to produce his own candidate he shifts the debate away from identity and focuses instead upon how meaning is explained (ie, how the word “meaning” is used). This is not, however, some kind of dodge. Rather, Wittgenstein is suggesting that the very search for a candidate is itself misconceived. He sets out this idea clearly at the beginning of The Blue Book:

The question "What is length?", "What is meaning?", "What is the number one?" etc., produce in us a mental cramp. We feel that we can't point to anything in reply to them and yet ought to point to something. (We are up against one of the great sources of philosophical bewilderment: a substantive makes us look for a thing that corresponds to it.)

Asking first "What is an explanation of meaning?" has two advantages. You in a sense bring the question "what is meaning" down to earth. For, surely, to understand the meaning of "meaning" you ought also to understand the meaning of "explanation of meaning". Roughly: "let's ask what the explanation of meaning is, for whatever that explains will be the meaning." Studying the grammar of the expression "expression of meaning" will teach you something about the grammar of the word "meaning" and will cure you of the temptation to look about you for some object which you might call "the meaning".

It is worth dwelling for a moment on the temptation Wittgenstein mentions here, for it is an important source not just of “philosophical bewilderment” but also of philosophical theories. The search for substantives is the search for metaphysical essence. It lies behind the notion of Platonic forms; Cartesian dualism; the mind/brain identity of reductionists such as Putnam; and Kripke’s theory of natural kinds, rigid-designators, etc. But all of this is, according to Wittgenstein, deeply misguided. Yet it is also extremely tempting. The very question “what is the meaning of a word?” suggests that there is some thing which is the meaning. The form of the question locks us into a particular way of considering the issue. Moreover, we feel we ought to be able to answer it (after all, surely we know what meaning is, don’t we?) and so we bethink ourselves. We attempt to use reason to discover how things must be. In other words, we search for a metaphysical theory. But this, for Wittgenstein, is tantamount to guessing how the word “meaning” works. And as he later remarks, “One cannot guess how a word functions. One has to look at its application and learn from that” (§340).

And it is precisely this looking which informs Wittgenstein’s shift of emphasis in §43. Instead of producing a theory he concentrates on how “meaning” is explained. To put it another way, he describes how the word “meaning” is used and sums things up with the general observation that the explanation of meaning (usually) involves explaining the use of the word whose meaning is unclear. Explaining the meaning of (eg) “apple” or “chair” might well involve pointing to actual apples or chairs as typical examples of the word under consideration (though it need not). But that doesn’t happen when explaining the meaning of “meaning” because, unlike “apple” or “chair” the word doesn’t name a substantive – not a physical one, nor a mental one, nor an ideal one. That’s why Wittgenstein doesn’t produce his own candidate for meaning. In this sense, there is nothing that meaning “is”. It is a word we use in particular ways in certain contexts. And that’s the end of it.

This, of course, is an example of Wittgenstein’s descriptive method of philosophy. Sixty-six sections before he announces “we may not advance any kind of theory [….] All explanation must disappear and description alone must take its place” (§109) he has already provided a practical demonstration of why he considered philosophical theorising to be barren and how, instead, a careful description of the relevant terms could bring things “down to earth” and release us from our mental cramp – not by solving the problem which troubled us, but by revealing it to be an illusion.

This is not the last time meaning will be discussed on this blog. I’m aware that so far I’ve hardly touched upon a hugely important and intuitively persuasive notion connected with the topic. Some of you may be impatiently asking yourselves “But what about the mind?” Isn’t saying a word with meaning (as opposed to just uttering inarticulate noises) a mental act? Indeed, doesn’t meaning itself consist of mental images (or ideas) put into words?

For Wittgenstein the answer is no and no. But discussion of the issue comes later.

Update

Just a quick note to say I'm still around and to apologise for not updating this blog for so long. I haven't abandoned it! But what little time I get for philosophy has been hijacked recently by trying to set out my thoughts on a Wittgensteinian approach to the "religion vrs science" debate. It's a huge, complex area (but very interesting too) and I have over a hundred pages of notes that I must somehow fashion into a coherent whole.

