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

From My Notes on Philosophy…

I am currently preparing yet another post on meaning and use, and as part of that I’ve been looking through the notes I’ve made over the two months I’ve been working on this blog. Some of them, I think, shed light on the process of doing philosophy, so here’s a brief selection.

My head hurts.

1. “Fetch me Graeme”, “He’s dead.”
2. “Fetch me an apple”, “We’ve run out.”
3. “Fetch me another dodo”, “You just ate the very last one”.

FFS! What do I want to say?

But! Talking about explanation of meaning in §43. I keep making the same mistake over and over.

(Careful)

NO! (FFS!)

W is (1) showing how a small, innocent-seeming conceptual error early on can give rise to serious puzzlement further down the line, and (2) mounting a fierce attack on Realist (?) conception of language and its attempt to… er, what?

(How does this analogy work? Why can’t my mind focus on this?)

Look up “purple”

Russell + Tractatus Wittgenstein didn’t have OD, you donk!

It is a rule for using the word “element” that… that what? (Brain’s gone again).

What damage do they do, these conceptual confusions, other than keep philosophers in work?

But! The difference between superficial similarities and pertinent ones. (Er, what is the difference?)

If a rule of law is nowhere regarded then it is obsolete. But that doesn’t mean no-one ever breaks perfectly useful and important laws. Any law can be broken. That’s why they’re there.

The philosopher’s prayer: “Lord, today at least, let me say something correct.”

Interesting he doesn’t say “is logic sublime?”

Also: look up “sublime”!

And if you’re not writing for someone in the grip of a picture, who are you writing for? To disinterested outsiders the whole thing looks crazy.

The scene in the Graduate’s Bar in Warwick: “So what are we supposed to do after that?!” “Find a more useful purpose for our lives.”

(I’m getting side-tracked here.)

O
	X	O
X	X	X	O

“The king must have an inherent castling potential which is obtainable in some circumstances but not others”. But what is this potential? In what way can it be possessed by the king? How, exactly, is it negated by (eg) having to cross the checking potential of an enemy piece? And so on.

AAARGH!

Wittgenstein's Toolkit

One rough but helpful way of considering the structure of the Investigations might be as follows: §§1-133 specify a new role for philosophy and introduce the necessary tools for the job. The rest of the book then gets on with actually putting those tools to work. Our understanding of them certainly grows richer as we see their application, but substantially everything needed for the task is there in the book’s first quarter.

With this in mind, it’s perhaps useful to take stock of the “tools” provided. The comments below are not intended to supplant my earlier posts. Hopefully, though, they’ll highlight the positive aspect of the Investigations and show that it’s not simply about taking a hammer to traditional philosophy.

Language-Games

If I had to sum up the central philosophical insight of Wittgenstein’s later philosophy, I’d say it was this: language is an activity. More specifically, it is a rule-governed activity performed by agents in particular circumstances. As he says at §25, “Giving orders, asking questions, telling stories, having a chat, are as much a part of our natural history as walking, eating, drinking, playing.” This consideration stands behind all the strands of his later philosophy and it’s the reason he seized upon the analogy between language and games.

Viewing language in this way highlights its active and varied role. Language is something we do, and we do it in many different, yet subtly interconnected situations. To understand it properly, therefore, it must be considered in context. Attempts to abstract language in the hope of discovering its essence merely falsify the phenomenon. Indeed, the whole urge to produce explanations sub specie aeternitatis is misguided because explanation is itself a language-game that only makes sense when viewed in situ: “If we say, ‘Every word in the language signifies something’, we have so far said nothing whatever; unless we explain exactly what distinction we wish to make” (§13). In such cases language is no longer working; it has gone on holiday. And the only result is nonsense.

Another benefit of likening language to a series of games is that it brings out the importance of two related features: training and rules. Language, like a game, is something we learn. We learn it in a variety of ways: sometimes we’re required to memorise a formal set of rules (at school, for example), but often we work out correct usage from observing others, and sometimes we just copy what everyone else is doing. This is all part of what Wittgenstein calls “mastering a technique” (§150).

