Please note that this
page might take half a minute or so to load because of its length.
Unfortunately,
Internet Explorer 11 will no longer play the videos I have
embedded below. As far as I can tell, they play as intended in other Browsers.
However, if you have
Privacy Badger [PB] installed, they won't play in Google Chrome unless you
disable PB for this site.
[Having said that,
I have just discovered that they will play in IE11 if you have upgraded to
Windows 10! It looks like the problem was with Windows 7 and earlier
versions of that operating system.]
If you are using Internet Explorer 10 (or later), you might find some of the
links I have used won't work properly unless you switch to 'Compatibility View'
(in the Tools Menu); for IE11 select 'Compatibility View Settings' and add this site (anti-dialectics.co.uk). Microsoft's browser,
Edge, automatically
renders these links compatible; Windows 10 does likewise. I haven't checked yet, but I assume that this is also the
case with Windows 11.
However, if you are using Windows 10, IE11 and Edge unfortunately appear to colour these links
somewhat erratically. They are meant to be mid-blue, but those two browsers
render them intermittently light blue, yellow, purple and red!
Firefox and Chrome reproduce them correctly.
Several browsers also appear
to underline
these links erratically. Many are underscored boldly in black, others more
lightly in blue! They are all meant to be the latter.
Finally, if you are viewing this
with Mozilla Firefox, you might not be able to read all the symbols I have
used
-- Mozilla often replaces them with an "º'.
There are no such problems with Chrome, Edge, or Internet Explorer, as far as I can
determine.
As is the case with all my
work, nothing here should be read as an attack
either on Historical Materialism [HM] -- a theory I fully accept --, or,
indeed,
revolutionary socialism. I remain as committed to the self-emancipation of the
working class and the dictatorship of the proletariat as I was when I first became a revolutionary
thirty-five years ago.
The
difference between
Dialectical Materialism [DM] and HM, as I see it, is explained
here.
Several readers have complained about the number of
links I have added to these Essays because they say it makes them very difficult
to read. Of course, DM-supporters can hardly lodge that complaint since they
believe everything is interconnected, and that must surely apply to
Essays that attempt to debunk that
very idea. However, to those who find they do make these Essays
difficult to read I say this: ignore them -- unless you want to access
further supporting evidence and argument for a particular point, or a certain
topic fires your interest.
Others wonder why I have added links to subjects
or issues that are part of common knowledge (such as recent Presidents of the
USA, UK Prime Ministers, the names of rivers and mountains, films, or certain words
that are in common usage). I have done so for the following reason: my Essays
are read all over the world and by people from all 'walks of life', so I can't
assume that topics which are part of common knowledge in 'the west' are equally
well-known across the planet -- or, indeed, by those who haven't had the benefit
of the sort of education that is generally available in the 'advanced economies',
or any at
all. Many of my readers also struggle with English, so any help I can give them
I will continue to provide.
Finally on this specific topic, several of the aforementioned links
connect to
web-pages that regularly change their
URLs, or which even vanish from the
Internet altogether. While I try to update them when it becomes apparent
that they have changed or have disappeared, I cannot possibly keep on top of
this all the time. I would greatly appreciate it, therefore, if readers
informed me
of any dead links they happen to notice.
In general, links to 'Haloscan'
no longer seem to work, so readers needn't tell me about them! Links to
RevForum, RevLeft, Socialist Unity and The North Star also appear to have died.
~~~~~~oOo~~~~~~
This Essay seeks to
challenge a well established and dominant set of ideas about 'mind', language
and 'cognition' -- theories that are widely accepted by
philosophers, cognitive scientists, revolutionaries and other assorted Marxists.
I call this tradition the
Platonic-Christian-Cartesian Paradigm.
It is
important to add, however, that many of the conclusions drawn
below depend on much that has gone before in other Essays published at this site (particularly Essay Twelve
Part One),
as well as others yet to be published.
Moreover, the material
below is far from complete;
as I noted on the opening page of this site:
I am only publishing this material on the Internet
because several comrades whose opinions I respect urged me to do so back in 2005
-- even though
the work you see before you is less than half complete. Many of my ideas are still in
the formative stage and need
considerable
attention devoted to them to
mature.
I estimate this project will take another ten
or twenty years to complete before it is fit to publish, either here,
in its final form, or in hard copy.
At a later date, I will be
returning to this Essay to add material on Vygotsky and Chomsky, as well as a
handful others on the left who have written on this topic.
Even in
its incomplete state, the reader will find this Essay challenging the widely held
views
mentioned above -- i.e., those belonging to the Platonic-Christian-Cartesian
Paradigm. This family of theories has in one form or another dominated 'Western' thought since Ancient Greek times,
and that includes
ideas concerning the nature of 'mind', 'consciousness' and 'cognition' held by the vast majority of Dialectical Marxists.
~~~~~~oOo~~~~~~
It is important to note that a good 50% of my case
against this area of DM has been relegated to the
End Notes. This has been done to allow the main body of the Essay to flow a little more
smoothly. This means that if readers want to appreciate fully my case against
this area of DM, they will need to
consult this material. In many
cases, I have qualified my comments (often adding much greater detail and
substantiating evidence), and I have even raised objections (some obvious, many not -- and,
indeed, some that will
have occurred to the reader) to my own arguments -- which I have then answered.
[I explain why I have adopted this tactic in
Essay One.]
If readers skip this material, then my answers to any
qualms or objections they might have will be missed, as will my expanded comments,
evidence
and clarifications. Since I have been
debating this theory with comrades for over 25 years, I have heard all the
objections there are! [Many of the more recent on-line debates have been listed here.]
It
is also worth adding that phrases like "ruling-class theory", "ruling-class view of reality",
"ruling-class ideology" (etc.) used at this site (in connection with
Traditional Philosophy and DM), aren't meant to
suggest that all or even most members of various ruling-classes
actually invented these ways of thinking or of
seeing the world (although some of them did -- for example,
Heraclitus,
Plato,
Cicero,
and
Marcus Aurelius).
They are intended to
highlight theories (or "ruling ideas") that are conducive to, or which rationalise, the
interests of the various ruling-classes history has inflicted on humanity, whoever invents them.
Up until
recently this dogmatic approach to knowledge had almost invariably been promoted by thinkers who
either relied on ruling-class patronage, or who, in one capacity or another, helped run
the system
for the elite.**
However, that will become the
central topic of Parts Two and Three of Essay Twelve (when they are published); until then, the reader is
directed
here,
here, and
here for
more
details.
[**Exactly
how this applies to DM will, of course, be explained in several other Essays
published at this site (especially
here,
here,
and here).
In addition to the three links in the previous paragraph, I have summarised the
argument (but this time tailored for absolute beginners!)
here.]
This Essay isn't
meant to be an academic study, merely an intervention in revolutionary theory.
In that case, unnecessary technicalities have
been omitted. For those who want more details, I have listed books and articles
in the End Notes that further elaborate on, or
which defend, the approach adopted at this site.
The reader must not, however, assume that I agree with everything contained in
these other works.
Throughout much
of this Essay I have blurred the distinction we should normally want to draw
between the meaning of a word and the
sense of a proposition.
A more pedantic deployment of this distinction wouldn't significantly alter many
of the conclusions reached in the
main body of this Essay, but it would merely stretch further the patience of the reader.
[I
have listed several different meanings of "meaning"
here, and
have outlined the rationale
behind the distinction between meaning and sense, here.]
Finally, I begin this Essay with a brief summary of some of the results of Essay Twelve. In that case, any
readers who find what I
have to say at the start somewhat controversial or unconvincing should, naturally, consult that Essay
for supporting argument and evidence. [Part
One of Essay Twelve has already been published; the unpublished material has,
however, been summarised
here.]
~~~~~~oOo~~~~~~
As of
November 2023, this Essay is just over 223,000 words long; a summary of some
of its main ideas will be posted at this site in the coming months.
The material presented
below does not represent my final view of any of the issues
raised; it is merely 'work in progress'.
Anyone using these links must remember that
they will be skipping past supporting argument and evidence set out in earlier
sections.
If your Firewall/Browser has a pop-up blocker, you will need to press the
"Ctrl" key at the same time or these and the other links here won't work!
I have adjusted the
font size used at this site to ensure that even those with impaired
vision can read what I have to say. However, if the text is still either too
big or too small for you, please adjust your browser settings!
In this Essay I will be discussing in
much greater
detail several theories of language, 'consciousness', and 'cognition'
promoted both by Dialectical Marxists and Traditional Philosophers. I will also
focus
on the work of
Voloshinov
and Vygotsky,
as well as others on the left who have written on these
topics. Furthermore, I will also examine the unfavourable reaction certain
aspects of
Wittgenstein's
work have in general received from revolutionaries. That will augment what I have already
published
here. Finally, I will
also be criticising some of Chomsky's ideas in this area.
It is worth pointing out at the
beginning what I won't be considering: (i) The relation between language and
power, and (ii) The connection between gender and language. Nor will I be
covering (iii) Regional dialects, (iv) The standardisation of language, or (v)
Examples of ideologically-compromised discourse -- i.e., racist, reactionary,
and sexist speech. That isn't because I don't think these are important -- far from it.
It is because several will be tackled in Part Seven of Essay Twelve (when it is finally published).
The rest have already been adequately addressed in books and articles written by
others on the far left. Since I don't disagree with the substantive points they make
on such issues, comment would clearly be superfluous in an Essay that is already
far too long.
It was established in Essay Twelve Part Seven
(not yet published) that a particular theory of language has dominated 'Western'
(and, indeed, 'Eastern') thought for over two thousand years. This approach sees the primary role of discourse (in fact, in many cases, its only
role) as representational, and hence that it acts solely as a vehicle for thought
(or, perhaps, an outer expression of 'inner thought'),
not as a means of communication. In fact, if discourse was
ever (reluctantly) seen as a means of
communication, it was then often regarded as a vehicle for communicating thoughtsalready arrived at
independently of, and prior to, social interaction.
In fact, language was originally considered
-- by
priests, theologians and philosophers, for example -- to be a gift of the 'gods', and thus a
'hot line' the use of which would allow them to re-present their 'thoughts' to humanity -- or,
to be more accurate,
re-presented only to a 'chosen' few. Alternatively, the latter could think
'divine' thoughts on behalf of the masses, which thoughts were often expressed in
esoteric,
allegorical, poetic or figurative language, who would then deliver these
profundities to 'expectant humanity' as if
they had come from on high.
Indeed, as
Umberto Eco
points out (in relation to the 'western', Christian tradition):
"God spoke before all things,
and said, 'Let there be light.' In this way, he created both heaven and earth;
for with the utterance of the divine word, 'there was light'.... Thus Creation
itself arose through an act of speech; it is only by giving things their names
that he created them and gave them their
ontological
status....
"In
Genesis..., the Lord
speaks to man for the first time.... We are not told in what language God spoke
to Adam. Tradition has pictured it as a sort of language of interior
illumination, in which God...expresses himself....
"...Clearly we are here
in the presence of a motif, common to other religions and mythologies -- that of
the
nomothete, the
name-giver, the creator of language." [Eco (1997), pp.7-8. Bold emphases
and links added.]
Language was therefore a vehicle for the "inner illumination" of the 'soul'; a
hot-line to
'God'. Unsurprisingly, the theories concocted by countless generations of
ruling-class hacks turned out to be those that -- 'coincidentally', you
understand -- almost
invariably rationalised or 'justified' the status quo, alongside
obscene
inequality and systematic oppression.
These
ancient fantasies also suggested that not only had the heavens been called into existence by
the use of language,
but language
-- The 'Word of God' -- now ran the entire show. And yet, the exclusive medium
in which much of this fable was expressed wasn't just any old language, and it
certainly wasn't the vernacular. It was a highly specialised language full of
freshly minted, jargonised expressions, invented by these theorists in order to re-present
the 'divine' order and 'god's' thoughts to humanity. Ordinary words based on the lives and
experience of ordinary working people were plainly inadequate. As the late
Professor Havelock pointed out:
"As long as preserved
communication remained oral, the environment could be described or explained
only in the guise of stories which represent it as the work of agents: that is
gods.
Hesiod takes the step of trying to unify those stories into one great
story, which becomes a cosmic theogony. A great series of matings and births of
gods is narrated to symbolise the present experience of the sky, earth, seas,
mountains, storms, rivers, and stars. His poem is the first attempt we have in a
style in which the resources of documentation have begun to intrude upon the
manner of an acoustic composition. But his account is still a narrative of
events, of 'beginnings,' that is, 'births,' as his critics the
Presocratics were to put it. From the standpoint of a sophisticated
philosophical language, such as was available to Aristotle, what was lacking
was a set of commonplace but abstract terms which by their interrelations could
describe the physical world conceptually; terms such as space, void, matter,
body, element, motion, immobility, change, permanence, substratum, quantity,
quality, dimension, unit, and the like. Aside altogether from the coinage of
abstract nouns, the conceptual task also required the elimination of verbs of
doing and acting and happening, one may even say, of living and dying, in favour
of a syntax which states permanent relationships between conceptual terms
systematically. For this purpose the required linguistic mechanism was furnished
by the timeless present of the verb to be -- the copula of analytic
statement.
"The history of early
philosophy is usually written under the assumption that this kind of vocabulary
was already available to the first Greek thinkers. The evidence of their own
language is that it was not. They had to initiate the process of inventing it....
Nevertheless, the
Presocratics could not invent such language by an act of novel creation. They
had to begin with what was available, namely, the vocabulary and syntax of
orally memorised speech, in particular the language of
Homer and
Hesiod. What they proceeded to do was to take the language of the mythos and
manipulate it, forcing its terms into fresh syntactical relationships which had
the constant effect of stretching and extending their application, giving them a
cosmic rather than a particular reference."
[Havelock (1983), pp.13-14, 21. Bold emphases added; quotation marks altered to
conform with the conventions adopted at this site. Spelling modified to agree with
UK English. Links added; some paragraphs merged.]
Subsequently, in the work of Plato,
Aristotle and
Plotinus,
for example, language was transformed into a device that enabled the 'soul' to converse
with itself (via "inner speech"), which prompted these and subsequent
philosophers into concluding they had ready access to 'divine', eternal verities,
derivedfrom
thought alone.1
As noted above, 'languageless thought' was regarded as the means by which the
'select few' could draw close to 'Being'/'God' -- an idea that helped motivate the 'problem' of the relation between the
'Knower' and the 'Known',
which later re-surfaced as the main problematic of
German
Idealism -- which subsequently reappeared in an 'inverted' form in 'Materialist Dialectics' as a key
component in the alleged
relationship between 'Thought' and 'Being'.1a
In the work of early modern (and increasingly secular)
theorists, 'consciousness' has come to refer to what supposedly goes on in an
inner, private arena, where the bourgeois 'Mind'/'Soul'
--
operating now as a socially-isolated 'atom' --, could represent to itself
not just these 'divine' verities, but also any 'information' ('impressions', 'images', 'ideas') the senses
sent its way -- in many cases with the former shaping the latter.
Peter Hacker fills in the details:
"Although the ancients
raised questions about our own knowledge of our perceptions and thought, and
introduced the idea of an inner sense, they had no word for consciousness and
they did not characterize the mind as the domain of consciousness. Aristotelians
conceived of the mind as the array of powers that distinguish humanity from the
rest of animate nature.... What is distinctive of humanity, and what
characterizes the mind, are the powers of the intellect -- of reason and of the
rational will. Knowledge of these powers is not obtained by 'consciousness' or
'introspection', but by observing their exercise in our engagement with the
world around us. The medievals followed suit. They too lacked a term for
consciousness, but they likewise indulged in reflection upon 'inner senses',
arguably -- in the wake of
Avicenna's distinguishing
five such senses -- to excess.
"Descartes's innovations with
regard to the uses in philosophy of the Latin 'conscientia' (which had not
hitherto signified consciousness at all) as well as the French 'la conscience',
were of capital importance. For it was he who introduced the novel use of the
term into the philosophical vocabulary. He invoked it in order to account for
the indubitable and infallible knowledge which he held we have of our Thoughts (cogitationes)
or Operations of the Mind. His reflections reshaped our conception of the mind
and redrew the boundaries of the mental. Thenceforth consciousness, as opposed
to intellect and sensitivity to reasons in thought, affection, intention and
action, was treated as the mark of the mental and the characteristic
of the mind.