I won't be presenting the results of that work here; although it's closely bound up with Wittgenstein's philosophy it isn't directly connected to explaining the Philosophical Investigations. Instead, I've set up a new blog, Scribbled in the Margin. The religion/science stuff will appear there, along with posts on various other subjects. I've already published a few - take a look if you get the chance.

Like I say, I will definitely be returning to this blog at some stage. I've managed to do a little bit of work on rule-following, which is the next major topic to confront (although first there's that curious little discussion on the general form of propositions), and will write it up when I get the chance. So watch this space!

Phil

Meaning is Use Part 2: the Caveat and Ostensive Definition

As you may recall, while considering Wittgenstein’s linking of meaning to use I’ve been fretting about the caveat he introduces in §43:

For a large class of cases of the employment of the word “meaning” – though not for all – this word can be explained in this way: the meaning of a word is its use in the language.

This seems to suggest that for some words their meaning is not their use. But which types of word does Wittgenstein have in mind, and what actually is their meaning if it isn’t their use?

One possibility (which I’ve certainly found tempting) runs as follows: for abstract nouns, adjectives, verbs, etc, the meaning is their use. For concrete nouns, however, meaning is more straightforwardly connected to the objects named. The meaning, in other words, is the object. Why is this distinction tempting? Because when asked for the meaning of a word like “love” we can’t point to the thing itself and so fall back on descriptions of use, synonyms, etc. But with a concrete noun such as “apple” we can simply point to an example and say “This q b”. This method (known as “ostensive definition”) seems clear and exact, and yet doesn’t involve an explanation of use. After all, “This q b” would be a perfectly good answer to “What does the word ‘apple’ mean?” but not to “How is the word ‘apple’ used?”

At this point the clarity and exactness of ostensive definition might tempt us to go further and claim it provides a foundation for meaning. Descriptive definition looks vague by comparison and always seems open to misinterpretation. True, we might clarify it with a further description, but won’t that also be vague? So our clarification itself requires a clarification, and now we’re in danger of falling into a regress. As the interlocutor puts it in §87: “how does an explanation help me to understand, if, after all, it is not the final one? In that case the explanation is never completed; so I still don’t understand what he means, and never shall!” The very possibility of meaning seems to require an escape from this regress, and ostensive definition looks like a promising solution.

If it is to play this role then we can identify three connected conditions that ostensive definition must satisfy:

i.                    It must be fundamental. Descriptions of meaning might be analysed into a series of ostensive definitions, but such definitions can themselves neither have nor need any further analysis. After all, if an ostensive definition requires further explanation presumably this will take the form of a description and we’re back with the problem of a regress. Ostensive definition must be the end of the line.

ii.                  It must be complete. If ostensive definition doesn’t provide the whole meaning of a word then it leaves some aspects undecided and therefore meaning is not clear. In that case the definition would not be fundamental. To put it another way, if the object is the meaning and ostensive definition picks out the object then it must also pick out the meaning. All of it.

iii.                It must be unambiguous. If the connection established between word and object isn’t completely clear then doubt as to meaning is still possible. Once again, further support is needed and so a foundation has not been provided.

At this point we have arrived at what might be called a mythology of ostensive definition. Puzzlement over certain aspects of meaning has led us, step by step, to a theory about what must be the case – in other words, a metaphysical theory. (It is also worth noting how this theory threatens to pull the whole of language into its gravitational field. It was introduced to explain the meaning of concrete nouns, but surely other types of word need a definite meaning too? And if definite meaning cannot be provided by description then an alternative is just as necessary for “love” as for “apple”). Not surprisingly, Wittgenstein is critical of this mythology and (characteristically) he attacks it on two fronts: from the inside, by demonstrating that – on its own terms – it cannot provide an unassailable foundation for meaning; and, from the outside, by contrasting the mythology with a description of the diverse but more modest role ostensive definition actually plays in our lives.

