Look and See the resemblances - Reading Wittgenstein

§§31-80. These sections of the Philosophical Investigations introduce two important conceptions of Wittgenstein's view of the entire philosophical enterprise. The first is his notion that if you want to understand something you must look and see (§66). The second is that of "family resemblances" (§67). 

Look and see: Why does Wittgenstein discuss philosophy as a task of 'look and see'? In his discussion of "ostensive definition" that carries over from the first 30 sections, Wittgenstein notices that often there is a serious problem with the word "this." If one considers language as a collection of "names" that point to an "object" (logical atomism, as it were), the word 'this' - which is the "most" ostensive word you can think of - starts to seem like "the only genuine name." But of course how could it be? There is no one definite object "this" points to, and hence it is always in need of a supplemental definition. 

Wittgenstein thinks that in this entire discussion there is a certain "subliming" of our language. He says, about "this" being the only genuine name, "this queer conception springs from a tendency to sublime [sublimieren] the logic of our language" (§38). This verb should be better translated "sublimate," as in the chemical process of a solid turning into a gas - not the "sublime" in the 19th century sense, i.e. that thing - like an abyss - that reaches the limits of our language, and extends beyond them. Sublime in that sense is a bit too dramatic. Instead, Wittgenstein is trying to point out that philosophers, whenever they have a hard time with fitting a particular thing (like the word "this") into a certain way of thinking (such as "ostensive definition") - when language "goes on holiday" as he says - they resort to "subliming" this language, i.e. making something concrete and ordinary into a much more serious affair.

It is in this context that W. launches a more detailed discussion of "naming," and repeats what he said earlier in §49, when he says that "naming is so far not a move in the language-game" (see my last post). It culminates in a discussion of broom-sticks. The question is whether if I say my broomstick is in the corner, is it a more "fundamental" analysis to say that in the corner is a broom-handle with a brush on it, or a broomstick? In other words, does analysis give us something better than just plain old "broomstick." And if I said, 'bring me the broomstick with the brush which it is fitted on to it' wouldn't I answer "Do you want the broom? Why do you put it so oddly" (§60)? The point here is that what matters is the use of language in the language game, and so no, the analysis of the broomstick into stick and brush is not better at all, its just a different language game. 

And then Wittgenstein anticipates an objection - and here we get what he means with the phrase 'look and see.' The objection might be 'but what is the essence of a language-game?' "You take the easy way out" one might say, "you talk about all sorts of language-games, but have nowhere said what the essence of a language-game, and hence of language, is" (§65). W.'s rejoinder is that phenomena are related to each other in many different ways. If we're interested in an "essence", or what is at least in "common," we have to "look and see whether there is anything in common to them all" (§66). This is essential to how W. sees language, because as his next analysis of the concept of "game" shows, there are many similarities between football and handball (and other such games), but many differences as well. 

Family Resemblances. But if one must 'look and see' to understand a concept such as "game" and the relationships between the many different types of games, what is one looking at? W. says here that he "can think of no better expression to characterize these similarities than 'family resemblances'" (§67). E.g., if we think about the concept of number, we get things like cardinal numbers, rational numbers, etc., and they all have similarities to each other, and also differences. Does that mean there is a single "essence?" No. Instead, W. uses the metaphor of a thread: "we extend our concept of number as in spinning a thread we twist fiber on fiber. And the strength of the thread does not reside in the fact that some one fiber runs through its whole length, but in the overlapping of many fibers" (§67). 

But what does this mean for our conception of things like games? It means that in a certain measure, there is no boundary to concepts like this. There is as much difference between basketball and solitare as there is similarity, but we would be hard pressed to say that the one is or the other isn't. Now, this does not mean you cannot "draw" a boundary, but it does mean we don't need a boundary in order to use the concept (§68). 

This notion of not having sharp boundaries to our concepts certainly does not feed into the physics envy of philosophers (although I'm not sure how many philosophers still feel this - according to Rorty, it's more the scientists who now have "philosopher-envy"), because it means that one's concepts are not, in themselves, all that exact. But for W., it does not matter, because the point of "defining" something is secondary to what we are doing with it. In other words, if one is to point to a certain conceptual space, the issue is not how clearly it is demarcated, but rather how this space is employed (§71). When we look at what is common in things we are trying to show how this conceptual space is used in similar ways, not how this conceptual space "is" ontologically. 