"The expression 'conscius' and the French word 'conscient', and the
attendant conception of consciousness, caught on among his correspondents and
successors (Gassendi,
Arnauld,
La
Forge,
Malebranche). So too
'consciousness' and 'conscious' caught on among English philosophers, churchmen
and scientists (Stanley,
Tillotson,
Cumberland,
Cudworth
and
Boyle). But it is to
Locke
that we must turn
to find the most influential, fully fledged, philosophical conception of
consciousness that, with some variations, was to dominate reflection on the
nature of the human mind thenceforth. This conception was to come to its
baroque
culmination in
the writings of
Kant. In the Lockean
tradition, consciousness is an inner sense. Unlike outer sense, it is
indubitable and infallible. It is limited in its objects to the operations of
the mind. The objects of consciousness are private to each subject of experience
and thought. What one is thus conscious of in inner sense constitutes the
subjective foundation of empirical knowledge. Because consciousness is thus
confined to one's own mental operations, it was conceived to be equivalent to
self-consciousness -- understood as knowledge of how things are 'subjectively'
(privately, in foro interno ('inside the individual concerned' -- RL)) with
one's self.
"The ordinary use of the
English noun 'consciousness' and its cognates originates in the early
seventeenth century, a mere three or four decades prior to the Cartesian
introduction of a novel sense of 'conscius' and 'conscient' into philosophy in
the 1640s. So it evolved side by side with the philosophical use -- but, on the
whole, in fortunate independence of it. For the ordinary use developed, over the
next three centuries, into a valuable if specialized instrument in our toolkit
of cognitive concepts. By contrast, as we shall see, philosophical usage sank
deeper and deeper into quagmires of confusion and incoherence from which it has
not recovered to this day." [Hacker (2013a), pp.11-12. (See also the more
detailed comments on the history of this word: pp.15-19, as well as
this paper
by Hacker. (This links to a PDF.)) Italic emphases in the original; links added.]
"The term 'consciousness' is a
latecomer upon the stage of Western philosophy. The ancients had no such term.
Sunoida, like its Latin equivalent conscio, meant the same as 'I
know together with' or 'I am privy, with another, to the knowledge that'. If the
prefixes sun and cum functioned merely as intensifiers, then the
verbs meant simply 'I know well' or 'I am well aware that'. Although the
ancients did indeed raise questions about the nature of our knowledge of our own
perceptions and thought, and introduced the idea of an inner sense, they did not
characterize the mind as the domain of consciousness. Aristotelians conceived of
the mind as the array of powers that distinguish humanity from the rest of
animate nature. The powers of self-movement, of perception and sensation, and of
appetite, are shared with other animals. What is distinctive of humanity, and
what characterizes the mind, are the powers of the intellect -- of reason, and
of the rational will. Knowledge of these powers is not obtained by consciousness
or introspection, but by observation of their exercise in our engagement with
the world around us. The mediaevals followed suit. They likewise lacked any term
for consciousness, although they too indulged in reflections upon 'inner senses'
-- in the wake of Avicenna's distinguishing five such senses, arguably to
excess....
"The English word 'conscious' is
recorded by the OED [Oxford English Dictionary -- RL] as first occurring at the
beginning of the seventeenth century, when, like the Latin 'conscius', it
signified sharing knowledge with another or being witness to something. In its
early forms, it occurred in phrases such as 'being conscious to another' and
‘being conscious to something'. But sharing knowledge rapidly evolved into being
privy to unshared knowledge, either about others or about oneself. So 'to be
conscious to' quickly became a cousin to the much older expression 'to be aware
of'. The form 'to be conscious to' was slowly displaced by 'to be conscious of'.
'To be conscious of something', of course, signified a form of knowledge. So
like 'to know', 'to be conscious of something' is a
factive verb
-- one cannot be conscious of something that does not exist or is not the case.
Outside philosophy, there was no suggestion whatsoever that the objects of
consciousness, i.e. that of which one can be said to be conscious, are
restricted to one's own mental operations. One could be said to be conscious of
what one perceived, or of some feature of what one perceived, of
one's own or another's deeds -- both good and evil, of a pertinent fact (the
lateness of the hour, the merits of a case) and of one's own or another's
virtues or vices, and so forth. It was not until the middle of the nineteenth
century that 'consciousness' came to be used to signify wakefulness as opposed
to being unconscious. Thenceforth one could speak of losing and regaining
consciousness. The common or garden notions of self-consciousness, i.e. either
being excessively aware of one's appearance (a usage now lapsed) or being
embarrassingly aware that others are looking at one, is nineteenth-century
vintage. Being class conscious, money-conscious, or safety-conscious are
twentieth century coinage....
"The expression 'conscious' was
introduced into philosophy, almost inadvertently, by Descartes.
It does not appear in his work prior
to the Meditations(1641), and even there it occurs just once. In the
Third Meditation, it occurs not in relation to knowledge of one's 'thoughts' or
'operations of the mind', but in relation to awareness of the power to
perpetuate one's own existence (AT VII, 49; CSM II, 34). It was only under
pressure from objectors to this single remark that Descartes was forced, in his
'Replies to Objections', to elaborate his ideas on knowing our own 'thoughts'.
His developed position in the Principlesand late correspondence was
unstable. The expression and attendant conception, caught on among Descartes'
contemporaries and successors (Gassendi, Arnauld, La Forge) and among English
philosophers (Stanley, Tillotson, Cumberland and Cudworth). But it is to Locke,
almost fifty years later, that we must turn to find the most influential, fully
fledged, philosophical concept of consciousness that was to dominate
reflection on the nature of the human mind thenceforth. The attendant conception
was to come to its baroque culmination (or perhaps nadir of confusion) in the
writings of Kant and the post-Kantian German idealists.
"Descartes used the terms
conscientia, conscius, and conscio to signify a form of
knowledge, namely the alleged direct knowledge we have of what is passing in our
minds. What we are conscious of (which I shall call the 'objects of
consciousness') are Thoughts, a term which Descartes stretched to include
thinking (as ordinarily understood), sensing or perceiving (shorn of their
factive force), understanding, wanting, and imagining. Because he held thinking
to be the sole essential attribute of immaterial substances, he claimed that we
are thinking all the time, waking or sleeping. He also held that consciousness
of operations of the mind is indubitable and infallible. He argued that the mind
is, as it were, transparent. For, he wrote (AT VII, 214; CSM II, 150), it is
self-evident that one cannot have a thought and not be conscious of
it -- although the thoughts we have in sleep are immediately forgotten." [Hacker
(2012), pp.1-3. (This links to a PDF.) Italic emphases in the
original, links added. "AT" refers to one of the standard collections of
Descartes's work, edited by Charles Adam and Paul Tannery; "CSM" refers to the
more recent edition by John Cottingham, Robert Stoothoff, Dugald Murdoch, and
Anthony Kenny. Even though the second passage of Hacker's repeats parts of the first, I have
quoted it since it adds significant extra details.]
[I have said much more about the
Christian-Platonic-Cartesian Paradigm, making slightly different points in
Note 1.]
In general, this family of theories held that
this 'information' was processed by 'the mind' employing one or more of the
following principles: (a) A set of 'innate' ideas, b) Privately applied rules
or habits of 'the mind', (c) A collection of (arbitrarily chosen) 'categories' or
'concepts', which were supposedly implanted in us by 'god', or the presence of
which was
necessitated by our psychological, 'logical', or, more recently, our genetic and
evolutionary make-up.
[Several
of these
alternatives were discussed in more detail in Essay Three
Part Two.]
Hence, on this view, language was primarily regarded as
a means by which the inner
microcosm ('consciousness') could be put in the right intellectual order
so that it was capable of mirroring the outer macrocosm. Only then was
language allowed to function as a means of
communication. And, even then, language only served to provide outer expression to private
acts of 'intellection', cognition', or 'meaning'. 'Social meaning' was then constructed out of
these atomised
base units
-- supposedly
cobbled-together inside each individual, bourgeois skull. The social was thus an
expression of the individual,
not the other way round.
For
Rationalist
and Empiricist
Philosophers alike, in the end, truth was to be found by the individual
who examined the contents of her/his mind
-- the
difference between these two traditions now revolved around the stories their
respective ideologues told in order to turn each subjectively framed theory into an 'objective' account of
reality -- a 'reality' which, unsurprisingly, they now found rather hard to prove
actually exists!1b
Give or take a few
extra details and further complications, this is
largely how things remain to this day. The
dualism of Mind/World,
coupled with
Representationalist theories of knowledge and cognition have kept 'western'
thought permanently teetering on the edge of Idealism and Scepticism for more
than two millennia. This predicament isn't likely to alter this side of
massive social change.
[The reason for saying that is
set out in Essay Three
Part Two. Why it teeters on the
verge of Scepticism, at least as far as Dialectical Marxism is concerned, was
explained in Essay Ten
Part One.]
So,
outside the Marxist tradition, language
was seen
secondarily as a means of communication --, and even that was only so that the
private thoughts of each Social Atom might be shared with other similarly
placed Social Atoms.1c
This
dominant paradigm holds that
each 'mind' represents the world to itself
first -- perhaps constructing a private language to that end,
using "the light of reason", an inner "language
of thought", a "transformational
grammar" (now "unbounded
Merge"),
and/or a "Language
Acquisition Device" -- before it is able to convey its thoughts to other
like 'minds' trapped by the same
predicament. Indeed, only because of such inner goings on could human beings be said to have any thoughts at all
to convey to anyone else. 'Thought', on this view, wasn't a social phenomenon,
but a private, occult (hidden), and essentially individualised process or
device.1d
Which why we find that in most modern
forms of Cognitive
Theory the 'mind' is fragmented into a set of compartments, or 'processors',
each juggling with countless 'representations' --
the latter hived-off to
assorted 'modules',
now (metaphorically) seen as specialised,
deskilledpsychological subcontractors of some sort, the bourgeois social
division of labour now reproduced in the operation of the 'mental economy' at
work in each bourgeois cranium --, with
every such individual and her/his 'consciousness' reduced to the sum of these fragmented parts.2
To be sure, the view of the 'world'
that this approach
attributes to each one of us is no longer that which was intended by the
'gods', it is now that which has been
contrived by our genes. As if to cap it all, 'Evolutionary
Psychology' (henceforth, EP -- now the dominant intellectual force in this area)
of late projects the
origin of this inner bourgeois
individual (which we are all supposed to carry around in our heads) tens of thousands of years
back into the mists of time,
informing us that selfishness, individualism, male dominance, violence, the instinct to "truck and barter",
and much else besides, were
all hard-wired into our brains -- to such an extent that we would be foolish
even tothink about resisting them.2a0
Once
again, we see the status quo
under-pinned by a new set of ruling ideas, this time dressed up in the language
of Neo-Darwinism, Genetics and
Cognitive Science.
Each and everyone of us is thus
pictured as a perfectly selfish, social atom -- before we even begin to speak.
The bourgeois individual is indeed
alive and well, and living in a skull near you!
Worse still,
this particular set of ruling ideas aims to rule over all our other ideas --, it even
overshadows and dominates the doctrines invented by
erstwhile revolutionaries, as we have
seen, and will see again throughout this Essay.
Of course, as we also saw in Essay Three
Part Two, the problem here is that if
they were correct, each of these general
theories would be trapped in the private world of its inventor, with no
legitimate avenue of escape. Since no two theorists (or, indeed, human beings) can
possibly share the same ideas, communication -- given this view -- would be impossible.2a
Naturally, this only
undermines further the already shaky rationale that exists for adopting representationalism
in the first place.
The end result of all this is that
Marx and Engels's insight that language is the product of collective labour and
communal life -- and thus that its primary role lies in communication -- has never
seriously been considered, let alone adopted, even by those who claim to be
Marxists!
[Unfortunately, we saw this was true of
erstwhile Marxists in general
here; we
will witness further confirmation as this Essay unfolds.]
To that end, the ordinary language of the
working class has been distorted, depreciated and denigrated by ruling-class
hacks from ancient times onward as part of a class-motivated assault on the
vernacular.
The reason for this is plain
-- as Marx pointed out:
"The
philosophers have only
to dissolve their language into the ordinary language, from which it is
abstracted, in order to recognise it, as the distorted language of the actual
world,
and to realise that neither thoughts nor language in themselves form a
realm of their own, that they are only manifestations of actual life."
[Marx
and Engels (1970), p.118. Bold emphases added.]
As Essay Twelve Part Two will show (in the
meantime, see
here), the reason
for such disparagement is quite plain: it is impossible for anyone (let alone
Priests and Philosophers) to concoct metaphysical theories using only the vernacular.2b Hence, the vernacular had
to be declared limited at best, defective at worst, and a whole new complex and abstract terminology
was invented in its
place. This was done so that a 'hidden world' lying behind or beyond 'appearances', accessible to
'thought' alone, could be conjured into existence (as we saw
above). And, as we now know, this
approach was prosecuted in order to provide a
priori 'justification' for class division, oppression, inequality and state power.3
Representational theories still dominate
Philosophy, Psychology and Linguistics, so it isn't surprising to
see Marx's words amply confirmed in this regard, too:
"The ideas of the ruling class are in every epoch
the ruling ideas, i.e. the class which is the ruling material force of society,
is at the same time its ruling intellectual force. The class which has the means
of material production at its disposal, has control at the same time over the
means of mental production, so that thereby, generally speaking, the ideas of
those who lack the means of mental production are subject to it. The ruling
ideas are nothing more than the ideal expression of the dominant material
relationships, the dominant material relationships grasped as ideas; hence of
the relationships which make the one class the ruling one, therefore, the ideas
of its dominance. The individuals composing the ruling class possess among other
things consciousness, and therefore think. Insofar, therefore, as they rule as a
class and determine the extent and compass of an epoch, it is self-evident that
they do this in its whole range, hence among other things rule also as thinkers,
as producers of ideas, and regulate the production and distribution of the ideas
of their age: thus their ideas are the ruling ideas of the epoch...." [Marx
and Engels (1970), pp.64-65. Bold emphases added.]
However, this Essay is mainly concerned with
the ideas of those who at least give lip-service to the idea that language is a
social phenomenon and serves
primarily as a means of communication. To that end, I will begin with a brief look at how
certain Marxists have received the work of the single most important modern
champion of the social and communal approach to language:
Ludwig
Wittgenstein.
It was acknowledged in an
Additional Essay that there are
serious problems facing anyone who tries to combine Marx's and Wittgenstein's
ideas. Naturally, this doesn't mean that such a synthesis can't be achieved, but it does mean that if this is to happen it will require a
much more secure understanding of both thinkers than has hitherto been apparent.4
[TAR = The Algebra of
Revolution, or Rees (1998a); DM = Dialectical Materialism/Materialist,
depending on context.]
Having said that, there is still a high level of distrust of -- if not
resistance or open hostility shown toward --
Wittgenstein's ideas among
revolutionaries. This surfaces in TAR, for example, in the following passage:
"The social root of these
[postmodernist] ideas has been identified as the new middle class in retreat
from the values of the 1960s. But the narrower intellectual source of [such]
views is the intellectual climate in which postmodernist notions such as the
idea that '"reality" is a purely discursive phenomena, a product of various
codes, conventions, language games or signifying systems…'." [Rees (1998a),
p.297.]
While it is true that Rees is quoting
Christopher Norris here, his reference to "language games" is (intentionally or
not) clearly directed at Wittgenstein.5
Nevertheless, the puzzled reader might wonder
why there is no explicit mention in TAR of arguably the 20th
century's greatest philosopher, when numerous second-, and third-rate thinkers
receive inordinate attention. This in a book seeking to make the dialectic relevant!
That would be rather like, say, writing a history of modern Physics but forgetting to mention
Einstein,
Dirac or
Bohr.
As noted above,
revolutionaries in general have displayed a consistent level of hostility toward
Wittgenstein's ideas, a stance that hasn't always been matched by a serious attempt
to come to grips with his work -- or even summarise it accurately!
For example,
Cornforth [in Cornforth (1965)]
openly misrepresents Wittgenstein's work solely in order to rubbish it.
This is surprising since Cornforth had once been one of
Wittgenstein's close friends.