At §28 Wittgenstein imagines ostensively defining “two” by pointing at two nuts. The interlocutor objects that such a definition is inadequate because it is open to misinterpretation: “he will suppose that ‘two’ is the name given to this group of nuts!” Wittgenstein’s reply turns the tables: “he might equally well take a person’s name, which I explain ostensively, as that of a colour, of a race, or even of a point of the compass. That is to say, an ostensive definition can be variously interpreted in any case.” The potential pitfalls that accompany the ostensive definition of abstract terms are – from a logical standpoint – equally pressing in the case of concrete nouns. This simple observation threatens to unravel the whole mythology at a stroke: if a mistake is always possible then ostensive definition is never unambiguous. And if that’s true then it isn’t complete either, for something else is needed to ensure that the correct meaning is grasped on each occasion. And if it’s neither unambiguous nor complete then it can hardly be called fundamental. What seemed so clear and secure is in danger of falling to pieces before our eyes.

At §33 the interlocutor attempts to patch up the damage: “one need only – obviously – know (or guess) what the person giving the explanation is pointing at.” The idea is that the gesture’s intended target (colour, shape, etc) is contained within the act itself – perhaps via a mental state reflected in a characteristic form of behaviour (eg, pointing or gazing in a particular way). By observing the behaviour we can infer the mental state and, therefore, grasp the meaning. In this way everything is kept “in-house” and, needing no external support, ostensive definition retains its fundamental status. This picture of “inner” meaning inferred from “outer” behaviour is one Wittgenstein confronts on numerous occasions in the Investigations. For the moment, however, he restricts himself to some brief, but significant, observations: “… neither the expression ‘to mean the explanation in such-and-such a way’ nor the expression ‘to interpret the explanation in such-and-such a way’ signifies a process which accompanies the giving and hearing of an explanation” (PI §34). Why not? Because “even if something of the sort [ie, a characteristic experience of pointing] did recur in all cases, it would still depend on the circumstances – that is, on what happened before and after the pointing – whether we would say ‘He pointed at the shape and not at the colour’.” (PI §35).

It is important to note here that Wittgenstein is not denying the existence of mental experiences accompanying instances of meaning or understanding. Nor, indeed, is he denying that such experiences play an important role in allowing us to use language the way we do. What he is pointing out is that the rules governing the correct application of concepts like “meaning” and “understanding” do not hinge upon the identification of mental experiences (or states or processes). If I point at various red objects saying “red” each time and you then consistently pick out red objects when asked to do so, you have correctly understood my meaning. That is how “correct understanding” is defined in such cases. This is not a claim about brain functions or psychological processes (which would be empirical claims requiring scientific investigation). It is a fact about the grammar of the concepts “meaning”, “understanding” and “correct”. From this point of view, your opinion about what was going through my mind when I gave the definition “Red q n” is neither here nor there. And, likewise, my opinion about your mental state when you correctly followed the order “pick out the red object” is irrelevant. Furthermore, my mental state when saying “Red q n” is not the criterion for correctly defining “red”. And your mental state when picking out red objects is not the criterion for understanding the order “pick out the red object”.

Ostensive definition fails to operate in its assumed role as the unmistakable, stand-alone foundation for meaning. And yet it does operate – we use it all the time. Clearly, then, it has merit outside of any metaphysical function we may assign it. This brings us to Wittgenstein’s description of the role ostensive definition plays in our lives. It is a relatively brief passage, stretching from §§27-32 (though §6 and §10 should also be borne in mind), but several points emerge.

First (§27), requesting and receiving ostensive definitions is a language-game we learn along with the rest of our linguistic activity. We do not simply drum the names of objects into children’s heads and leave them to it (“As if what we did next were given with the mere act of naming”); we also use the words in situ, even before a child is in any position to understand what we are saying. So rather than being the fundamental building-block of language, ostensive definition is just one element among many and only functions as a definition within this wider context.

Secondly, it is more varied in subject-matter than the mythology might suggest. At §28 Wittgenstein lists some examples and, far from being confined to concrete nouns, they include colour-words, number-words and points of the compass. This is the upside of the fact that all definitions are open to misinterpretation; once the myth of unambiguousness is removed the key question changes from "can I point to something?" to "will he apply the definition correctly?" It’s then possible to ostensibly define even subtle, abstract words like "otiose" by (eg) showing a series of texts and underlining the redundant clauses: "The batchelor was unmarried", "He played patience by himself", "√25=5+0.0r", etc. Maybe the pupil will understand, maybe she won’t; the general success-rate defines the method’s usefulness.