Now, the philosopher in me is quite uncomfortable with W.'s project. In a certain sense, I would not want to give up all ontological claims. What about claims to justice and a vision of a new world? Would these be accommodated if the point was to "look and see?" The notion of an ideal can be quite critical of the present age, and hence progressive, while focusing all one's attention on the thing in front of you can be quite opposite. Of course, it is still too early in my reading to really know how W.'s project might affect this, and so I guess I will look and see. 

 

Labeling and Classification - Reading Wittgenstein

[Preface: I've decided to tackle the Philosophical Investigations again. The first time I tried, I got 86 pages in, and then stopped (not sure why). But after reading Robert Brandom's Articulating Reasons: An Introduction to Inferentialism, I thought it best to look back to W. But I must warn my readers that I may be coming to this text with specifically "inferentialist" concerns, which may not be fair to Wittgenstein. So, with this in mind, I offer some thoughts on the text, my reading of it (to the best of my ability).]

§§1-30: Labeling and Classification.  

I begin quoting §13: "When we say: 'Every word in language signifies something' we have so far said nothing whatever; unless we have explained exactly what distinction we wish to make." 

From the very beginning of the book, W. is trying to get at how mistaken it is to think of language as a thing we attach to things, or correlate sounds and objects, etc, and then combine those labels (or names, as §1 has it) into larger and larger units. A simple correlation, e.g., when we say that "naming something is like attaching a label to a thing" (§15) really does nothing for us. And why? Because merely to name something is not yet to make a move in what W. calls a "language game" (§22). 

So what is a language game? W. says that "I shall also call the whole, consisting of language and the actions into which it is woven, a 'language game.'" (§7). Hence in these first thirty sections we hear this word "training" [Abrichten/Unterricht] quite a bit, because when we say "language" we're not merely talking about labeling or naming, but doing something. And so when you teach someone a particular word, you train them in the use of the word, and this "use" is set within an entire complex of various actions and words. And so when you tell someone to do something with a 'rod and lever,' "given the whole rest of the mechanism" (§6), they can do something. 

But if this holism is the case, then clearly when we train people in language, we have definite limits and bounds to a certain language game. So, if I want to teach a child how to cook, the notion of "measurement" takes on a very specific use that may or may not be the same if I were to teach them how to do scientific experiments. Grouping words together into certain "kinds" (W.'s examples are words like "slab" and numerals) thus is essential to any endeavor we enjoin. From this if follows that "how we group words into kinds will depend on the aim of classification, - and on our own inclination" (§17). 

And so we have a major distinction here between labeling and classification. When we analyze a word we are not analyzing how this word "name" something, we are not asking how we first "entertain" a notion. Instead, we are asking what "the part which uttering these words plays in the language-game" (§21), or rather how this word is used, and based on this use, come to something like an understanding through analysis.

Now, this brings up the last issue I'll deal with, and that is this word Lebensform, "form of life." In §23 W. brings up the fact that his use of language game is meant to emphasize how when we speak of language, we are talking about a certain activity, and there are lots of different types of activities (giving orders, reporting an event, play-acting, praying, etc). A form of life, in W.'s terms, seems to be just the things we do, and language is similar to the tools in a tool-box, with many different uses, depending on the objective of what is being done. "Classification" comes into play as we engage in these activities. 

This seems all too clear to me, and I'll give an example. I've meet a few people who are not from the U.S. complain about this thing Americans do - when we see someone we say "how's it going," or "how are you?" It is in the form of a question, but as my friends have complained, we don't really want to know how people are doing. In actual fact, this phrase is really just a greeting, and for whatever reason, we've developed it as just something you say, in a declarative way. But that doesn't also preclude this sentence from ever being used as a question. We can certainly imagine that there are times when the "proper" thing is not done and someone genuinely answers the question - much to our surprise, most likely.

And so Wittgenstein is right - "one has already to know (or be able to do) something in order to be capable of asking a thing's name" (§30). In order to label one must have first classified, and this classification occurs according to the language game (language plus action) it is a part of. 