However, as is plain to anyone who bothers to
check, Cornforth confused parts of Wittgenstein's early work with that of
Russell
and
Carnap, asserting that he adopted a "verificationist" stance to "elementary
propositions" in the Tractatus, for example.
This interpretation muddles Russell's empiricist approach to such propositions
with the anti-metaphysical thrust of the Tractatus. Verificationism is completely foreign to that work.
The simple objects of the Tractatus aren't objects of possible experience, but
logical objects, as Wittgenstein himself clearly indicates. [Cf.,
Wittgenstein (1972), 2.01-2.0211,
2.023, 2.024-2.031, 4.1272. (This links to a PDF. The numbers refer to sections of the Tractatus.)]5a
Cornforth must have known this, which
perhaps explains why he offered no evidence to substantiate his wild allegations.
Little wonder, either, since there isn't any evidence; neither the word "verification", nor
any of its synonyms, occur in the Tractatus, and the entire idea is
completely at odds with Wittgenstein's own stated aims.6
Cornforth's depiction of
Wittgenstein's Tractatus is a catalogue of errors and
misrepresentations from beginning to end, to such an extent that it is doubtful whether
he actually read that
book! Or if he did, he plainly forgot much of what he had read before he pun pen
to misuse. In fact, it is abundantly clear that
Cornforth relied on second-, or
third-hand comments about the Tractatus, written by
Positivists (such as
Moritz Schlick), among others. In fact,
Cornforth only directly quotes the Tractatusonce in his five page 'summary' of it, and
even then this reference is brief and relates to the Preface alone!
Cornforth's discussion of
Wittgenstein's later work is, thankfully, less unreliable. Although he manages to
get one or two things right, he ends up confusing the method adopted in the Philosophical Investigations with that
found in Oxford
'Ordinary Language Philosophy'
(henceforth, OLP); that is, with the work of
Ryle,
Austin,
Warnock,
Strawson, Urmson and
Hampshire, etc. Beyond a few superficial
similarities, Wittgenstein's work bears no resemblance at all to "Oxford
Philosophy". [On this, see Cavell (1971a) and Dummett (1960).]
An equally inept attempt to come to grips
with Wittgenstein's work (and with OLP in general)
is to be found in Chapter Seven
of
Marcuse'sOne Dimensional Man. [Marcuse (1968).]
Unfortunately, Marcuse
made the mistake of referencing Ernest
Gellner's notorious
Words and Things [i.e., Gellner (1959)], which contains somewhat similar,
but lengthier, criticisms
of Wittgenstein and OLP (Marcuse (1968), note 2, p.141 -- i.e., note 136,
here). Gellner's execrable book won't be examined in this Essay; readers
interested in a thorough take-down of that scurrilous work, by someone who isn't
a fan of Wittgenstein or OLP, might like to check out Uschanov (2002), or,
perhaps, the longer version of that paper available
here.
[See also Dummett (1960).]6a0
Marcuse begins with this
hackneyed criticism of
both OLP and
Wittgenstein (in what follows, italic emphases are in the original, and
quotation marks have been altered to conform with the conventions adopted at
this site):
"Austin's contemptuous treatment of the alternatives to
the common usage of words, and his defamation of what we 'think up in our
armchairs of an afternoon'; Wittgenstein's assurance that philosophy 'leaves
everything as it is' -- such statements exhibit, to my mind, academic
sado-masochism, self-humiliation, and self-denunciation of the intellectual
whose labour does not issue in scientific, technical or like achievements. These
affirmations of modesty and dependence seem to recapture Hume's mood of
righteous contentment with the limitations of reason which, once recognized and
accepted, protect man from useless mental adventures but leave him perfectly
capable of orienting himself in the given environment. However, when Hume
debunked substances, he fought a powerful ideology, while his successors today
provide an intellectual justification for that which society has long since
accomplished -- namely, the defamation of alternative modes of thought which
contradict the established universe of discourse."
Added in a footnote:
"The proposition that philosophy leaves everything as it
is may be true in the context of Marx's Theses on Feuerbach (where it is
at the same time denied), or as self-characterization of neo-positivism, but as
a general proposition on philosophic thought it is incorrect." [Marcuse (1968),
pp.141-42. Quotation marks altered
to conform with the conventions adopted
at this site. Spelling altered to UK English. I have used the on-line text
here, and have corrected any typographical errors I managed to spot. The same is
true of the other passages from this book quoted below.]
I won't try to defend John Austin in this
Essay, but Marcuse clearly failed to notice that
when Wittgenstein said philosophy "leaves everything as it is" he was speaking of
the discipline as he practised it, not as it
has traditionally been pursued. Moreover, in view of the fact that Traditional Philosophy is little more than self-important hot air (on that, see Essay Twelve
Part One), except perhaps negatively,
it can't change anything, anyway.
Furthermore, Wittgenstein isn't advocating
"conformism", as Marcuse alleges. It is no more the role of philosophy to challenge
the status quo than it is the role of, say, basket weaving to challenge
advanced brain surgery. Alongside Marx
(who,
it is worth recalling,
had abandoned philosophy root and branch by the late 1840s and advised
others to do likewise),
Wittgenstein, again like Marx, would have argued that the point is in fact to change the world,
not build non-sensical
and
incoherent
philosophical theories about it. Change is the remit of
political action, science and technology, not philosophy (even if individual
philosophers might choose to involve themselves in the class struggle), as Wittgenstein
conceived it.
Here
is Wittgenstein:
"[W]hat is the use of studying
philosophy if all it does for you is to enable you to talk with some
plausibility about some abstruse questions of logic etc., if it does not
improve your thinking about the important questions of everyday life, if it does
not make you more conscientious than any...journalist in the use of the
DANGEROUS phrases such people use for their own ends." [Letter from Wittgenstein
to Malcolm, 16/11/1944, quoted in Malcolm (2001), p.93. Capitals in the
original.]
Here
is Marx:
"One has to 'leave philosophy aside'..., one has to leap out of it and
devote oneself like an ordinary man to the study of actuality...." [Marx
and Engels (1976), p.236. Bold
emphases alone added. Quotation marks altered to conform with the conventions
adopted at this site.]
"The philosophers have only interpreted the world, in various ways; the point is
to change it." [Theses
on Feuerbach.]
"It can be seen how subjectivism and objectivism, spiritualism and materialism,
activity and passivity, lose their antithetical character, and hence their
existence as such antitheses, only in the social condition; it can be seen how
the resolution of the theoretical antitheses themselves is possible
only in a practical way, only through the practical energy of man,
and how their resolution is for that reason by no means only a problem of
knowledge, but a real problem of life, a problem which philosophy
was unable to solve precisely because it treated it as a purely theoretical
problem." [Marx
(1975b), p.354.Bold emphasis added.]
"The
philosophers have only
to dissolve their language into the ordinary language, from which it is
abstracted, in order to recognise it, as the distorted language of the actual
world,
and to realise that neither thoughts nor language in themselves form a
realm of their own, that they are only manifestations of actual life."
[Marx
and Engels (1970), p.118. Bold emphasis added.]
Moreover, one only has to read the many
conversations that took place between Wittgenstein and those he gathered around
him to see that he wasn't a political quietist. Nor was he unsympathetic
to Marxism or, indeed, the gains made by the Russian Revolution. [On that, see
here.]
In
fact, Marcuse along with the vast majority of Wittgenstein critics (and, it is worth adding, many Wittgensteinians, too) misquote
or misinterpret him in this regard. Here is what
Wittgenstein actually said:
"Philosophy may in no way
interfere with the actual use of language; it can in the end only describe it.
For it cannot give any foundation either. It leaves everything as it is. It also
leaves mathematics as it is, and no mathematical discovery can advance it."
[Wittgenstein (1958), §124, page 49e.]
From this it is quite clear that the word
"everything" refers back to "the actual use of language". This is plain from the fact that he then goes
on to mention mathematics ("It also leaves mathematics as it is"),
which he wouldn't have added if "everything" were totally unqualified in
the way that many now suppose. So, philosophy leaves everything in language and
mathematics as they are, but (by default) nothing else. Whether or not one agrees with
Wittgenstein, this passage offers no support to those who characterise Wittgenstein as a
conservative.
Incidentally, the most recent translation of the above passage reads as follows:
(1) "Philosophy must not
interfere in any way with the actual use of language, so it can in the end only
describe it.
(2) "For it cannot justify it
either.
(3) "It leaves everything as it
is.
(4) "It also leaves mathematics
as it is, and no mathematical discovery can advance it." [Wittgenstein (2009), §124,
p.55e. (This links to a PDF.) Numbers added.]
If anything,
that is even clearer. As I have pointed out elsewhere at this
site:
Once more, it is clear that the word "everything",
in Line 3, is restricted to "the actual use of language", and that can be seen
from the next sentence. If "everything" were totally unrestricted, there would
be no point adding the extra caveat in Line 4. Why inform us that Philosophy
"also" leaves mathematics as it is if we have just been told it leaves
"everything" as it is? If the meaning of "everything" in Line 2 is
unrestricted, then mathematics can't be part of "everything", can it? So,
either Wittgenstein was a sloppy stylist (who wants or admit that?), or
he held rather odd beliefs about mathematics.
So, in Line 3, Wittgenstein is talking about "the
actual use of language", not
absolutely everything -- from politics to pottery, science to sociology,
quasars to quarks! The continual use of "it" should have alerted commentators to
this rather simple point (here coloured appropriately to assist the unconvinced
see the light):
(1) "Philosophy
must not interfere in any way with the actual use of
language, so
it can in the end only describe
it.
(2) "For it
cannot justify
it
either.
(3) "It
leaves
everything as it
is.
(4)
"It also leaves
mathematics as it is, and no
mathematical discovery can advance
it."
The red "it" clearly refers back to "philosophy",
but it is no less clear that the purple "it" refers back to "the actual use of
language", which means that "everything as it is" is correctly coloured purple,
too.
Furthermore,
we have on record the following interaction between Norman
Malcolm and Wittgenstein:
"[W]hat is the
use of studying philosophy if all it does for you is to enable you to talk with
some plausibility about some abstruse questions of logic etc., [and] if it does
not improve your thinking about the important questions of everyday life, if it
does not make you more conscientious than any...journalist in the use of the
DANGEROUS phrases such people use for their own ends." [Letter from Wittgenstein
to Malcolm, 16/11/1944, quoted in Malcolm (2001), p.93. Capitalisation in the
original; bold added.]
[Here Wittgenstein is clearly referring Malcolm to
his new conception of philosophy.]
This doesn't sound like the remark of a
'philosophical quietist', as he has often been portrayed by many academics and
activists on the left.
Now, in
line with the traditional contempt
shown by ruling-class theorists toward the vernacular and the thoughts of ordinary workers, Marcuse argues
as follows:
"Throughout the
work of the linguistic analysts, there is this familiarity with the chap on the
street whose talk plays such a leading role in linguistic philosophy. The
chumminess of speech is essential inasmuch as it excludes from the beginning the
high-brow vocabulary of 'metaphysics;' it militates against intelligent
non-conformity; it ridicules the egghead. The language of John Doe and Richard
Roe is the language which the man on the street actually speaks; it is the
language which expresses his behaviour; it is therefore the token of
concreteness. However, it is also the token of a false concreteness. The
language which provides most of the material for the analysis is a purged
language, purged not only of its 'unorthodox' vocabulary, but also of the means
for expressing any other contents than those furnished to the individuals by
their society. The linguistic analyst finds this purged language an accomplished
fact, and he takes the impoverished language as he finds it, insulating it from
that which is not expressed in it although it enters the established universe of
discourse as element and factor of meaning.
"Paying respect
to the prevailing variety of meanings and usages, to the power and common sense
of ordinary speech, while blocking (as extraneous material) analysis of what
this speech says about the society that speaks it, linguistic philosophy
suppresses once more what is continually suppressed in this universe of
discourse and behaviour. The authority of philosophy gives its blessing to the
forces which make this universe. Linguistic analysis abstracts from what
ordinary language reveals in speaking as it does -- the mutilation of man and
nature." [Marcuse (1968),
pp.142-43.]
From this it is quite plain that Marcuse
prefers the obscure and impenetrable jargon that ruling-class hacks regularly inflict on their
readers to the language of ordinary workers, and it isn't hard to see why.
Indeed, as was alleged above, Marcuse all but concedes that it is impossible to derive the empty theses of Traditional Philosophy
("metaphysics") if theorists confine themselves to the vernacular. [On this, see
Essay Twelve Part One.] And that is why he complains that
the language used by Wittgenstein, and others, has been "purged" of the
very jargon
upon which traditionalists like Marcuse dote -- which "purge" is in fact a move in
the right direction since it would prevent them from even attempting to
perform their
verbal tricks.
Arguing in this way, Marcuse plainly disagrees with Marx himself
(quoted earlier):
"The philosophers have only
to dissolve their language into the ordinary language, from which it is
abstracted, in order to recognise it, as the distorted language of the actual
world, and to realise that neither thoughts nor language in themselves form a
realm of their own, that they are only manifestations of actual life."
[Marx
and Engels (1970), p.118. Bold emphases added.]
It is also worth pointing out that,
again like many
others, Marcuse
has confused ordinary language with "common sense". As we
have seen, these two aren't at all the same. [On that, cf., Hallett (2008),
pp.91-99.] Moreover, Marcuse is wrong in what he says about "eggheads" -- in
fact, in all my years of studying Wittgenstein and OLP (to date, at least 40 years), I have yet to encounter anything that
remotely suggests this reading. It isn't surprising, therefore, to find that
Marcuse fails to quote, or even cite, a single passage in support of his wild allegations.
Furthermore, neither the OLP-ers nor
Wittgenstein raised objections against other uses of language, they
simply point out that it is a serious error to suppose one can answer
questions about knowledge, perception, time, space, thought, action, etc., by
using words in technical, or in other odd ways (a point Marx also made).
As Hanjo Glock notes:
"Wittgenstein's ambitious claim is that it is
constitutive of metaphysical theories and questions that their employment of
terms is at odds with their explanations and that they use deviant rules along
with the ordinary ones. As a result, traditional philosophers cannot coherently
explain the meaning of their questions and theories. They are confronted with a
trilemma: either their novel uses of terms remain unexplained
(unintelligibility), or...[they use] incompatible rules (inconsistency), or
their consistent employment of new concepts simply passes by the ordinary use --
including the standard use of technical terms -- and hence the concepts in terms
of which the philosophical problems were phrased." [Glock (1996), pp.261-62.
See also
this
quotation,
and
my comments in Essay Thirteen
Part One, as well as those I have posted at Wikipedia (here
and
here)
concerning the use of technical
terms in science.]
"For two and a half millennia some of the best minds in
European culture have wrestled with the problems of philosophy. If one were to
ask what knowledge has been achieved throughout these twenty-five centuries,
what theories have been established (on the model of well-confirmed theories in
the natural sciences), what laws have been discovered (on the model of the laws
of physics and chemistry), or where one can find the corpus of philosophical
propositions known to be true, silence must surely ensue. For there is no body of
philosophical knowledge. There are no well-established philosophical theories or
laws. And there are no philosophical handbooks on the model of handbooks of
dynamics or of biochemistry. To be sure, it is tempting for contemporary
philosophers, convinced they are hot on the trail of the truths and theories
which so long evaded the grasp of their forefathers, to claim that philosophy
has only just struggled out of its early stage into maturity.... We can at long
last expect a flood of new, startling and satisfying results -- tomorrow.
"One can blow the Last Trumpet once, not once a
century. In the seventeenth century Descartes thought he had discovered the
definitive method for attaining philosophical truths; in the eighteenth century
Kant believed that he had set metaphysics upon the true path of a science; in
the nineteenth century Hegel convinced himself that he had brought the history
of thought to its culmination; and Russell, early in the twentieth century,
claimed that he had at last found the correct scientific method in philosophy,
which would assure the subject the kind of steady progress that is attained by
the natural sciences. One may well harbour doubts about further millenarian
promises." [Hacker (2001c), pp.322-23.]
Comrades like Marcuse are welcome to this
monumental waste of ink and paper (to which Hacker alludes) -- and that
comment applies even more so to 'dialectical philosophy', which is definitely the poor relation
of this long slow detour
to
nowhere.
What of this, though?