Here (thirdly) we start to see how not just the subject-matter but also the form of ostensive definitions may be varied, and how there is not always a clear distinction between ostensive and descriptive methods. The “otiose” example is itself close to being an idiosyncratic type of description; it is certainly a long way away from “Apple q b”, and could easily be recast into descriptive form. A similar point applies to written lists with the form "[x] signifies [y]". These are a variation of ostensive definition yet Wittgenstein calls them an abbreviated description of use (§10). Why abbreviated? Because they take for granted the wider context in which the defined word operates. In effect, “Apple q b” is (usually) a shorthand for something like “Use the word ‘apple’ to refer to the type of fruit of which this q b is a typical example”. We don’t often give such long-winded explanations because the context of asking generally renders them unnecessary. Forgetting this can make it seem as if everything was done by the ostensive act itself whereas, in fact, even what is defined depends on the context. Consider the following cases:

1. I have deduced the rules of chess by watching the game but without hearing any talk about it (I need not even know that it’s called chess). Now I start playing and during the game my opponent says “Your king is exposed.” I ask, “What do you mean by ‘king’?” And he replies “This qè.”

2. I have learnt chess on a computer using a 2-D board where the symbol for the king is the letter “K” in a circle (I know that this is called the king). Now I’m introduced to a standard wooden chess set and I ask “Which is the king?” My opponent replies: “This qè.”

3. I know nothing at all about chess. My friend is setting up the boards for a chess club meeting and notices one set has a piece missing. He tells me to fetch a spare king from the cupboard. I ask “What do you mean by king?” And he replies: “This qè.”

In each case the meaning explained is different. In (i) it could be expressed as: “The piece that looks like this qè and moves in such-and-such a way is called the king.” In (ii) as: “The piece called the king, which moves in such-and-such a way, looks like this qè.” And in (iii) as: “The object that looks like this qè is called a king.” But now suppose you give the definition “King qè“ to someone who not only knows nothing about chess, but has never even encountered board games or any activity involving pieces. What, exactly, have you achieved with your definition? At most (it seems to me) you have alerted the pupil to the fact that there is some sort of connection between something about the object and the word “king”. That hardly seems to count as a definition at all.

Of course “the king in chess” is a relatively sophisticated concept, but even at the level of apples or pebbles similar considerations apply. The ostensive definition “Apple q b” qua definition presupposes some level of linguistic competence: (eg) a familiarity with the language-game of asking for, and being given, the names of physical objects, and the way in which such names are subsequently used. This competence is so basic it is easy to overlook it entirely and assume the function of the definition is somehow built into the act itself. It will then appear as if the mere performance of an ostensive definition was enough to guarantee its success.

It seemed we had two entirely separate types of definition: ostensive and descriptive. Of these two, ostensive definition appeared fundamental, unambiguous and complete. Description, on the other hand, was distinctly second-best; it was what we made do with when we couldn't define a word ostensively. But this assessment turned out to be founded on an inability to look clearly at how ostensive definition functioned in practice. Once we had done this, a quite different picture emerged. Ostensive definition was neither complete, unambiguous nor fundamental. It was not even entirely distinct from description. Instead, it was simply one technique amongst many, extremely useful in some contexts, less so in others. Its privileged status was a chimera, because language is not founded in unambiguous definitions, but in application - that is to say, in human behavior.

Obviously this spells trouble for my initial suggestion that ostensive definition might be an example of a “use-free” explanation of meaning suggested by §43. Ostensive definition only appeared use-free when considered in isolation – as a fundamental, stand-alone performance requiring no context or outside factors to give it meaning. Viewed in that light, it may well not involve use, but it doesn’t function as a definition either. As soon as context is reintroduced, the question of use inevitably follows in its wake. Take, for example, my earlier point that “This q b” would be a strange reply to the question “How is the world ‘apple’ used?” It isn’t actually difficult to imagine a context in which that reply would be more or less helpful. For example, I use the word “apple” in a sentence but my friend is unsure whether I mean the fruit or the increasingly evil technology company. He asks “How were you using ‘apple’ just then?” His question alerts me to the ambiguity of my statement (ie, I understand his confusion), and I clarify matters by saying “This q b”. True, this is still idiosyncratic, but it gets the job done and only requires a little tweaking to provide it with a more conventional form: “I was using it to mean the fruit. This q b for example”. Once again, it becomes apparent that the ostensive act is a context-dependent distillation of description. There is no getting away from it: ostensive definition is up to its neck in use.