Cognitive Scientist seeks real physicalist - must love dogs

One of my favorite lines in any pop song, by the band Of Montreal, is "it's like we weren't made for this world - although I wouldn't want to me someone who was..." They're singing about a broken relationship, but in a certain way, this is a basic attitude humans have with their environment, about their lives, about a whole host of things. The traditional Christian notion that we are merely sojourners in this world takes this intuition and runs with it, as does most version of radical politics (although the latter is concerned with reshaping the world so that it is made for us.) 

This is an idea lost in much discussion of cognitive science these days. Recently on the blog "Immanent Frame," under a discussion of David Brook's op-ed the "Neural Buddhists", Edward Slingerland ("Let's get clear about materialism") argues what the real issue of cognitive science, and materialism in general, brings up, is that it contradicts what he calls our "deeply seated" intuition of a folk dualism. This dualism says that we are not our bodies or brains, that somehow we transcend the material world, and in so transcending this world we are "free" and "responsible" beings. Slingerland argues that one of the big problems with someone like Brooks is that he thinks somehow by saying that brain state X corresponds to something Y proves that Y is real. Brooks then goes on to say that religion is most likely going to be more compelling because of this, although the Bible may be on its way out. But Slingerland points out the problem with this. Saying that brain state X corresponds to Y does not prove anything. All it says is that there is a brain state X. Come on!

The real problem Slingerland highlights - and I would suspect a bunch of cognitive scientists (including the likes of Terry Pinker)-  is that correlating brain states to behaviors leads to the "my brain made me do it" argument. In other words, humans are no longer responsible for their actions, because humans are no longer free in a meaningful sense. Empirically, it seems, we are just material; and if we are, then this means the world causes our behavior just as much as it causes the behavior of mushrooms, dogs, and ocean waves (let's not even discuss that this is no "discovery" - Kant said the same thing qua natural law).

And so Slingerland ends with what he thinks will be the "real" challenge given the "consensus" from cognitive scientist community: "how to get our intuitive notions of free will and moral responsibility to peaceably coexist with a materialist conception of the person." 

But is there a real problem here? Do notions of "freedom" and "responsibility" depend whatsoever on a theory of the human person, materialist or what have you? Do you need to say that 'there is this faculty called "will," and only on this basis can you have responsibility?' I say no. There is absolutely no reason we need any such theory, because our practice does entail us holding each other responsible. We don't need such a conception of "person" because in living in any community we continually challenge each other in how we live up to that community's norms - which even Slingerland, who appeals to a "consensus" in the scientific community, realizes. 

Now, if you are not convinced, if you think that correlating brain states with "undesirable behavior Y" (as Slingerland says) does make a difference, there we have a fundamental disagreement as to who or what we are answerable to. What I mean is that by saying that somehow "free will" is an illusion because certain experiments show us that we justify our actions after the fact (such as the one Ben Libet conducted in the 70's - being told to push a button, they found that brain signals connected with pushing the button happened a half second before subjects were 'conscious' of doing it), or that certain mental states occur when such and such environmental factors are in play, is basically saying that we are answerable to the things in the world. Slingerland calls this "objective and measurable." The things in the world are then normative vis-a-vis our mental states, and apparently our ethical states as well (as some cognitive scientist argue). This conception of "answerable" owes much to the traditional analogy for knowledge as perception, "knowing" something is very similar to "seeing" something. E.g., "I know that there is gravity" is similar to saying "I know my computer is white." Both can be verified - one by experiments, the other by observation. 

But this analogy for knowledge is neither the only analogy, nor the most compelling analogy. A much better analogy - something that corresponds to the late 20th century "linguistic turn" - is the analogy for knowledge of "discursive practice." The hinge of this analogy is that knowledge is something that we can use as a premise or a conclusion in an argument (Brandom). In other words, the real importance of knowledge is not whether it matches some inert lifeless "fact" or "world," but how it plays out in games of inference, of commitments, and of judging. Ultimately this makes more sense, because instead of being answerable to an inert world, we become answerable to each other. This is more compelling, because this is more pressing, and indeed, this is a presupposition for any discussion on the topic. Even Slingerland, who talks of "undesirable behavior Y", presupposes these types of language games. Cognitive science can never show us what is undesirable, precisely because in taking "material" as what one is answerable to, all questions of 'desire' are moot. What would it mean to desire a cognitive process? It's just there, that's all.