"Moreover, all too often it
is not even the ordinary language which guides the analysis, but rather blown-up
atoms of language, silly scraps of speech that sound like baby talk such as
'This looks to me now like a man eating poppies,' 'He saw a robin', 'I had a
hat.' Wittgenstein devotes much acumen and spare to the analysis of 'My broom is
in the corner.'" [Marcuse (1968),
p.143.]
But, does Marcuse take Hegel or Engels to
task for their use of "The rose is red" (on that, see here
and here), or Lenin for his employment of "John is
a man"? Not a bit of it! In fact, Marcuse misses the point of using such simple
language: If we can't
get the latter right, we stand no chance with more complex propositions or
bodies of text. Indeed,
as we have seen (for example,
here, here
and here),
dialecticians can't even get "John is a man" right! [Which rather makes
my
point for me, one feels.]
However, Marcuse has an answer to this:
"To take another
illustration: sentences such as 'my broom is in the corner' might also occur in
Hegel's Logic, but there they would be revealed as inappropriate or even false
examples. They would only be rejects, to be surpassed by a discourse which, in
its concepts, style, and syntax, is of a different order -- a discourse for
which it is by no means 'clear that every sentence in our language is in order
as it is."' Rather the exact opposite is the case -- namely, that every sentence is
as little in order as the world is which this language communicates." [Ibid.,
p.144. Bold emphasis added.
Quotation marks altered to conform with the conventions adopted at this site.]
But, if the above were indeed so -- if "every sentence is as
little in order as the world is which this language communicates" then the
ordinary words and sentences Marcuse himself usescan't be "in order",
either, which means we can't take what they say at face value. [But, is
there another, deeper significance to his words?] We have
already seen that
attempts to argue that ordinary language is in some way (or in any way)
defective back-fire on anyone foolish enough to try. But, here we encounter the same
reckless bravado, for if Marcuse's words aren't "in order", what can they possibly
mean?
As Marcuse notes on the same page:
"Thus the analysis does not
terminate in the universe of ordinary discourse, it goes beyond it and opens a
qualitatively different universe, the terms of which may even contradict the
ordinary one." [Ibid.,
p.144.]
Except that here the tables are turned on
Marcuse, for if we analyse his words, and are able to follow his argument, we see that
(if he were correct) his
words would imply the opposite of what he intended -- that is, our ability to
comprehend what he says shows that his words
are in the "right order" and hence we can understand him after all! And yet, as soon as we
succeed in understanding
what he is telling us, we immediately see that
his words aren't in fact in the "right order", for he tells us that
none are!
--
"every sentence is as little in order as the world is which this language
communicates"
--,
and that they make no sense, therefore. [Yet another ironic 'dialectical inversion', one
feels.]
Next
we encounter this hackneyed criticism -- Marcuse (quoting Wittgenstein):
"The almost
masochistic reduction of speech to the humble and common is made into a program:
'if the words "language", "experience", "world", have a use, it must be as
humble a one as that of the words "table", "lamp", door."' We must 'stick to the
subjects of our every-day thinking, and not go astray and imagine that we have
to describe extreme subtleties...' -- as if this were the only alternative, and
as if the 'extreme subtleties' were not the suitable term for Wittgenstein's
language games rather than for Kant's Critique of Pure Reason. Thinking
(or at least its expression) is not only pressed into the straitjacket of common
usage, but also enjoined not to ask and seek solutions beyond those that are
already there. 'The problems are solved, not by giving new information,
but by arranging what we have always known.'
"The
self-styled poverty of philosophy, committed with all its concepts to the given
state of affairs, distrusts the possibility of a new experience. Subjection to
the rule of the established fact is total -- only linguistic facts, to be sure,
but the society speaks in its language, and we are told to obey. The
prohibitions are severe and authoritarian: 'Philosophy may in no way interfere
with the actual use of language.' 'And we may not advance any kind of theory.
There must not be anything hypothetical in our considerations. We must do
away with all explanation, and description alone must take its place.'
"One might ask
what remains of philosophy? What remains of thinking, intelligence, without
anything hypothetical, without any explanation? However, what is at stake is not
the definition or the dignity of philosophy. It is rather the chance of
preserving and protecting the fight, the need to think and speak in terms
other than those of common usage -- terms which are meaningful, rational, and
valid precisely because they are other terms. What is involved is the spread of
a new ideology which undertakes to describe what is happening (and meant) by
eliminating the concepts capable of understanding what is happening (and
meant)." [Ibid.,
pp.144-45.]
Marcuse has worked himself up into a right
old lather here, all the while missing the point. Once more, Wittgenstein was speaking here of his
new approach to philosophy, which, if correct, would mean that
traditional forms-of-thought, beloved of characters like Marcuse, are nothing
more than elaborate, insubstantial
"houses of cards". Wittgenstein is certainly not arguing against
"anything
hypothetical", or against "explanation" in other areas of theory (for example,
in science -- indeed, he developed a novel account of what it is
to reason hypothetically). Once more, in his haste to malign Wittgenstein,
Marcuse only succeeded in aiming a few blows at thin air.
And, far from the following being true,
the opposite is in fact the case:
"It is rather the chance of
preserving and protecting the fight, the need to think and speak in terms
other than those of common usage -- terms which are meaningful, rational, and
valid precisely because they are other terms. What is involved is the spread of
a new ideology which undertakes to describe what is happening (and meant) by
eliminating the concepts capable of understanding what is happening (and
meant)." [Ibid.]
The
obscure terminology that litters the pages of Traditional Thought, and particularly the
impenetrable jargon Hegel inflicted on his readers, actually prevents us
from understanding the world. As pointed out in Essay Twelve
Part One, the influence of Traditional Philosophy must be terminated in
order to facilitate the advance of scientific knowledge in general, and Marxism
in particular. [Here, of course, I am very loosely paraphrasing Kant.]
Marcuse's failure to get the point is further
underlined by this blindingly irrelevant comment:
"To begin with, an
irreducible difference exists between the universe of everyday thinking and
language on the one side, and that of philosophic thinking and language on the
other. In normal circumstances, ordinary language is indeed behavioural -- a
practical instrument. When somebody actually says 'My broom is in the corner,'
he probably intends that somebody else who had actually asked about the broom is
going to take it or leave it there, is going to be satisfied, or angry. In any
case, the sentence has fulfilled its function by causing a behavioural reaction:
'the effect devours the cause; the end absorbs the means.'" [Ibid.,
pp.145-46.]
Marcuse plainly didn't know -- perhaps because of his characteristically sloppy
research --, that when Wittgenstein used the sentence "My broom is in the
corner" [Wittgenstein
(2009), §60, p.33e (this links to a PDF)] he
was in fact criticising a view he himself had adopted in the Tractatus -- about
(i) The nature of logically simple names, (ii) The idea that a fact is a complex,
and (iii) The thesis that analysis is capable of revealing logical form, etc. [Wittgenstein (1972),
2-3.263, pp.7-25, and 5.5423, p.111 (this links to a PDF). On the background to this, see White (1974,
2006). On Investigations §§37-61
(the relevant sections), see Baker and Hacker (2005b), pp.112-42, Hallett
(1977), pp.112-39, and Hallett (2008),
pp.33-41.]
So, Wittgenstein
was here advancing a profound criticism of his earlier
way of seeing things. Now, whether or not one agrees with Wittgenstein (before or
after he changed mind -- or even at all!), the issues he raises aren't of
the everyday "behavioural" sort that Marcuse seems to think; they
concern the
logical nature of propositions and how they can be used to represent the world (that is,
if they can). These are hardly trivial.
But, there is more:
"In contrast, if, in a
philosophic text or discourse, the word 'substance,' 'idea,' 'man,' 'alienation'
becomes the subject of a proposition, no such transformation of meaning into a
behavioural reaction takes place or is intended to take place. The word remains,
as it were, unfulfilled -- except in thought, where it may give rise to other
thoughts. And through a long series of mediations within a historical continuum,
the proposition may help to form and guide a practice. But the proposition
remains unfulfilled even then -- only the hubris of absolute idealism asserts
the thesis of a final identity between thought and its object. The words with
which philosophy is concerned can therefore never have a use 'as humble ... as
that of the words "table", "lamp", "door"'.
"Thus, exactness and clarity
in philosophy cannot be attained within the universe of ordinary discourse. The
philosophic concepts aim at a dimension of fact and meaning which elucidates the
atomized phrases or words of ordinary discourse 'from without' by showing this
'without' as essential to the understanding of ordinary discourse. Or, if the
universe of ordinary discourse itself becomes the object of philosophic
analysis, the language of philosophy becomes a 'meta-language.' Even where it
moves in the humble terms of ordinary discourse, it remains antagonistic. It
dissolves the established experiential context of meaning into that of its
reality; it abstracts from the immediate concreteness in order to attain true
concreteness." [Ibid.,
p.146.]
Once again, as we have also seen, it is in
fact the obscure jargon, which
litters Traditional Philosophy, that
undermines clarity of
thought. In which case, it is no surprise to discover that, far from
constituting a "guide" to practice, dialectics has been roundly refuted by it.
[On that, see Essay Ten Part One.]
Moreover, as far as 'abstraction' is
concerned, Marcuse just helps himself to this word without any attempt to
explain the obscure 'process' that supposedly underlies it -- or, indeed, any attempt to show how it is even
possible to 'abstract' anything at all.
[On that, see Essay Three Parts One
and Two.]
"Ordinary language in its
'humble use' may indeed be of vital concern to critical philosophic thought, but
in the medium of this thought words lose their plain humility and reveal that
'hidden' something which is of no interest to Wittgenstein. Consider the
analysis of the 'here' and 'now' in Hegel's Phenomenology, or...Lenin's
suggestion on how to analyze adequately 'this glass of water' on the table. Such
an analysis uncovers the history in every-day speech as a hidden
dimension of meaning -- the rule of society over its language. And this
discovery shatters the natural and reified form in which the given universe of
discourse first appeals. The words reveal themselves as genuine terms not only
in a grammatical and formal-logical but also material sense; namely, as the
limits which define the meaning and its development -- the terms which society
imposes on discourse, and on behaviour. This historical dimension of meaning can
no longer be elucidated by examples such as 'my broom is in the corner' or
'there is cheese on the table.' To be sure, such statements can reveal many
ambiguities, puzzles, oddities, but they are all in the same realm of language games
and academic boredom." [Ibid.,
pp.147-48. I have corrected several serious typographical errors in the
on-line version of the last sentence.]
As we will see in Essay Twelve, Hegel's crass
analysis of spatial and temporal
indexicals (i.e., "here" and "now") is hardly a reassuring
advert for the
'superiority' of DL
over FL.
Moreover, we have already seen what
a mess Lenin got himself into with his 'analysis' of glass tumblers, using DL. In which
case, the alleged 'banalities of ordinary language' are much to be preferred over
the irredeemable confusion that has for two centuries oozed out of
Hegel's
Hermetic House of Horrors, clogging the minds of comrades like Marcuse.
Indeed, science has about as much to learn from this backwater of
Neoplatonic
Mysticism as it has from
dowsing or
crystal
gazing.
[FL = Formal Logic; DL =
Dialectical Logic.]
It is
also revealing to discover that Marcuse has an unhealthy interest in what is
"hidden" -- revealing because we have also seen that
it is a cornerstone of ruling-class ideology that there is a "hidden"
'reality' lying behind "appearances", which is accessible to thought alone and
which is more real than the world we see around us. Marcuse reveals yet again that even though he pretends to be a radical, he is nonetheless a philosophical conservative,
happy to ape the thought-forms of the last two-and-a-half millennia of boss-class
theory. [On that, see
these
comments from Essay Two.]
Marcuse continues:
"The
therapeutic character of the philosophic analysis is strongly emphasized -- to
cure from illusions, deceptions, obscurities, unsolvable riddles, unanswerable
questions, from ghosts and spectres. Who is the patient? Apparently a certain
sort of intellectual, whose mind and language do not conform to the terms of
ordinary discourse. There is indeed a goodly portion of psychoanalysis in this
philosophy -- analysis without Freud's fundamental insight that the patient's
trouble is rooted in a general sickness which cannot be cured by analytic
therapy. Or, in a sense, according to Freud, the patient's disease is a protest
reaction against the sick world in which he lives. But the physician must
disregard the 'moral' problem. He has to restore the patient's health, to make
him capable of functioning normally in his world.
"The
philosopher is not a physician; his job is not to cure individuals but to
comprehend the world in which they live -- to understand it in terms of what it
has done to man, and what it can do to man. For philosophy is (historically,
and its history is still valid) the contrary of what Wittgenstein made it out to
be when he proclaimed it as the renunciation of all theory, as the undertaking
that 'leaves everything as it is.' And philosophy knows of no more useless
'discovery' than that which 'gives philosophy peace, so that it is no longer
tormented by questions which bring itself in question.'" [Ibid.,
p.149.]
Here, Marcuse
unambiguously nails his colours to the mast,
for he is perfectly happy to assume the role Traditional Philosophers have
always arrogated to themselves (i.e., of possessing unique access to the
aforementioned, hidden
Super-Truths,
available to thought alone, but oddly enough not to scientists), even though
these Super-Theorists have yet to solve a single problem in over 2500 years (as
Peter Hacker
pointed out). In fact,
they have yet to agree what a 'solution' would even look like -- or even what the
right questions are! Marcuse makes no attempt to defend this age-old
view of Philosophy, except he appeals to the fact that it has always been
regarded
this way. So much for his radical credentials! But, how is it that pure
thought is able to gain such easy access to this 'hidden world'? No good looking
to Marcuse for an answer to that one; he is conspicuously silent about it.
Is
the philosopher a physician? Not if she follows in Marcuse's footsteps and
confuses Wittgenstein's new approach to the subject with Traditional Thought.
[On this aspect of
Wittgenstein's work, see Fischer (2011a, 2011b).]
Once again, Marcuse has a 'reply':
"This intellectual
dissolution and even subversion of the given facts is the historical task of
philosophy and the philosophic dimension. Scientific method, too, goes beyond
the facts and even against the facts of immediate experience. Scientific method
develops in the tension between appearance and reality. The mediation
between the subject and object of thought, however, is essentially different. In
science, the medium is the observing, measuring, calculating, experimenting
subject divested of all other qualities; the abstract subject projects and
defines the abstract object." [Ibid., p.150. Bold emphasis added.]
This appears to be an echo of Marx's claim:
"Vulgar economy actually does no more than
interpret, systematise and defend in doctrinaire fashion the conceptions of the
agents of bourgeois production who are entrapped in bourgeois production
relations. It should not astonish us, then, that vulgar economy feels
particularly at home in the estranged outward appearances of economic relations
in which these prima facie absurd and perfect contradictions appear and
that these relations seem the more self-evident the more their internal
relationships are concealed from it, although they are understandable to the
popular mind. But all science would be superfluous if the outward appearance
and the essence of things directly coincided." [Marx
(1981), p.956. Bold emphasis added.]
[I have dealt with this view of science in Essay
Twelve Part
One; the reader is directed there for more details. In addition, the distinction
Traditional Philosophers have drawn between "appearance" and "reality"
was
criticised in Essay Three
Part Two.]
Even so, as if to confirm an earlier
allegation (that the jargon and
thought-forms of Traditional Philosophy have thoroughly compromised the brains
of far too many Dialectical Marxists), Marcuse kindly provides us with yet more
evidence, presenting his readers with this prize example of
academic gobbledygook:
"In contrast, the objects of
philosophic thought are related to a consciousness for which the concrete
qualities enter into the concepts and into their interrelation. The philosophic
concepts retain and explicate the pre-scientific mediations (the work of
everyday practice, of economic organization, of political action) which have
made the object-world that which actually is -- a world in which all facts are
events, occurrences in a historical continuum." [Marcuse (1968),
pp.150-51.]
How
Marcuse knew all this a priori
psychology (about what is or what isn't related to "consciousness", or what does
or does not enter into "the concepts" and their "interrelation") he
unwisely kept to
himself. But, this is just par for the course; as
we have seen, every single dialectician does
likewise: they impose their dogmatic theories on reality and on human
'cognition' in a
thoroughly traditional manner, all the while claiming that this is precisely
what they aren't
doing!