But in that case what about the caveat? Are there any remaining candidates for words whose meaning is not their use? At this point I must confess that I think I've made a grade-A, bone-headed blunder. Allow me to explain.

One of my difficulties with §43 is that I find the Hacker/Schulte translation rather torturously phrased. Its meaning keeps slipping away from me as I read it over and over. With this in mind, I recently checked it against Anscombe's original version. This is what I found:

For a large class of cases - though not for all - in which we employ the word "meaning" it can be defined thus: the meaning of a word is its use in the language.

PI §43, Third Edition

I can’t say whether the third or fourth edition best captures Wittgenstein’s style, but the third edition’s rendering of §43 seems admirably clear. More importantly, it at once suggested an obvious point which I had previously ignored: the cases in which we employ the word “meaning” include numerous ones that are not about the use of words for the simple reason that they are not about words at all. A few examples:

“What was the meaning of that look you gave me?”

“What is the meaning of that tattoo on your arm?”

“What does the opening of Beethoven’s 5^th symphony mean?”

“What is the meaning of all this noise?!”

“What is the meaning of life?”

I had been treating meaning as a kind of mechanism that only worked in one particular way and was exclusively related to the phenomenon of language. But it now seems to me that at least one reason for the caveat is to warn us against such a narrowly restricted focus. “Meaning” is a diffuse concept, connected to use, synonymy and definition, but also to significance and aptness. Keeping this diversity in mind is, for Wittgenstein, a way of avoiding being trapped by a particular picture – for example, “The object is the meaning of the word”.

Can we now therefore sum up §43 along the following lines: “insofar as meaning is concerned with words, it is concerned with their use”? Even this, I think, would be going too far. Consider the following exchange:

“I have called my new shop ‘Tesco’.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a combination of ‘T.E. Stockwell’ and my name, ‘Cohen’.”

Or how about this:

“Kummerspeck is the German word for weight-gain due to emotional overeating. It literally means ‘grief bacon’.”

Words, just as much as looks or musical phrases, can have a meaning over and above their use. The complexity of the concept “meaning” defies reduction to a simple formula, and so we’re thrown back upon broad generalisations such as “much of the time meaning is about use”. And that, of course, is simply a paraphrase of §43.

Are these examples the sort of thing Wittgenstein has in mind when he introduces the caveat into §43? Are there not perhaps other, more pertinent, cases that I’ve overlooked? In a way these questions miss the point. The key thing is to recognise the complexity of the phenomenon at hand and to describe it accurately despite the urge to boil things down to a satisfying but misrepresentative formula. Or, as Wittgenstein puts it, “Say what you please, so long as it does not prevent you from seeing how things are. (And when you see that, there will be some things that you won’t say.)” PI §79.

Meaning is Use Part 3

Update: How to Pronounce "Wittgenstein"

It's taking me a bit longer to get used to the work routine than I figured, but I still hope to get back to the blog shortly. In the meantime, here's a helpful guide on pronouncing "Wittgenstein", as I know this troubles many of you.

Work

Sorry for my prolonged silence. I recently started work after a lengthy spell of unemployment and the upheaval involved has left little time for philosophy. Hopefully, once I've adjusted to the new regime I'll be back on the case (albeit at a slower pace).

The job is exactly the sort of thing Wittgenstein would have approved of: factory-fodder. He was always advising his students to avoid academia and do something "useful" instead. This only goes to show that sometimes even the greatest minds can be a bit stupid.