Learning and application are intrinsically linked. We can’t do things with language until we’ve grasped the rules (mastered the technique), but the whole process of learning is shaped by the application. This is another way of saying that language can’t be understood when detached from its context. The rules and definitions which are supposed to explain meaning seem mysterious or puzzling when they’re extracted from the situations that give them purpose. Returning them to their rightful home dispels the mystery, and this is the intention behind Wittgenstein’s assertion at §43 that “the meaning of a word is its use in the language”.

Meaning is Use

Clearly, approaching meaning in terms of use is in keeping with the idea of language as an activity. Its philosophical advantage is that it brings the question of meaning down to earth. By deriving meaning from practice we are less prone to abstracting the concept and viewing it as something occult. In particular, we avoid the temptation to think meaning must be a thing – either the physical object correlated with a word or some kind of mental picture.

More generally, we’re able to trace the complex grammatical rules governing concept-words (including “meaning”) as they are applied in our lives. We see distinctions and similarities that are usually overlooked, and this prevents us from reaching for limited or partial definitions (eg, “knowledge is justified true belief”) and then being puzzled when they conflict with what actually happens.

What is less clear, however, is the precise status of the claim that meaning is use. Wittgenstein cannot be proposing it as a theory (unless he’s made a shocking blunder), and yet as a description of the use of “meaning” it is hardly self-evidently true. This, presumably, is the reason for the caveat in §43 (“For a large class of cases […] though not for all”). But the caveat in itself is troubling because it seems like he’s saying “in some cases the meaning of a word is an object rather than use” and yet (a) he elsewhere brings forward powerful arguments to show that meaning cannot be an object and (b) use does appear to play some part in all explanations of meaning (eg, the difference between “This→● is red” as a definition and as a complaint (because I’d asked for something orange) is a matter of context, although this raises a further question as to how far “use” and “context” are synonymous).

Further thought is needed. For now, though, I think we can say this: Wittgenstein invites us to consider meaning in terms of use because (a) we often do explain meaning by describing the use of a word and (b) from a philosophical viewpoint it helps avoid certain temptations that are more strongly exerted in other forms of explanation – and it does this because it keeps language fixed in the human activities that give it its life.

Family Resemblance Concepts

It is easy to suppose that all items falling under a particular concept must have something in common in virtue of which they qualify as examples of that concept. Wittgenstein maintains, however, that if we look at the way concepts function in our lives (ie, derive their meaning from use) we will see that this is not always the case. Sometimes concepts exhibit a family of affinities that have developed over time, “as in spinning a thread we twist fibre on fibre” (§67). The requirement for commonality is a hasty assumption that often leads to confusion.

For example, if we consider all the different instances of what’s called “understanding” we may become puzzled as to how these varied items all fall under the same concept. Here it’s tempting to posit a phenomenon (perhaps some kind of mental act) that will provide the unity we think we need. But far from solving the problem, the phenomenon creates a host of further puzzles and our confusion only deepens.

The notion of family resemblance concepts frees us from this impasse. It shows how concepts can retain integrity without commonality: they do it by remaining useful. Thus our preconceived need for unity is trumped by our actual behaviour and we no longer have to invent what we do not see.

Forms of Life

[NB: consider this section a “first go” at describing the importance of forms of life. I’m making some pretty contentious claims here and absolutely reserve the right to change my mind later on.]

Approaching language from the point of view of use inevitably brings the agent into the picture. If language is something that gets done then who is doing the doing? Wittgenstein’s favoured term for this “doer” is the strikingly non-specific “form of life”. Why choose this expression?

Well, for one thing, using “form of life” rather than “person” or “human being” discourages us from dragging in any distorting preconceptions we might have about ourselves. Nothing is assumed. Rather, the form of life is whatever happens to emerge from descriptions of linguistic activity. This allows for distinctions and connections both within and across any particular species, as well as change over time in the practices of individuals and linguistic communities. We might link the term to language-games here and say that insofar as two individuals share a language-game they share a form of life.