"The separation of science
from philosophy is itself a historical event. Aristotelian physics was a part of
philosophy and, as such, preparatory to the 'first science' -- ontology. The
Aristotelian concept of matter is distinguished from the Galilean and
post-Galilean not only in terms of different stages in the development of
scientific method (and in the discovery of different 'layers' of reality), but
also, and perhaps primarily, in terms of different historical projects, of a
different historical enterprise which established a different nature as well as
society. Aristotelian physics becomes objectively wrong with the new
experience and apprehension of nature, with the historical establishment of a
new subject and object-world, and the falsification of Aristotelian physics then
extends backward into the past and surpassed experience and apprehension."
[Ibid.,
p.151. Emphasis in the original.]
Marcuse is right here; as we will see
in Essay Thirteen Part Two, the sciences gradually separated themselves from
Traditional Thought as scientists took the material world increasingly into
consideration in the formation of theory (through careful observation and
experiment), progressively (but not
completely) abandoning the Super-Scientific
approach championed by this Ancient Tradition. [Of course, the situation is far
more complex than these brief comments might suggest. A useful summary of the
approach I intend to take about the relation between theoretical and
experimental science can be found in Lerner (1991) --
although the reader mustn't assume I agree with everything Lerner has to say.] But, the
separation Marcuse mentions is in fact to the detriment of Traditional Thought,
which now reflects in a more pure form ruling-class ideology, an approach to a
priori theory Marcuse
unwisely sought to emulate.
"...However it is fair to say
that the most abstruse metaphysics has not exhibited such artificial and
jargonic worries as those which have arisen in connection with the problems of
reduction, translation, description, denotation, proper names, etc. Examples are
skilfully held in balance between seriousness and the joke: the differences
between Scott and the author of Waverly; the baldness of the present king
of France; Joe Doe meeting or not meeting the 'average taxpayer' Richard Roe on
the street; my seeing here and now a patch of red and saying 'this is red;' or
the revelation of the fact that people often describe feelings as thrills,
twinges, pangs, throbs, wrenches, itches, prickings, chills, glows, loads,
qualms, hankerings, curdlings, sinkings, tensions, gnawings and shocks." [Ibid.,
pp.151-52.]
However, the point of all this
is that unless we are capable of understanding the logic of simple language like this we stand
no chance with the impenetrable jargon Hegel and other philosophers
inflict on their readers.
Now, while Marcuse makes a more substantive point
(that the sort of analyses one finds in early
Analytic Philosophy
-- concerning, say,
Russell's Theory of Descriptions, which was the point of him mentioning
Waverly
and the King of France, by the way -- are even more jargonised than Traditional
Metaphysics), he failed to cite any examples. Be this as it may, the technical
language employed by Analytic Philosophers is easy to paraphrase in more
ordinary terms. The same can't be said for the gobbledygook that holds
Marcuse in its thrall. [Concerning the latter,
these comment of Chomsky's are entirely apposite.]
"In cleaning up this mess,
analytic philosophy conceptualizes the behaviour in the present technological
organization of reality, but it also accepts the verdicts of this organization;
the debunking of an old ideology becomes part of a new ideology. Not only the
illusions are debunked but also the truth in those illusions. The new ideology
finds its expression in such statements as 'philosophy only states what everyone
admits,' or that our common stock of words embodies 'the distinctions men have
found worth drawing.'" [Ibid.,
p.152.]
The two quotations at the end of this passage
are taken from Wittgenstein and John Austin respectively. Wittgenstein's point is
that the theses philosophers concoct are very often misconstrued rules of language.
As such, language users readily acknowledge their triviality when they have been stated
clearly (since they use such rules every day) -- as I have shown in Essay Twelve
Part One.
Moreover, Austin's comment is in
the past tense, and doesn't refer to the future. New distinctions are always
possible.
But, what about this?
"What is this 'common
stock'? Does it include Plato's 'idea,' Aristotle's 'essence,' Hegel's Geist,
Marx's Verdinglichung in whatever adequate translation? Does it
include the key words of poetic language? Of surrealist prose? And if so, does
it contain them in their negative connotation; that is, as invalidating the
universe of common usage? If not, then a whole body of distinctions which men
have found worth drawing is rejected, removed into the realm of fiction or
mythology; a mutilated, false consciousness is set up as the true consciousness
that decides on the meaning and expression of that which is. The rest is
denounced -- and endorsed -- as fiction or mythology."
[Ibid.,
p.152.]
The point is that unless the expressions
Marcuse lists (Plato's "idea", Hegel's "Geist", etc.) can be paraphrased
in ordinary language, they can't be used to help draw a single distinction (in that word's
ordinary sense), to begin with. As we
have seen, metaphysical jargon like this is devoid of meaning (or, rather,
it can only be 'explained' in terms of yet more empty jargon) and serves to
confuse only those naive enough to take it seriously. However, Marcuse's point about poetry is misplaced,
too, since neither Austin nor Wittgenstein would have wished to deny its
literary merit. I suspect this point has been lumped in here because of Marcuse's
penchant for making unfounded and sweeping allegations about a tradition in modern
philosophy he plainly struggled to comprehend.
Once more, Marcuse has an 'answer':
"Analytic philosophy often
spreads the atmosphere of denunciation and investigation by committee. The
intellectual is called on the carpet. What do you mean when you say....? Don't
you conceal something? You talk a language which is suspect. You don't talk like
the rest of us, like the man in the street, but rather like a foreigner who does
not belong here. We have to cut you down to size, expose your tricks, purge you.
We shall teach you to say what you have in mind, to 'come clear,' to 'put your
cards on the table.' Of course, we do not impose on you and your freedom of
thought and speech; you may think as you like. But once you speak, you have to
communicate your thoughts to us -- in our language or in yours. Certainly, you
may speak your own language, but it must be translatable, and it will be
translated. You may speak poetry -- that is all fight. We love poetry. But we
want to understand your poetry, and we can do so only if we can interpret your
symbols, metaphors, and images in terms of ordinary language.
"The poet might answer that
indeed he wants his poetry to be understandable and understood (that is why he
writes it), but if what he says could be said in terms of ordinary language he
would probably have done so in the first place. He might say: Understanding of
my poetry presupposes the collapse and invalidation of precisely that universe
of discourse and behaviour into which you want to translate it. My language can
be learned like any other language (in point of fact, it is also your own
language), then it will appear that my symbols, metaphors, etc. are not
symbols, metaphors, etc. but mean exactly what they say. Your tolerance is
deceptive. In reserving for me a special niche of meaning and significance, you
grant me exemption from sanity and reason, but in my view, the madhouse is
somewhere else." [Ibid.,
pp.155-56. Typo corrected.]
Readers will look long and hard, and to no
avail, in the writings of Austin or Wittgenstein for a single passage that even remotely resembles
this mendacious caricature of their view of poetry. Nowhere do they insist (or
even imply) that
what a poet has to say should be translated into ordinary language, which is,
of course,
why Marcuse failed to quote either of them to that effect.
However, unless Marcuse and other
metaphysicians are capable of making themselves clear (and actually manage to do
just that), they haven't in fact succeeded in
saying anything determinate. The onus is therefore on them to make their ideas
and theses
comprehensible. Marcuse blames Analytic Philosophers for pointing this out, as
if it is their
fault that he and others like him speak and write in riddles, or insist
on producing gobbledygook
by the cartload. That makes about as much sense as blaming the boy -- in the
famous story by
Hans Christian Andersen -- for pointing out that the
Emperor was naked!
At this point, Marcuse compounds his errors by
turning his fire on ordinary language (again, in a thoroughly traditional manner):
"But critical
analysis must dissociate itself from that which it strives to comprehend; the
philosophic terms must be other than the ordinary ones in order to elucidate the
full meaning of the latter. For the established universe of discourse bears
throughout the marks of the specific modes of domination, organization, and
manipulation to which the members of a society are subjected. People depend for
their living on bosses and politicians and jobs and neighbours who make them
speak and mean as they do; they are compelled, by societal necessity, to
identify the 'thing' (including their own person, mind, feeling) with its
functions. How do we know? Because we watch television, listen to the radio,
read the newspapers and magazines, talk to people.
"Under these
circumstances, the spoken phrase is an expression of the individual who speaks
it, and of those who make him speak as he does, and of whatever
tension or contradiction may interrelate them. In speaking their own language,
people also speak the language of their masters, benefactors, advertisers. Thus
they do not only express themselves, their own knowledge, feelings, and
aspirations, but also something other than themselves. Describing 'by
themselves' the political situation, either in their home town or in the
international scene, they (and 'they' includes us, the intellectuals who
know it and criticize it) describe what 'their' media of mass communication tell
them -- and this merges with what they really think and see and feel.
"Describing to
each other our loves and hatreds, sentiments and resentments, we must use the
terms of our advertisements, movies, politicians and best sellers. We must use
the same terms for describing our automobiles, foods and furniture, colleagues
and competitors -- and we understand each other perfectly. This must necessarily
be so, for language is nothing private and personal, or rather the private and
personal is mediated by the available linguistic material, which is societal
material. But this situation disqualifies ordinary language from fulfilling the
validating function which it performs in analytic philosophy. 'What people mean
when they say...' is related to what they don't say. Or, what they mean
cannot be taken at face value -- not because they lie, but because the universe of
thought and practice in which they live is a universe of manipulated
contradictions.
"Circumstances
like these may be irrelevant for the analysis of such statements as 'I itch,' or
'he eats poppies,' or 'this now looks red to me,' but they may become vitally
relevant where people really say something ('she just loved him,' 'he has no
heart,' 'this is not fair,' 'what can I do about it?'), and they are vital for
the linguistic analysis of ethics, politics, etc. Short of it, linguistic
analysis can achieve no other empirical exactness than that exacted from the
people by the given state of affairs, and no other clarity than that which is
permitted them in this state of affairs -- that is, it remains within the limits
of mystified and deceptive discourse."
[Ibid.,
pp.156-57. Emphases in the original.]
This
once again reveals Marcuse's
contempt for ordinary workers and their forms of discourse. To be sure, their
use of language can be corrupted in the way he says, but for every class-compromised sentence that can be uttered in ordinary language, there exists
its negation. That is why socialists can say things like "Women aren't
inferior", "Jews aren't sub-human", "Capitalism isn't fair",
"Gays aren't perverts!", etc. [More on that,
here. This
topic will be taken up again in detail in Essay Twelve Part Seven.]
It is
also clear that. like so may others, Marcuse has run-together speaker's
meaning with word meaning (a
topic I take up again later in much more detail); that can be seen in the
following passages:
"People depend for their living on
bosses and politicians and jobs and neighbours who make
them speak and mean as they do; they are compelled, by societal
necessity, to identify the 'thing' (including their own person, mind, feeling)
with its functions....
"In speaking
their own language, people also speak the language of their masters,
benefactors, advertisers. Thus they do not only express themselves,
their own knowledge, feelings, and aspirations, but also something other than
themselves....
"We
must use the same terms for describing our automobiles,
foods and furniture, colleagues and competitors -- and we understand each other
perfectly. This must necessarily be so, for language is nothing
private and personal, or rather the private and personal is mediated by the
available linguistic material, which is societal material. But this situation
disqualifies ordinary language from fulfilling the validating function which it
performs in analytic philosophy. 'What people mean when
they say...' is related to what they don't say. Or,
what they mean
cannot be taken at face value -- not because they lie, but because the universe of
thought and practice in which they live is a universe of manipulated
contradictions." [Ibid.]
[Speaker's meaning has been highlighted in red; word meaning in purple.
What
a person intends to achieve with his/her words is surely distinct from what
those words mean. So, if NN says (sarcastically) "Well done!" and means
(speaker's meaning) "You screwed up!"
that in no way alters what either "well" or "done" mean in English.]
Despite this, it is a bit rich of Marcuse
pointing his class-compromised finger at ordinary language when the traditional approach to Philosophy
which he champions is itself a clear expression of
ruling-class forms-of-thought. Hence, concerning what Marcuse has to say:
"[H]is (i.e., Marcuse's) words are an expression
of the individual who speaks it, and of those who make him speak as he does, and
of whatever tension or contradiction may interrelate them. In speaking his own
language, Marcuse also speaks the language of his masters, benefactors,
advertisers..." [Edited misquotation of Marcuse (1968).]
it is worth asking: What makes Marcuse think he can rise above
such social forces?6a01
At this point, it is important to
recall once again Marx's
comment:
"The philosophers have only
to dissolve their language into the ordinary language, from which it is
abstracted, in order to recognise it, as the distorted language of the actual
world, and to realise that neither thoughts nor language in themselves form a
realm of their own, that they are only manifestations of actual life." [Marx
and Engels (1970), p.118. Bold emphases added.]
It seems, then, that Marx didn't share
Marcuse's contempt for ordinary language. And no wonder; by the time he wrote
The German Ideology, he knew philosophy couldn't change the world. The
working class is essential to that end. Holding the vernacular in contempt is not, therefore, a good
place to start.
"Where it seems to go beyond
this discourse, as in its logical purifications, only the skeleton remains of
the same universe -- a ghost much more ghostly than those which the analysis
combats. If philosophy is more than an occupation, it shows the grounds which
made discourse a mutilated and deceptive universe. To leave this task to a
colleague in the Sociology or Psychology Department is to make the established
division of academic labour into a methodological principle. Nor can the task be
brushed aside with the modest insistence that linguistic analysis has only the
humble purpose of clarifying 'muddled' thinking and speaking. If such
clarification goes beyond a mere enumeration and classification of possible
meanings in possible contexts, leaving the choice wide open to anyone according
to circumstances, then it is anything but a humble task. Such clarification
would involve analyzing ordinary language in really controversial areas,
recognizing muddled thinking where it seems to be the least muddled,
uncovering the falsehood in so much normal and clear usage. Then linguistic
analysis would attain the level on which the specific societal processes which
shape and limit the universe of discourse become visible and understandable."
[Marcuse (1968),
p.157.]
Marcuse again mistakes the point of
Wittgenstein's method; it isn't just aimed at clearing up "muddles", but
at showing
that the distorted language of Traditional Philosophy can't deliver any
results at all -- that is, other than profound confusion. The last 2500 years of
wasted effort is testimony enough. In which case, we have no choice but to
turn things over to scientists and sociologists -- or, better still, to historical
materialists who haven't sold their radical souls for a
mess of
boss-class pottage.
"The range and extent of the
social system of meaning varies considerably in different historical periods and
in accordance with the attained level of culture, but its boundaries are clearly
enough defined if the communication refers to more than the non-controversial
implements and relations of daily life. Today, the social systems of meaning
unite different nation states and linguistic areas, and these large systems of
meaning tend to coincide with the orbit of the more or less advanced capitalist
societies on the one hand, and that of the advancing communist societies on the
other. While the determining function of the social system of meaning asserts
itself most rigidly in the controversial, political universe of discourse, it
also operates, in a much more covert, unconscious, emotional manner, in the
ordinary universe of discourse. A genuinely philosophic analysis of meaning has
to take all these dimensions of meaning into account because the linguistic
expressions partake of all of them. Consequently, linguistic analysis in
philosophy has an extra-linguistic commitment. If it decides on a distinction
between legitimate and non-legitimate usage, between authentic and illusory
meaning, sense and non-sense, it invokes a political, aesthetic, or moral
judgment." [Ibid.,
p.159.]
Indeed, and the political viewpoint (I
will say nothing of its aesthetic or moral aspects) of such an analysis is the
same as Marx's when he (and not just the OLP-ers) alleged that Philosophy is
based on linguistic distortion and confusion. Although, of course, this wasn't Wittgenstein's aim; it most
certainly is the present author's. But, this just shows that linguistic analysis
doesn't have to be as Marcuse depicted it. And sure, language changes,
but logical grammar does not. [I have given four examples of the latter,
here,
here,
here, and
here,
as well a many others right throughout this site. Readers who follow those link
will also see why logical grammar doesn't change (in the sense that it is ever
undone), it is simply augmented in line with social development.]
"It may be objected that such
an 'external' analysis (in quotation marks because it is actually not
external but rather the internal development of meaning) is particularly out of
place where the intent is to capture the meaning of terms by analyzing their
function and usage in ordinary discourse. But my contention is that this is
precisely what linguistic analysis in contemporary philosophy does not
do. And it does not do so inasmuch as it transfers ordinary discourse into a
special academic universe which is purified and synthetic even where (and just
where) it is filled with ordinary language. In this analytic treatment of
ordinary language, the latter is really sterilized and anesthetized.