Meaning is Use Part I: Argument

While writing “Wittgenstein's Toolkit” it became clear to me that I have unfinished business with the notion of meaning as use. Several aspects of it still puzzle me. First off, I’m intrigued and slightly uneasy about the flow of Wittgenstein’s argument on this subject. In the course of the opening 43 sections his position (or, at least, his prima facie position) gradually appears to shift. I suspect this is intentional, but it can lead to a lot of head-scratching – indeed, each time I reach the end of §43 I wonder whether Wittgenstein really is claiming that meaning is use at all. I think we’d better consult the text.

The first mention of use comes in §1 when, after the “five red apples” scenario, the interlocutor asks: “But what is the meaning of the word ‘five’?” And the reply comes: “No such thing was in question here, only how the word ‘five’ is used.” Considered literally, this suggests that “meaning” and “use” have nothing to do with each other. Of course, Wittgenstein is being disingenuous; he’s preventing us (via the interlocutor) from dashing down a blind ally, and – for reasons yet to be explained – keeping us focused on use. Still, it’s a long way from “use, not meaning” to “use is meaning”.

That journey begins at §5 when he explains the role of his primitive language-games:

[….] the general concept of the meaning of a word surrounds the working of language with a haze which makes clear vision impossible. – It disperses the fog if we study the phenomena of language in primitive kinds of use in which one can clearly survey the purpose and functioning of the words.

Here, then, we have a connection in terms of helpfulness: when considering meaning it is helpful (demystifying) to look at use. Obviously, there’s still no claim that meaning is use, but the two have, so to speak, inched closer together.

Next, at §§8-9, Wittgenstein outlines an extended version of the builder’s game (introduced in §2) involving number-words, colour samples and indexicals. This prompts the following question: “Now what do the words of this language signify?” (§10). “Signify” is a slippery word in this context. For example, is it synonymous with “mean” or “indicate” or “denote” or all three? And is there a nod here to its technical use in semiotics? But such questions aside, there seems to be a clear link with the interlocutor’s question in §1. They both suggest an underlying impulse to correlate a word with a thing in order to explain meaning. This time, however, Wittgenstein’s reply is markedly different: “How is what they signify supposed to come out other than in the kind of use they have?” Here, it seems, the connection has shifted again: use is not merely helpful when considering meaning, it is essential.

The reply is provocative because it’s natural to assume that, when grasping signification, an object is what we really need rather than an account of use. To put it in Russellian terms, we want acquaintance but instead we’re being offered description as a more pertinent alternative. Actually, this is the start of Wittgenstein’s discussion of ostensive definition – a discussion which will rumble on intermittently over the next 30 or so sections. I am not going to address its specific points in this post, but it is important to note that a) his attack on the philosophical account of ostensive definition is an attack on the link between object and meaning, and b) it is indicative of Wittgenstein’s general approach that his substantive arguments in this area are almost all negative. He seems less concerned with proving that use has the right of succession than with killing off its rivals to the crown.

The importance of use is next suggested in §§19-20 during a discussion of how the command “Slab!” might be meant either as a single word or an elliptical version of “bring me a slab”. Here Wittgenstein is glancing at a second pretender to the throne: meaning as a mental object or activity. The temptation is to think that the key difference between the two ways someone might mean “Slab!” lies in “something different going on in him when he pronounces it” (§20). Wittgenstein argues against this, and at the end of the section suggests the strongest connection so far between meaning and use: “doesn’t their having the same sense consist in their having the same use?” As with “signify”, “sense” ought to be approached with caution; it doesn’t necessarily mean “meaning”. Assuming even a rough equivalence, however, we are confronted with the idea that use is not just an essential part of considering meaning; meaning consists in use. This is getting mighty close to saying that meaning is use. Note, however, that neither the comment at §10 nor the one at §20 are presented categorically. They are framed as questions. The onus is put on us to decide (and this, of course, is Wittgenstein’s therapeutic method in action). Nevertheless, it’s becoming progressively harder to miss the direction he wants us to go in.