This non-presumptive generality of form arises out of the focus on use, and is linked to the very nature of philosophy as Wittgenstein saw it. The philosopher’s task is to outline the concepts we have. To go further and ask why we have them is to cross the boundary between a conceptual investigation and an empirical one. For the philosopher, therefore, the form of life represents a terminus (PPF §345: “What has to be accepted, the given, is – one might say – forms of life”). It is here we find the foundation of our concepts, not in theories about the a priori structure of the world, nor in theories about the a priori structure of experience. We simply have to accept the form of life as manifested through activity. “This is how we think. This is how we act. This is how we talk about it.“ (Zettel, §309). We can go no further; the buck stops here.

The Descriptive Method

A major source of philosophical error involves faulty presuppositions (or theories) about the way language is actually used. We assume commonality, essence, similarity, and so on. The only way round this is to get a clear view of language. In other words, we must abstain from theory and simply describe its use (§66: “don’t think, but look!”). Perhaps surprisingly, this description is not preparation for developing better answers to our problems; it is the answer itself.

Why does description resolve philosophical problems? Because it brings our attention back from a situation where a concept is puzzling (ie, philosophy) to one where it is not (ie, our lives). The concept of knowledge, for example, puzzles philosophers. Is it possible? And if it is, then how? And yet every day we use the term without any difficulty at all. Wittgenstein suggests the problem arises when we lose sight of the position that such concepts occupy in our day-to-day affairs. “The civic status of a contradiction, or its status in civic life – that is the philosophical problem” (§125). Description restores clarity, and “the clarity that we are aiming at is indeed complete clarity. But this simply means that the philosophical problems should completely disappear” (§133).

¶

Apologies for going over (mostly) old ground, but I’ve been keen to do two things: first, to highlight the fundamental importance of §§1-133 with regard to the rest of the Investigations; and secondly, to show the unity of approach behind the positive aspects of Wittgenstein’s later philosophy.

Speaking from personal experience, it’s tempting to gloss over §§1-133. Arguments about logical atomism and propositional form can seem more relevant to historians than anyone engaged with philosophy today, and it’s easy think, “When do we get to the sexy stuff? When do we get to rule-following or the private language argument? That’s where the action is.” But the discussion of the “sexy stuff” flows directly out of the approach and methodology developed in the book’s opening quarter. If you don’t have a clear grasp of that then it’s going to be next to impossible to see the later arguments in their right light. (For now I shall merely flag up the additional point that you probably can’t get a clear grasp of §§1-133 until you’ve read the rest of the book.) If my experience here is atypical then: good. If, however, it reflects a more general trend then: be warned.

Regarding the unity of Wittgenstein’s approach, I think it’s a corollary of its radical nature; the whole thing points away from more traditional philosophical methods. For me, this puts a deep question mark over attempts to cherry-pick his ideas or blend them with other approaches. How far, for example, can you pray-in-aid family resemblance while maintaining a broadly naturalist approach? Family resemblance ramifies into notions such as “meaning as use”, grammar and the descriptive method – and these notions work against the fundamental thrust of naturalistic analysis. The reason why such cherry-picking happens is interesting and (I believe) often has as much to do with disarming the threat of Wittgenstein as anything else. But that’s for another post.

One Hundred Years Ago Today

On Wednesday 18 October 1911, Bertrand Russell was having tea with CK Ogden in his rooms at Trinity College Cambridge when they were interrupted by a complete stranger. As Russell wrote to Lady Ottoline Morrell, "an unknown German appeared, speaking very little English but refusing to speak German. He turned out to be a man who had learned engineering at Charlottenberg, but during his course had acquired by himself, a passion for the philosophy of mathematics and has now come to Cambridge on purpose to hear me."


The German turned out to be an Austrian called Ludwig Wittgenstein. Things would never be quite the same again for either of them - just three months later Russell wrote to Lady Morrell: "I love him & feel he will solve the problems I am too old to solve ... He is the young man one hopes for."


Dr John Preston from the University of Reading has set up a website to chronicle Wittgenstein's philosophical development on a day-by-day basis. As he says, "from 18th October 2011, the site will slowly build up information covering events up to the end of 1926, at the same pace as these events took place, exactly one century ago". Should be well worth a look.