Multi-dimensional language is made into one-dimensional language, in which
different and conflicting meanings no longer interpenetrate but are kept apart;
the explosive historical dimension of meaning is silenced." [Ibid.,
pp.159-60.]
Marcuse, of course, says all this from the
standpoint of his own "academic universe", which was long ago
compromised by
thought-forms dominated by ruling-class ideology. But, he is wrong about
linguistic analysis, and particularly in relation to how analysis is carried out in the
Wittgensteinian tradition. Not only has the latter motivated a wider application
of his method to the Arts (Poetry, Drama and Literature -- on that, see Perloff
(1996)), but also to Sociology, Politics and History (particularly the History
and Sociology of Science). Admittedly, much of this has unfolded since Marcuse
rushed into print, but that just shows how peremptory and parochial his accusations were.
[More on this in Essays Twelve Part Seven and Thirteen Part Two, when they are
published.]
"Wittgenstein's endless
language game with building stones, or the conversing Joe Doe and Dick Roe may
again serve as examples. In spite of the simple clarity of the example, the
speakers and their situation remain unidentified. They are x and y, no matter
how chummily they talk. But in the real universe of discourse, x and y are
'ghosts.' They don't exist; they are the product of the analytic philosopher. To
be sure, the talk of x and y is perfectly understandable, and the linguistic
analyst appeals righteously to the normal understanding of ordinary people. But
in reality, we understand each other only through whole areas of
misunderstanding and contradiction. The real universe of ordinary language is
that of the struggle for existence. It is indeed an ambiguous, vague, obscure
universe, and is certainly in need of clarification. Moreover, such
clarification may well fulfil a therapeutic function, and if philosophy would
become therapeutic, it would really come into its own." [Ibid.,
p.160.]
Marcuse has in fact made a valid a point
here, as I have argued
elsewhere. Having said that, this defect is easily rectified. As
noted earlier, unless we understand simple talk, we stand no chance with more
complex exchanges. What is more, we would be fools to look to those whose ideas don't work anyway, or which
imply that change is impossible.
And we would be even more foolish to look to the obscure language Hegel uses to
tell us anything about language. It is certainly true that, for example, the
parable of the parable of the builders in the Philosophical Investigations
(on this, see Rhees (1970b)) looks like it pictures cardboard cut-outs of
human beings, and much of Wittgenstein's work is a-historical. But
that is because he was concerned to investigate logical grammar, which, as I
noted above, is a permanent feature of language. Having said that, a
return to Hegel in order to provide any insight into actual human beings,
how they talk and think, would be like appealing to astrology to inform
astronomy.
"Philosophy
approaches this goal to the degree to which it frees thought from its
enslavement by the established universe of discourse and behaviour, elucidates
the negativity of the Establishment (its positive aspects are abundantly
publicized anyway) and projects its alternatives. To be sure, philosophy
contradicts and projects in thought only. It is ideology, and this ideological
character is the very fate of philosophy which no scientism and positivism can
overcome. Still, its ideological effort may be truly therapeutic -- to show
reality as that which it really is, and to show that which this reality prevents
from being.
"In the
totalitarian era, the therapeutic task of philosophy would be a political task,
since the established universe of ordinary language tends to coagulate into a
totally manipulated and indoctrinated universe. Then politics would appear in
philosophy, not as a special discipline or object of analysis, nor as a special
political philosophy, but as the intent of its concepts to comprehend the
unmutilated reality. If linguistic analysis does not contribute to such
understanding; if, instead, it contributes to enclosing thought in the circle of
the mutilated universe of ordinary discourse, it is at best entirely
inconsequential. And, at worst, it is an escape into the non-controversial, the
unreal, into that which is only academically controversial."
[Ibid.,
p.160.]
This is a
rather glib sales pitch, but like
most advertising it should be taken with a pinch of salt, for, as we have seen,
the only thing that Philosophy succeeds in generating is distorted language,
compounded by confusion, resulting in
non-sensical
and incoherent thought. But, yes, we should be wary of "indoctrination" and
guard against being "manipulated", but, if so, the accusatory finger should
rather be rotated through a full half circle, and pointed at those who look to
boss-class hacks like Hegel for guidance.
Marcuse continues in the same vein in Chapter
Eight of his book, except his target is Analytic Philosophy in general, and not so much
Wittgenstein. In that chapter, he focuses on how Analytic Philosophers have
handled "Universals". I do not propose to deal with this chapter in any great
detail since I have said more-or-less all I want to say on this in Essay Three Parts
One and
Two. However, a few paragraphs
require comment:
"The commitment of analytic
philosophy to the mutilated reality of thought and speech shows forth strikingly
in its treatment of universals. The problem was mentioned before, as part
of the inherent historical and at the same time transcendent, general character
of philosophic concepts. It now requires a more detailed discussion. Far from
being only an abstract question of epistemology, or a pseudo-concrete question
of language and its use, the question of the status of universals is at the very
centre of philosophic thought. For the treatment of universals reveals the
position of a philosophy in the intellectual culture -- its historical
function." [Ibid.,
p.161.]
We saw in the aforementioned Essays, that far
from dealing with genuine universals (i.e., general terms/concepts),
Traditional Philosophers and DM-theorists in fact turn them into the
Proper Names of
Abstract
Particulars, destroying their capacity to express generality. How does
Marcuse manage to side-step this bear trap? The answer is, he
doesn't. Because of his adoption of traditional forms-of-thought,
he blunders right into it:
"Contemporary analytic
philosophy is out to exorcize such 'myths' or metaphysical 'ghosts' as Mind,
Consciousness, Will, Soul, Self, by dissolving the intent of these concepts into
statements on particular identifiable operations, performances, powers,
dispositions, propensities, skills, etc. The result shows, in a strange way, the
impotence of the destruction -- the ghost continues to haunt. While every
interpretation or translation may describe adequately a particular mental
process, an act of imagining what I mean when I say 'I,' or what the priest
means when he says that Mary is a 'good girl,' not a single one of these
reformulations, nor their sum-total, seems to capture or even circumscribe the
full meaning of such terms as Mind, Will, Self, Good. These universals continue
to persist in common as well as 'poetic' usage, and either usage distinguishes
them from the various modes of behaviour or disposition that, according to the
analytic philosopher, fulfil their meaning." [Ibid.
p.161. Bold emphasis added.]
For Marcuse, these universals aren't general
terms, they are Proper Names of the aforementioned Abstract Particulars,
which vacates them of whatever generality they might once have had. [The
disastrous consequences that has on our ability
to say anything at all were discussed at length in Essay Three
Part One.]
We will leave to one side whether or not
these 'terms' persist in common usage since Marcuse offers no evidence that they
do. To be sure, ordinary speakers use words like "mind", "self" and "will" all
the time, but it is open to considerable doubt that when they do so they are
referring, or even alluding, to the artificial 'Universals' of
philosophical lore. Certainly, Marcuse
offers no evidence (or argument) that they do. And it is far from clear that
anyone else has managed to do so, either -- least of all those who lionise Marcuse's work.
In fact, we can draw the opposite
conclusion: since ordinary speakers say general things about
whatever it is that they wish to say such things about (for example, "The boss
is a crook", "Tony Blair is a war criminal", "The Nile is
longer than any other river on earth", "Fighting austerity is
socialist priority", or even "Anyone with half a mind should enter politics, since that's all
you need"), they plainly do not refer, or even allude, to the Abstract
Particulars Marcuse focussed upon. If they were to do that, they wouldn't be able
to make such
general points.
It could be objected that Marcuse does offer his
readers an argument in support of the claims he makes about ordinary speech,
namely this:
"However, this dissolution itself must be questioned -- not only on behalf of
the philosopher, but on behalf of the ordinary people in whose life and
discourse such dissolution takes place. It is not their own doing and their own
saying: it happens to them and it violates them as they are compelled, by the
'circumstances,' to identify their mind with the mental processes, their self
with the roles and functions which they have to perform in their society. If
philosophy does not comprehend these processes of translation and identification
as societal processes -- i.e., as a mutilation of the mind (and the body)
inflicted upon the individuals by their society -- philosophy struggles only
with the ghost of the substance which it wishes to de-mystify. The mystifying
character adheres, not to the concepts of 'mind,' 'self,' 'consciousness,' etc.
but rather to their behavioural translation. The translation is deceptive
precisely because it translates the concept faithfully into modes of actual
behaviour, propensities, and dispositions and, in so doing, it takes the
mutilated and organized appearances (themselves real enough!) for the reality."
[Ibid.,
p.162. Several typos corrected.]
Here, Marcuse undoubtedly advances a substantive point about
what he thinks ordinary folk mean by their use of "mind", etc. However, instead
of looking at how we/they actually employ this word, he imposed an a priori
interpretation and structure on it. [For an illuminating lecture on how such
words are used, readers are encouraged to watch
this video of Peter Hacker speaking on the topic.]
This is doubly unfortunate since one of
the books that Marcuse lists in his 'rogues gallery' is Gilbert Ryle's The Concept of
Mind [i.e.,
Ryle (1949a)
-- this links to a PDF], which shows a far greater sensitivity to our
complex use of psychological vocabulary than anything Marcuse and other
dialecticians have yet managed to cobble together -- indeed, as we will see as this Essay unfolds.
I won't bang on, but I will end with just two more examples (one taken from
Chapter Eight, and one from earlier in the book):
"The 'whole'
that here comes to view must be cleared from all misunderstanding in terms of an
independent entity, of a 'Gestalt,' and the like. The concept somehow expresses
the difference and tension between potentiality and actuality -- identity in
this difference. It appears in the relation between the qualities (white, hard;
but also beautiful, free, just) and the corresponding concepts (whiteness,
hardness, beauty, freedom, justice). The abstract character of the latter seems
to designate the more concrete qualities as part-realizations, aspects,
manifestations of a more universal and more 'excellent' quality, which is
experienced in the concrete.
"And by virtue
of this relation, the concrete quality seems to represent a negation as well as
realization of the universal. Snow is white but not 'whiteness'; a girl may be
beautiful, even a beauty, but not 'beauty'; a country may be free (in
comparison with others) because its people have certain liberties, but it is not
the very embodiment of freedom. Moreover, the concepts are meaningful only in
experienced contrast with their opposites: white with not white, beautiful with
not beautiful. Negative statements can sometimes be translated into positive
ones: 'black' or 'grey' for 'not white,' 'ugly' for not 'beautiful.'
"These
formulations do not alter the relation between the abstract concept and its
concrete realizations: the universal concept denotes that which the particular
entity is, and is not. The translation can eliminate the hidden negation
by reformulating the meaning in a non-contradictory proposition, but the
untranslated statement suggests a real want. There is more in the abstract noun
(beauty, freedom) than in the qualities ('beautiful,' 'free') attributed to the
particular person, thing or condition. The substantive universal intends
qualities which surpass all particular experience, but persist in the mind, not
as a figment of imagination nor as more logical possibilities but as the 'stuff'
of which our world consists. No snow is pure white, nor is any cruel beast or
man all the cruelty man knows -- knows as an almost inexhaustible force in
history and imagination." [Ibid.,
pp.168-69.]
This is in fact a faint echo of Hegel's reference to
what I have called "Spinoza's Greedy Principle" [SGP] (in Essay Eleven
Part Two) --
i.e., "Every
determination is also a negation". However, this is an unreliable principle
(even where any sense can be made of it!), not least because it confuses what we
do with words with the means by which we do it. Of course, that move is about as
brainless as confusing, say, a holiday with the aeroplane you might board in
order travel there, or even a map with a trek in the hills! [The serious
weaknesses of the SGP have been exposed in Essay Three
Part One. They will be
more completely revealed in Essay Twelve Part Five, but they are
connected with the points I have made
here.]
Ignoring for the moment the fact that Marcuse confuses
concepts with words, it isn't even true that:
"the concepts are meaningful
only in experienced contrast with their opposites: white with not white,
beautiful with not beautiful. Negative statements can sometimes be translated
into positive ones: 'black' or 'grey' for 'not white,' 'ugly' for 'not
beautiful.'" [Ibid.]
Colour concepts are meaningful, among other
things, because of the
colour octahedron [this links to a PDF] not because we have met in
experience "not-white" (or whatever). If someone has no understanding of colour
words, they can swim in "not-white" all day long for all the good it will do
them. Much the same can be said about the mastery of other words.6a
But, the above errors are connected with
a much
deeper logical issue. This brings us to the final passage from One Dimensional
Man that I propose to examine:
"In the
classical logic, the judgment which constituted the original core of dialectical
thought was formalised in the propositional form, 'S is p.' But this form
conceals rather than reveals the basic dialectical proposition, which states the
negative character of the empirical reality. Judged in the light of their
essence and idea, men and things exist as other than they are; consequently
thought contradicts that which is (given), opposes its truth to that of the
given reality. The truth envisaged by thought is the Idea. As such it is, in
terms of the given reality, 'mere' Idea, 'mere' essence -- potentiality.
"But the
essential potentiality is not like the many possibilities which are contained in
the given universe of discourse and action; the essential potentiality is of a
very different order. Its realisation involves subversion of the established
order, for thinking in accordance with truth is the commitment to exist in
accordance with truth. (In Plato, the extreme concepts which illustrate this
subversion are: death as the beginning of the philosopher's life, and the
violent liberation from the Cave.) Thus, the subversive character of truth
inflicts upon thought an imperative quality. Logic centres on judgments which
are, as demonstrative propositions, imperatives, -- the predicative 'is' implies
an 'ought'.
"This
contradictory, two-dimensional style of thought is the inner form not only of
dialectical logic but of all philosophy which comes to grips with reality. The
propositions which define reality affirm as true something that is not
(immediately) the case; thus they contradict that which is the case, and they
deny its truth. The affirmative judgment contains a negation which disappears in
the propositional form (S is p). For example, 'virtue is knowledge'; 'justice is
that state in which everyone performs the function for which his nature is best
suited'; 'the perfectly real is the perfectly knowable'...; 'man is free'; 'the
State is the reality of Reason.'
"If these
propositions are to be true, then the copula 'is' states an 'ought,' a
desideratum. It judges conditions in which virtue is not knowledge, in which men
do not perform the function for which their nature best suits them, in which
they are not free, etc. Or, the categorical S-p form states that (S) is not (S);
(S) is defined as other-than-itself. Verification of the proposition involves a
process in fact as well as in thought: (S) must become that which it is.
The categorical statement thus turns into a categorical imperative; it
does not state a fact but the necessity to bring about a fact. For
example, it could be read as follows: man is not (in fact) free, endowed
with inalienable rights, etc., but he ought to be, because he is free in
the eyes of God, by nature, etc." [Ibid.,
pp.110-11. Link added. I have used the on-line text here, and
have corrected any typographical errors I managed to spot.]
We have
already seen that
dialecticians en masse have bought into a
defective theory of
predication,
so it is no surprise to see Marcuse following suite. His claim that the traditional
logic of subject (S) and predicate (p) "conceals
rather than reveals the basic dialectical proposition, which states the negative
character of the empirical reality" may or may not be true --, but if it isn't,
then that is all to the good since "reality" has neither a "negative" nor a
positive "character". In fact, it is only because Marcuse has limited
himself to a very
narrow range of examples that his assertions might seem (to some) to be
plausible. As was noted in Essay Three
Part One:
For example, how would the following be classified?
H1: Every sailor loves a girl who reminds him of
anyone other than his mother.
H2: Anyone who knows Marx's work will also know that
he is second to none in his analysis of all the economic forces operating in
Capitalism, and most of those constitutive of other Modes of Production.
H3: Any prime factor of an even number between
two and one hundred is less than a composite number not equal to but greater
than fifty.
H4: Some who admire most of those who do not
despise themselves often avoid sitting opposite any who criticise those who
claim membership of the minority break-away faction of the Socrates
Appreciation Society.
H5: Today, Blair met some of those who think his
policy in Iraq is a betrayal of his few remaining socialist principles.