Of course, this does not mean that somehow we have a mystical soul or spirit that is immaterial. There are not just two options here. One can eschew any theory of human nature if you want, and you'll do just fine. One can talk about narrative instead (which is what assuming a discursive analogy for knowledge would lead one to do). One can say that 'I am such and such a person,' or 'we are such and such a society,' based on history, based on how we have been, and how we are, with each other. Then, based on these notions, we can propose new projects, we can appeal to old memories, projects and memories that we call "ideals," notions of how we ought to be, and how to get there, without the illusion that we have always "been" only one thing. 

But this just means that we acknowledge that description of how we do things, such as cognitive science tries to describe, is nothing we really want to reconcile ourselves to. We are always fighting against this. And if one day, with the help of cognitive science, we finally reconciled ourselves to the way the world is, I doubt anyone would want to live here. 

Lessing's Ditch and Theology

The well known problem of "Lessing's Ditch" has been bothering my lately. The basic idea of the problem is that there can be no "necessary" truths based on "contingent" events. In other words, the ditch is trying to jump from contingent happenings (i.e. historical revelation) to truth that is necessary (i.e., divine revelation). How can one assert the ultimate truth of something that is particular, that happens just at one time and one time only? I really have no good answer to this. It has been particularly bothersome because, as someone who will be a pastor in a congregation in a few months, I have to figure out how to deal with very contingent historical material that is presented in a book that the community takes to be more than contingent. 

One good example. In Corinthians Paul admonishes women to keep their hair long, because that's what women do. Now, from all the historical research on this particular passage, it appears in the ancient world that a woman's fecundity was intimately connected with the length of her hair. So, the longer the hair, the more babies she could produce. In a world where average length of life was normally less than 30 years, and in which famine and death were the norm, one could very well understand why Paul went along with it. It would be analogous to a pastor today saying, 'we know that smoking is really bad when you're pregnant, so don't do it.' That's good advice, but of course its historical. This was not known 80 years ago. 

So, what to do with this? One might dismiss this particular passage, and the justification would be quite good: this is an archaic belief that we know now is not the case. But then the claim that this is divine revelation of an ultimate kind starts to be murky. Drawing a line, of course, is not really that difficult. Theologians for centuries have had "rules for reading," i.e. rules for how to take problematic passages and interpret them in the "correct" theological way. I suppose a passage like this would need to a rule for reading. Perhaps something like this: 'if the author is pointing to an untranslatable practice based on certain medical knowledge of the time, then one ought to not take it too seriously.' 

Of course, that does nothing at all for the problem of Lessing's ditch. But what it does do is point out something essential about reading texts like this. Let's say this points out the way interpretation works, i.e. the "hermeneutical circle." This "circle," especially as articulated by Heidegger (and perhaps as thought through in Wittgenstein's notion of form of life), is essential to any interpretation of such complex passages. The basic notion is that there is what Heidegger called a "fore-structure" to all understanding. When we try to understand something, it's not just a "subject" (us) and and "object" (a particular text), and the subject - without any presuppositions attached - just "reads" the object in a flat, one-way manner. Instead, its a circle: we have presuppositions that are necessary for us to be able to read, and we bring these presuppositions to the particular texts. These presuppositions include our language, our cultural history, our life history, etc. These are absolutely essential aspects of reading anything, and hence cannot be thrown away. At the same time, the more we attend to the "matter itself" (as Heidegger puts it), we will find that the text throws us back on ourselves, and forces us to sometimes adjust our interpretation, and sometimes to allow it to change our presuppositions. This process, this hermeneutical circle, is essential to any working out of problems just as the one from Corinthians. We hear this historically, and realize that our understanding of it (in the sense of an understanding that forces us to act, or to change our behavior) is predicated upon our ability to match our presuppositions with the text, and the ability of the text to alter those same presuppositions. But of course, when it comes to the "hair" example, this would hardly alter our presuppositions - we are too imbued with modern medicine to even be able to hear this text fully. 

This also, I think, helps with Lessing's ditch. It helps because it collapses the problem. The real issue isn't the transition form "contingent" to "necessary" truth. The real issue is how does one's understanding interact with a text which one's understanding and tradition claim is ultimate. The real problem is not the historical events themselves, but rather how our understanding interacts with these historical events, and makes sense of the claim they have on us now. This is less a philosophical and more a hermeneutical problem. This is the direction people like Hans Frei and George Linbeck go. And this is the only direction I see myself going.