So far meaning has been considered in three different guises: straightforwardly as “meaning” itself, as “signifying” and as “sense”. Each time, use has been implicated in the process, and each time its role has become more central: use helps clarify meaning (§5); only use shows what words signify (§10); and sense consists in use (§20). At §37, however, Wittgenstein turns his attention to naming (although this is prefigured at §15), and at §39 he introduces a pronoun in the guise of Siegfried’s magic sword “Nothung” (NB: previous translations of the Investigations substituted “Excalibur”). Here, it seems, we are tackling the word/object connection in its strongest possible manifestation. Surely, no matter how things function elsewhere, the meaning of a pronoun is the object it names? And this, of course, is precisely what Wittgenstein denies.

The discussion hinges upon making clear the hardness of the “is” involved in the statement “the object is the meaning”. This is an identity-claim, so it’s not like “grass is green” but like “Johnny Rotten is John Lydon”. (Note how “green is grass” is nonsense, but “John Lydon is Johnny Rotten” is not. Likewise, the nouns in “the object is the meaning” are interchangeable.) Wittgenstein’s task, then, is to force us to confront the full implications of this claim. To this end he points out that if the object (or person) is the meaning of the pronoun then the word must cease to have meaning if the object is destroyed (or dies) because the meaning itself is thereby destroyed. Yet clearly this doesn’t (usually) happen. Why not? In answering this, he first considers (§41) a situation where it would be right to say that the object’s destruction renders the word meaningless. If a named tool in the builder’s game is broken then it could be said that the symbol for that tool is meaningless, but only because the symbol no longer achieves anything. It has no use because no convention has been established about what to do in such a case. As soon as a convention is put in place (eg, builder B shakes his head whenever he’s asked for a broken object) then the symbol continues to function. It has a meaning because it has a use. In the same way, for us names have meaning in phrases such as "Jones is dead" because we have a whole series of linguistic conventions relating to talking about the deceased. In fact, such is the primacy of use over object as the grounds for meaning that it is even possible to imagine a meaningful name that signifies no object whatsoever (see §42). All the name needs is a role in the language-game. This, I think, amounts to a devastating attack on the attempt to equate “meaning” with “object”. The final stronghold has been breached.

During §§1-42 the object/meaning correlation is doggedly tracked through various manifestations, backed into a corner and exposed as empty. Surely now (we think) Wittgenstein can stop skirting round the issue and categorically assert that meaning is use? Instead, we get this:

For a large class of cases of the employment of the word “meaning” – though not for all – this word can be explained in this way: the meaning of a word is its use in the language.

And the meaning of a name is sometimes explained by pointing to its bearer.

Philosophical Investigations §43

Taken by itself, “the meaning of a word is its use in the language” is exactly the categorical statement we were hoping for. Unfortunately, it comes at the end of a passage which seems expressly designed to undercut the potency of its message and perhaps mangle it beyond recognition. Why, for example, has Wittgenstein suddenly moved from what meaning is (or isn’t) to how the word “meaning” is explained? What is the implication of the caveat “though not for all”? If some explanations of meaning don’t involve use, is it because the object is the meaning in such cases? But that would directly contradict the arguments outlined above! So if the explanation doesn’t involve use and the meaning isn’t the object then what the hell is meaning in such situations? And, anyway, which situations are we actually talking about? Which explanations of meaning fall under “though not for all”? And, while we’re listing our grievances, what are we supposed to make of the second paragraph of §43? It seems to fly in the face of the important distinction Wittgenstein makes at §40 between the meaning of a name and its bearer. Surely we don’t explain meaning by pointing at the bearer; we explain who the bearer is?

Once we’ve resisted the urge to throw our copy of the Investigations across the room, we might gather our litany of complaints into one central question: in what sense (if any) does Wittgenstein actually say that meaning is use? He spends a lot of time presenting powerful arguments to show what meaning isn’t, and all the while nudges us closer and closer to the idea that use is the only thing that fits the bill. But then, at the crucial moment, he seems to pull back. Or, rather, he both does and he doesn’t. He both says the words and retracts them at the same time. So instead of a straightforward declaration we get a caveat within a caveat that leaves us with more questions than answers.

How are we to make sense of this? I think the key lies in Wittgenstein’s descriptive approach to philosophy. Before we get to that, however, we need to consider an issue I side-stepped earlier: the role of ostensive definition. And that will be the subject of the next post.#

Meaning is Use Part II