Are these universal,
particular, negative, or positive? Are they judgements or propositions? But
these are the sort of propositions that feature in mathematics and the sciences
all the time (to say nothing of everyday speech -- excepting perhaps H4). Indeed,
the serious limitations of the restrictive old logic, with its incapacity to
handle complex sentences in mathematics, inspired Frege to recast the entire
discipline in its modern form over a hundred and twenty years ago. [On this, see
Essay Four.]
Some might object that these aren't the sort
of "judgements" with which 'traditional logic', or even Hegel, concerned itself/himself, but that is
precisely the
point. It is only because Marcuse, along with other dialecticians, has relied on a
bowdlerised form of the (already antiquated) Aristotelian Logic extant in
Hegel's day that his argument even seems to gain a
slender toe-hold.
However, let us assume
for the moment that Marcuse's
analysis is impeccable. Even then, what he alleges would still
be incorrect:
"In the classical logic, the
judgment which constituted the original core of dialectical thought was
formalised in the propositional form, 'S is p.' But this form conceals rather
than reveals the basic dialectical proposition, which states the negative
character of the empirical reality. Judged in the light of their essence and
idea, men and things exist as other than they are; consequently thought
contradicts that which is (given), opposes its truth to that of the given
reality. The truth envisaged by thought is the Idea. As such it is, in terms of
the given reality, 'mere' Idea, 'mere' essence -- potentiality.
"...Or, the categorical S-p
form states that (S) is not (S);
(S) is defined as other-than-itself. Verification of the proposition involves a
process in fact as well as in thought: (S) must become that which it is.
The categorical statement thus turns into a categorical imperative; it
does not state a fact but the necessity to bring about a fact. For
example, it could be read as follows: man is not (in fact) free, endowed
with inalienable rights, etc., but he ought to be, because be is
free in the eyes of God, by nature, etc." [Ibid.]
Clearly, this argument depends on "men and things" each having an essence, which
Marcuse simply takes for granted. Of course, to mystics like Hegel and
Aristotle, it seemed clear that "men and things" did indeed have an
"essence" (which was for them something that had been decided upon by 'god'), but this is just another example of
ruling-class ideology
dominating their thought.
But, even if
that allegation were itself incorrect, what
is Marcuse going to say about propositions like the following?
M1: Human beings are mortal.
M2: Tables and chairs are
often made of wood.
Do
these "oppose" the "truth of reality"? Are we to assume that humans are 'really'
immortal, and that they oughtn't be like this -- i.e., mortal? Or,
that ordinary objects are in 'reality' non-material, and that there is
an 'imperative' here which means that we should all struggle to make them material?
If not, Marcuse's analysis can't be relied upon to reveal 'the truth' even about
mundane matters of fact --
which shouldn't surprise us in view of the preceding paragraphs -- that
is, considering the
defective logic Marcuse
appropriated and then put to misuse in order to arrive at most of his
rather odd conclusions.
Finally, if what Marcuse asserts were correct:
"consequently thought
contradicts that which is (given), opposes its truth to that of the given
reality",
then
this 'thought' would itself 'contradict' reality.
And, if that were so, it would mean that in reality there are no such 'contradictions'
-- otherwise Marcuse's own comments wouldn't represent things as they 'really
are'. As we have seen
many times already,
Diabolical Logic like this soon self-destructs.
It is time we left this prime example of
boss-class confusion and turned instead to consider several others who have
drifted off into
deep waters.
A more recent swipe at Wittgenstein comes
from my old friend Ben Watson (in a book that is openly contemptuous of academic
standards -- a dismissive approach that Marx himself would have criticised, to
say nothing of Lenin and Trotsky):
"Take Ludwig Wittgenstein.
Deprived of the benefit of Trotsky's optical materialism, his commitment to
Aristotelian formal logic drives him into madness…. Wittgenstein's 'play of the
imagination' is incipient schizophrenia, the confusion of reality with symbolic
systems used to represent it…. The 'logical' analytic philosophers, whose
attempt to live in the flatland of symbolic representation, drove themselves
crazy." [Watson (1998), p.121.]
To be fair, the first set of dots in
the above passage conceals the omission of a long quotation from Wittgenstein's
Philosophical Investigations -- which Watson then, alas predictably,
proceeds to misrepresent, as we will see.
[FL = Formal Logic; AFL =
Aristotelian Formal Logic; LOI = Law Of Identity; LOC = Law Of Contradiction;
LEM = Law Of Excluded Middle; HM= Historical Materialism.]
The reference to Trotsky's "optical
materialism" is no less unfortunate. As I demonstrated in
Essay Six: If we are more accurate
and honest,
Trotsky's "optical materialism" rather more closely resembles 'Dialectical
Myopia'.
Even so, the presence of these relatively
minor flaws shouldn't detract from the book's more egregious
errors.
First, as far as logic is concerned,
Wittgenstein was a Fregean (even if he adopted a critical but deferential
stance toward his work).7In fact, Watson is invited to try to find a single reference in
Wittgenstein's entire corpus (of over five million words) that commits him to
AFL, or any aspect of it.8
Indeed, Wittgenstein's first published work, as short review of Coffey's two
volume logic text, he had this to say:
"In no branch of learning can an author disregard the results of honest research
with so much impunity as he can in Philosophy and Logic. To this circumstance we
owe the publication of such a book as Mr Coffey's
Science of Logic: and only as a
typical example of the work of many logicians of to-day does this book deserve
consideration. The author's Logic is that of the scholastic philosophers, and he
makes all their mistakes -- of course with the usual references to Aristotle.
(Aristotle, whose name is taken so much in vain by our logicians, would turn in
his grave if he knew that so many Logicians know no more about Logic to-day than
he did 2,000 years ago). The author has not taken the slightest notice of the
great work of the modern mathematical logicians -- work which has brought about
an advance in Logic comparable only to that which made Astronomy out of
Astrology, and Chemistry out of Alchemy....
"[Summarising
Coffey's errors -- RL]:
"[1] The author
believes that all propositions are of the subject predicate form....
"[3] He confounds the
copula 'is' with the word 'is' expressing identity....
"The worst of such books is that they
prejudice sensible people against the study of Logic...."
[Wittgenstein (1913a),
pp.2-3.]
So,
while the above shows he had great respect for Aristotle, he had much greater
respect for Frege and Russell's mathematical logic, indeed, as he said in his
second published work:
"I do not wish to judge how
far my efforts coincide with those of other philosophers. Indeed, what I have
written here makes no claim to novelty in detail, and the reason why I give no
sources is that it is a matter of indifference to me whether the thoughts that I
have had have been anticipated by someone else.
"I will only mention that I am
indebted to Frege's great works and of the writings of my friend Mr Bertrand
Russell for much of the stimulation of my thoughts." [Wittgenstein
(1972), p3.]
Here, he described Frege's work as "great",
a term he applied to no
other Philosopher or Logician.
Second, far from confusing symbols with reality,
Wittgenstein was in fact one of the few leading Philosophers in the entire
history of the subject consistently to strive to do the opposite,
arguing that most of what passes for Traditional Philosophy was guilty of this very failing
(a point that has been reiterated throughout this site). Hence, it is a little rich of
Watson to
raise this particular point when he himself is an avid fan of dialectics, whose
theorists constantly do precisely what he accuses Wittgenstein of doing
(substantiated here and throughout this
site, but especially in Essays Three Parts One
and Two,
and Twelve
Part One).
Finally, and with respect to the passage
quoted above (from
the Philosophical Investigations, aimed at discussing the LOI), Watson has
clearly missed the point. Onthevery same page,
Wittgenstein himself admits the following about his earlier approach:
"My symbolic expression [in
the Tractatus] was really a mythological description of the use of a
rule." [Wittgenstein (1958), p.85e, §221.
(This links to a PDF.)]
Now, even the most superficial reading of the
Philosophical Investigations will reveal that Wittgenstein is arguing
against the mythology surrounding our use of symbols -- including his own
earlier misdemeanours in this respect --, that is, against what I have called
the
"fetishisation of language".9
This is one reason why
Wittgenstein himself took the LOI to task in both his earlier and later
periods. On this issue, he argued that those who regard this 'law' as a particularly deep sort of truth
misconstrue a rule for the use of certain symbols/words as if it were a scientific or
metaphysical truth about reality. Indeed, and as we have seen, this is precisely
how Trotsky, for example, misinterpreted the LOI, even if, following Hegel, he declared
this 'law'
always false -- or, perhaps, both false and true, or, at least, not
always unconditionally true. It is this
tradition that Wittgenstein sought to undermine: a pattern of thought that
Hegel, Trotsky and other DM-theorists share with card-carrying defenders of a
ruling-class view of the world.
One of the main aims of
Wittgenstein's method was to show that philosophical theses (like those that are based on
a traditional reading of the LOI, the LOC, and the LEM) were predicated on a
systematic misconstrual of rules as if they were substantive truths
about the world. To be sure, Wittgenstein might not have concurred with the following
observation, but it is worth making all the same: such rules become fetishised when alienated
forms-of-thought encourage theorists to mistake contingent features of
language for necessary relations, objects or processes in reality (i.e., with
all those underlying, mysterious "essences").
Hence, what had once been the product of
the social relations between human beings (i.e., language) became inverted and
then systematically misconstrued as the real relations between things -- and, in
the case of the LOI, the real relation between "a thing and itself" -- or,
between two or more events/states of affairs.
Of course, this
misidentification had always been taken seriously by Traditional Thinkers, and
not just in relation to the LOI.
Because of this it
was easy for them to project this error back onto nature to give spurious
'objectivity' to their theories about 'Ultimate Reality'. In the Ideal World they had conjured into existence, the
socially-sanctioned relationships between words were mistaken for the real
relationships between things, or even those things themselves. The material world
was now interpreted through
this distorted,
idealised
view of language, and in such a way that contingent features of discourse were
regarded as objective features of 'Reality'. In this way, these distorted linguistic
forms came to determine the fundamental nature of 'Reality', which was in fact
just a projection of fetishised discourse back onto it! [We saw this was also the case with Marcuse,
above,
and we will see it several more times throughout the rest of this Essay.]
Even though
dialecticians have tried to distance themselves from Idealist moves like these,
by means of their invention of scientific-sounding
'philosophical reasoning' -- through which they attempt to argue that the LOI, the
LEM and the LOC are
empirically false while being, in some sense, 'ideally'/'abstractly' true
-- these
moves only succeed in reduplicating the 'problems' with which they began, as we saw in Essays
Four,
Five,
Six
and Eight Part
Three.
If, for example, the usual
interpretation of the LOI (as a 'necessary'/metaphysical truth) is in fact the
result of a confusion over the use of certain symbols, then the standard
DM-criticism of that 'Law' will only ever be self-defeating. That is because
that critique is directed against a mythological representation of a rule of language,
not against an empirical falsehood (or even an 'ideal'/'abstract' truth). Indeed, as
we saw in Essay Six, such a ham-fisted 'attack' on the LOI cannot succeed because it is
aimed at a mirage; hence an 'attack' like this will always backfire on those
held in
thrall to this mythological picture. That is because this wrong-headed approach undermines the meaning
of the words used to that end -- e.g., "same", "equal",
"exact", "identical", and "different". The result is that anyone foolish enough
to stray down that path will only ever
succeed in vitiating their own use of these very words.
And this is precisely what we witnessed earlier in
connection with Trotsky's (and derivatively, Hegel's)
'analysis' of the LOI;
any attempt to undermine that 'law' cannot fail to undermine the application of
the terms used in that very 'attack'.
Hence, a misplaced assault on the LOI is
forced to employ symbols whose own identities (and hence denotations) are
simultaneously called into question and not called into
question. That is, this approach aims to show how limited this 'law' is, but its
execution requires this 'law' to be valid so that the symbols it uses don't
change while the argument is being prosecuted. In which case, the argument is entirely misconceived, since, if, per impossible,
it were valid all the words an erstwhile critic must use would (as phenomenal
objects) cease to be identical from moment to moment, which would mean that the following
hackneyed 'dialectical' criticisms of the 'equality' of two letter "A"s would fall flat:
"[T]he first of [the
universal Laws of Thought], the maxim of Identity, reads: Everything is
identical with itself, A = A…." [Hegel (1975), p.167.]
"In this remark, I will
consider in more detail identity as the law of identity which is usually adduced
as the first law of thought.
"This proposition in its positive expression
A = A is, in the first instance, nothing more than the expression of an empty
tautology." [Hegel (1999), p.413.]
"Abstract Identity (a = a…) is
likewise inapplicable in organic nature. The plant, the animal, every cell is at
every moment of its life identical with itself and yet becoming distinct from
itself….The law of identity in the old metaphysical sense is the
fundamental law of the old outlook: a = a." [Engels (1954), pp.214-15.]
"The 'fundamental laws of
thinking' are considered to be three in number: 1) The Law of Identity… [which]
states that 'A is A' or A = A…." [Plekhanov (1908), p.89.]
"…Hegel elucidates the
one-sidedness, the incorrectness of the 'law of identity' (A = A)…." [Lenin
(1961), p.134.]
"The Aristotelian logic of
the simple syllogism starts from the proposition that 'A' is equal to 'A'. This
postulate is accepted as an axiom for a multitude of practical human actions and
elementary generalisations. But in reality 'A' is not equal to 'A'." [Trotsky
(1971, p.63.]
"Formal Logic starts from the
proposition that A is always equal to A. We know that this law of identity
contains some measure of truth…. Now…when we go to reality and look for evidence
of the truth of the proposition: A equals A…we find that the opposite of this
axiom is far closer to the truth." [Novack (1971), pp.32-33.]
"Formal Logic asserts:
'A is A'.
Dialectical Logic is not saying 'A is not-A'…. It says: A is indeed A, but A is
also not-A precisely so far as the proposition 'A is A' is not a tautology but
has real content." [Lefebvre (1968), p.41.]
"The Law of identity is
usually expressed in the form, A is A. That is, each thing is identical with
itself." [Somerville (1946), p.183.]
"The Aristotelian conception
of the laws basic to correct thinking may be stated as follows: 1. Law of
Identity: Each existence is identical with itself. A is A…." [Somerville (1967),
pp.44-45.]
"Classical, Aristotelian
logic takes as its fundamental premise the Law of Identity, the statement that a
thing is identical with itself. Expressed in a formula: A is A…. In Aristotle's
formal logic A is A, and never non-A. In Hegel's dialectics A is A as well as
non-A." [Baghavan (1987), pp.75-76.]
"The biggest contradiction of
all lies in the fundamental premises of formal logic itself…. The basic
laws…are:
1) The law of Identity ('A' =
'A')…." [Woods
and Grant (1995), pp.90-91.]
"Dialectics, or the logic of motion, is distinct from formal or static logic.
Formal logic is based on three fundamental laws:
"(a) The
law of identity: A is equal to A; a thing is always equal to itself." [Mandel
(1979), p.160.]
"The laws of logic are based
on two main propositions. The first is that of identity or of self-conformity.
The proposition very simply states: 'A is A,' that is every concept is equal to
itself. A man is a man, a hen is a hen, a potato is a potato. This proposition
forms one basis of logic." [Thalheimer (1936), pp.88.]
"[In
FL] things are defined statically, according to certain fixed properties -–
colour, weight, size, and so on. This is denoted by the expression 'A is equal
to A'." [Rees (1998a), p.272.]
If two such letters are "never equal" to one another, then sentences
stand no chance.
In practice
this means that no one -- not Hegel, not Engels, not Plekhanov, not Lenin, not Trotsky,
not Mao... -- would have access to
identically the same message that they had committed to paper
the previous day, let alone those written by others seventy, eighty,
or one hundred and eighty
years earlier, since, on this account, there would be no such thing.
But, critics who have
arrived at the same conclusion as Trotsky (or Hegel) about the LOI must clearly have
done just something their theory says cannot be done. They must have access to the exact message
they had committed to paper -- which message now tells
them there can be no such thing!
Clearly, this undermines any
conclusions such critics might draw -- but not the LOI. Indeed, that 'law'
(or rather this rule of language) will
have just been used, and must always be used, in this charade aimed at to deriving
this self-defeating result. Hence, their own implicit (or explicit) use of
identity -- in this instance, involving the identity of symbols, meanings and
the use of language over many generations -- to criticise the 'law' under scrutiny counts as
a practical refutation of that
very criticism! With that, their attack on the LOI self-destructs, which is,
of course, also part of the reason why so many 'dialectical theses' so readily collapse into incoherence
-- as, indeed, we saw
in Essay Six.
[The "relative stability" defence has
been defused here.]
As Wittgenstein noted, we can't get outside
language (and we can't even try) in order to state 'philosophical truths',
or those which masquerade as particularly deep
'philosophical truths' about discourse, let alone about
'Reality'.
By implication, this can't be done
either with the more radical aim
of undermining the application of fundamental rules of language (such
as those expressed by the LOI and the LOC). Anyone attempting to do this will find that they
first have to employ these self same rules in order to undermine them, which
will, naturally, fatally damage that attack. And, that is why theorists can't even try to challenge logical features/rules
of language like these.
[This is a summary of three much longer arguments found
here,
here and
here
(where I also respond to one or two obvious objections).]
Nevertheless, in a later part of the same
book, Watson offered his readers the following thoughts:
"The radical democracy of
Voloshinov's linguistics is a model for any theory of the superstructure. It
stems from the fact that he does not abstract speech from its actual use in
society. This is the very opposite of philosophers who build a system by
wondering what it means to stare at their desk. It is a slap in the face for
cretins who think it is clever to read Wittgenstein." [Watson (1998), p.334. Bold
emphasis added.]
However, if these "cretins" have
read their Wittgenstein with the same 'careful' attention to detail that certain
comrades have devoted to the same task (no irony intended) then this epithet is well-deserved.
To hammer the point home, Watson very helpfully provided his readers with an
example of Voloshinov's careful use ofordinary speech in this
further quotation from the latter's book:
"The separation of word
meaning from evaluation inevitably deprives meaning of its place in the living
social process (where meaning is always permeated with value judgement), to its
being ontologized and transformed into ideal Being divorced from the historical
process of Becoming….
"Meaning -- an abstract
self-identical element -- is subsumed under theme and torn apart by theme's
living contradictions so as to return in the shape of a new meaning with a
fixity and self-identity only for the while, just as it had before." [Voloshinov
(1973), pp.105-06, quoted in ibid., pp.334-35.]
Now, I'm sure Watson can clearly recall the last
time he heard ordinary folk talking like this at work, down the pub or even on
a picket line, discussing how the bosses are always "ontologizing" their jobs,
or downsizing them so that the number of operatives is no longer
"self-identical" with whatever it had been a month earlier. In fact, observers
of everyday conversations regularly note how it is nigh on impossible to stop
working people constantly
talking about "ideal Being", "theme" and "Becoming".
Indeed, and on a personal note, I can vividly
recall selling revolutionary papers alongside Ben in XXXX in the late 1980s -- how we
happily shouted catchy slogans about "Being", "Becoming" and "theme".
We definitely sold a record number of papers as a result.
Cheap debating points? Perhaps so. But,
Watson will
need to research his work a little more carefully if he hopes to substantiate
the allegations he levelled against Wittgenstein -- or, indeed, if he wants to
establish his claim that Wittgenstein is at all representative of
twentieth century
Analytic Philosophy.
In fact, Wittgenstein's method was, and still
is, ignored by the vast majority of Analytic Philosophers
(and by practically all professional Philosophers).10 Even when his
approach was slightly more 'in vogue', as it were, only a tiny minority of Analytic
Philosophers fully embraced it. One reason for this is that
in his later work Wittgenstein insisted on using the vernacularwherever possible --
unlike, one might add, Voloshinov and Hegel -- and, dare I say it, Watson. Another
reason is that his method reveals how
non-sensical, confused and
useless Traditional Philosophy
is -- which approach would bring the entire subject to its long overdue end.
In that case,
naturally, the fact that professional Philosophers almost en masse ignore
Wittgenstein's method is no more surprising than the fact that members of the UK
Royal Family aren't prominent Republicans.
An apposite quotation from Larry Laudan (although aimed at French Philosophers) springs to mind, here:
"Foucault
has benefited from that curious Anglo-American view that if a Frenchman talks
nonsense it must rest on a profundity which is too deep for a speaker of English
to comprehend." [Laudan (1977), p.241. I owe this reference to Kitcher (1998),
p.55. Link added.]
If Foucault's name and the phrase "a
Frenchman" are replaced by "Voloshinov" and "a sort-of-Bolshevik", respectively,
then this might help explain what prompted Watson to write a 400-page book
eulogising similar "profundities",
and worse.
Finally, this almost unseemly dismissal of a
fellow comrade's work in fact finds ample justification in the subtitle Watson
gave his book (Art,
Class and Cleavage): viz.: Quantulumcunque Concerning Materialist
Esthetix. A
dog's dinner of a title, for sure -- but a genuine slap in the
face for those who think it clever, or helpful, to confuse revolutionary socialism with the
intellectual equivalent of rabies.
This brings us to Voloshinov. Recently, his work has been
reviewed by a number of
comrades: John Parrington, Marnie Holborow, Sean Doherty, Dave McNally, and Chik
Collins.11
Because what Voloshinov 'appears' to have said about language flatly contradicts
much that is contained in the Essays published at this site -- and in view of several of
the unfavourable things said about his work above -- detailed comments about his
work are clearly
in order.12
Marnie Holborow summarised one of Voloshinov's main
insights in the following way:
"A fundamental element of
Volosinov's critique of abstract objectivism is his view of language being able
to generate new meanings…. This generative quality arises from the fact that
language is inseparable from its context and its users…. The meanings and
different connotations for a word or a piece of language are constructed by the
speakers, who give each utterance their particular evaluative accent.
"Let us take an example…. [:]
I'm hungry conjures up a general concept. When, however, we look at
different contexts in which the phrase might be used, we see how the evaluative
accent changes everything. A child saying this to her mother might be
indirectly a request for the mother to get her something, an enquiry about what
there is to eat, or a statement that she just feels like something to eat.
One adult saying it to another might mean that it's time for lunch and be a
suggestion that they go somewhere to eat…. In each case the context is not
merely the gloss on the meaning but constitutes different meanings --
different inevery aspect…." [Holborow (1999), p.28. Bold emphasis
added. Italic emphasis in the original On Holborow's spelling of Voloshinov's name, see
here.]
Unfortunately, Holborow has chosen what Philosophers of language call an
avowal, which possess rather unique features. So, it is far from clear
that any useful, or reliable, generalisations across every use of
language can be inferred from them. What, we might ask, is the 'evaluative
content' of any of the following, if someone utters them:
U1: New York is bigger than
Athens.
U2:
Voloshinov wrote Marxism and the Philosophy of Language.
U3:
A fundamental element of Volosinov's
critique of abstract objectivism is his view of language being able to generate
new meanings.
Furthermore, when Holborow says that the sentence
"I'm hungry conjures up a general concept", it isn't at all clear
what she means. What precisely is "general" about it? Unless we suppose, perhaps, that several people utter this sentence all at
once as part of a synchronised plea for food, say -- or one person suffering
from a multiple personality disorder comes out with it -- no
generality seems to
be implied here at all. I think she might mean that this sentence can mean many
things. We will return to consider this possibility later.
Perhaps Holborow also meant that this sentence when considered in
isolation from an occasion of its use possesses certain non-specific general features -- or,
that maybe the sentence itself might
suggest them to us. What these are Holborow unfortunately failed to say; nor does
she indicate why they are general, or, indeed, why they are concepts,
as opposed to propositions, requests or orders, for example.13
Moreover, Holborow's claim that utterances
have an "evaluative accent" is puzzling, too, since it is unclear what evaluation
has to do with the type of request she herself considered. Had she
interpreted such a plea (i.e., "I'm hungry") as the equivalent of something
like: "I like food", or "Food is sacred" -- or even "Food is theft"
-- her point
might have been a little clearer. But, what sort of "evaluative accent" does a
plain and simple request for food possess or suggest? Again, Holborow failed to
tell us. [To be sure, Voloshinov does make some attempt to say; his comments will be examined
presently.] Even less obvious is how an "evaluative accent" could affect the meaning
of any of the words used -- as opposed to altering what a speaker might
consequentially, or incidentally, intend to convey by means of them. As
we shall see, these two aren't at all the same.
Of course, Holborow is simply summarising
Voloshinov's view:
"Any word used in actual
speech possesses not only theme and meaning in the referential, or content,
sense of these words, but also value judgement: i.e., all referential contents
produced in living speech are said or written in conjunction with a specific evaluative accent. There is no such thing as a word without evaluative
accent." [Voloshinov (1973), p.103. Italic emphasis in the original.]13a
Voloshinov offered no proof of these rather sweeping statements, and none of the
comrades listed above have even thought to fill in the evidential gaps, in the
meantime. Nevertheless, he then proceeded to connect "evaluative accent" with
"expressive intonation", but he failed to say why the latter are in any way
"evaluative". The same can be said about Holborow's commitment to this idea. To be sure,
Voloshinov quoted a long passage from
Dostoyevsky to clarify his point, adding:
"All six 'speech
performances' by the artisans [in the quoted passage from Dostoyevsky -- RL] are
different, despite the fact that they all consisted of one and the same word.
The conversation was conducted in intonations expressing the value judgements of
the speakers. These value judgements and their corresponding intonations were
wholly determined by the immediate social situation of the talk...." [Ibid.,
p.104.]
But, is this true of every utterance? If it
is, then, as noted above, Voloshinov neglected to include the data establishing
this for a fact.
Despite this, what Voloshinov says is highly
implausible in itself. What, for instance, is the "evaluative accent" of this response
(and many more like it):
Questioner: "What can you tell me about the
River Nile?"
Maybe these do contain,
or imply, an "evaluative accent";
who can say? But, until we are told what an "evaluative accent" is, little more
can be done with such vague claims.
Nevertheless, Holborow also argued that
different contexts of utterance (or, is it the different "evaluative accents" of
each utterance?) constitute entirely new meanings each time, which are "different in every aspect".
Once more, Holborow failed to explain how the
same words could take on these new meanings in this way. To be sure, different
connotations can be promoted by
prosody (i.e., intonation, rhythm, or stress, etc., as Voloshinov
himself noted). For example: "I'm hungry" suggests something different from
"I'm hungry". But, even then, these words still don't change their meaning
-- why would anyone use them if they meant something different? What changes here is what a speaker might hope to convey by the use
of familiar words accentuated differently. Otherwise, speakers might just as
well say "I'm cold" and 'mean' the same as someone else might 'mean' by
their use of
"I'm hungry".
Again, it could be that an injudicious choice of
examples has distorted Holborow's conclusions, since the sentence "I'm hungry" uses an
indexical
expression (viz., "I'm") -- that is, this particular sentence depends for
its incidental import on one of its words being relativised to a time, a
speaker, a place and possibly also an occasion.
On the other hand, from what little else the
above passage says, it is
reasonably clear that Holborow probably doesn't have this aspect of
sentence/word use in mind -- i.e., pointing out the obvious fact that as each
individual utters the words "I'm hungry" the "I" could relate to someone new,
changing the import of what was said by adverting to a different speaker. That is because the mere fact that one person might utter it one minute,
and another the next, doesn't warrant the conclusion Holborow draws that these
words convey
a different meaning "in every aspect", each time.
Perhaps this is
being too hasty? If so, it is
worth considering Holborow's claims more closely. Just like each 20 cent coin,
or each 50 pence coin is a
tokens of the same type
(they are all examples of the same coin -- assuming they aren't counterfeit),
so, each inscription, or each utterance of "I'm hungry" is a token of the same
sentence type. Hence, Holborow might be claiming that different
tokens of the same type utterance,
"I'm hungry", could be used to say different things, and that the
meaning of each of these speech acts is entirely dissimilar, since the
occasions of utterance can't fail to vary, accordingly:
"A
child saying this to her mother might be indirectly a
request for the mother to get her something, an enquiry about what there is to
eat, or a statement that she just feels like something to eat. One adult
saying it to another might mean that it’s time for lunch and be a suggestion
that they go somewhere to eat…." [Ibid., p.28.]
Anyway, what Holborow then goes on to say
doesn't seem at all correct:
"In each case the context is
not merely the gloss on the meaning but constitutes different meanings --
different in every aspect…." [Ibid., p.28. Bold emphasis added.]
Holborow can't seriously be suggesting that
words have new meanings ("different in every aspect") each time they are
uttered. If she were, then these particular words (i.e., "I'm hungry") would be of
no use to anyone, since no one would be able understand what they (the words) meant from
occasion to occasion.
Well, perhaps these 'new meanings' could be inferred from the
intentions of each speaker, or from the context of each utterance? But, in that
case, Holborow's own suggested translations (i.e., that "I'm hungry" means "It's time
for lunch", etc) would surely be subject to the very same
equivocation, in that it, too, would be occasion-sensitive and in need of its
own translation -- just as each of these new translations would, as well, and
so on. Naturally, this would imply that the supposed translation (i.e., "It's time for
lunch") could itself mean "I'm bored with this conversation", or
"I can't see the point of this", or..., which in turn
could mean, "I wonder what's for tea", or "I can't make out what she
is saying", which
themselves could mean…, and so on.
Indeed, when Holborow wrote:
"A
child saying this to her mother might be indirectly a
request for the mother to get her something, an enquiry about what there is to
eat, or a statement that she just feels like something to eat. One adult
saying it to another might mean that it's time for lunch and be a suggestion
that they go somewhere to eat…" [Ibid., p.28.],
maybe she really meant something
different, too? Given her own intentions, she could have meant: "I think Voloshinov is correct
and I want you to agree with me". In that case, "I think Voloshinov is correct
and I want you to agree with me" and:
"A
child saying this to her mother might be indirectly a
request for the mother to get her something, an enquiry about what there is to
eat, or a statement that she just feels like something to eat. One adult
saying it to another might mean that it's time for lunch and be a suggestion
that they go somewhere to eat…" [Ibid., p.28.]
would be synonymous!
If intending something can
change the usual meaning of a word to the extent that totally different passages
and sentences become synonymous, then each and every one of our words/sentences could mean
anything whatsoever. Hence, in this case, not only would "I'm hungry" mean the
same as "It's time for lunch", it could mean the same as "I think
Voloshinov is correct and I want you to agree with me" -- as well as "I'm not the
least bit hungry". Who can say?
Furthermore, the (above) employment here of
these very same words (by me, RL) implies that all three passages must now mean:
"I (RL) disagree, and think Voloshinov is seriously confused", since that is
what I intended to convey by this passage of text. This implies that all three
sentences must mean at least two or more totally different things!
I have now used four sentences to mean "I (RL) am right and Holborow is wrong".
Hence, if Holborow were right,
these must all mean
the same thing (viz.: "I (RL) am right and Holborow is wrong"), even while
all these (now) five sentences could mean something entirely different if
someone else used them to advertise, say, the sale of a garden gnome on
E-Bay!
In that case, by
extrapolation, these words could now be led by the nose to mean anything
whatsoever -- and hence nothing at all. [That is, these words would
have no intrinsic meaning.13b] Of course, since I (RL) intended that all
these passages should end up this way (i.e., that they should mean nothing), that
must mean my use of these sentences indicates that they do indeed mean nothing. So,
when I use Holborow's words, they mean what I want them to mean, not what she
intended -- i.e., nothing at all!
Is anyone convinced by any of this? They should be if they
agree with Holborow -- or, perhaps even with Humpty Dumpty from
Alice Through the Looking Glass.14
It could be argued that the
context of
utterance will succeed in eliminating many of these fanciful 'translations';
unfortunately, as we will see, that isn't even remotely correct.
Once more, therefore, if the words "I'm hungry" do
in fact
mean the same as "It's time for lunch", why do we need the translation?
As competent speakers of English (or whatever language in which this sentence
had been expressed), we would all know what this sentence says. For example, who
(saving small children, those suffering from some sort of brain disease, and
those ignorant of English/some-other-language) needs
to have the word "puppy" translated as "infant dog" each
time it is used? Indeed, only someone with a
rather poor grasp of their native tongue would need to have a perfectly ordinary
sentence translated into another perfectly ordinary sentence (unless, of
course, the former contained a coded message of some sort), for them to be able
to understand it.
Again, if all such sentences required
translation, then why not also those that are offered as their 'real' meaning? If
we need to be told what "I'm hungry" really means, how can we be sure we
understand, say, "It's time for lunch"? Perhaps, as already noted, the replacement/translated
sentence means something else, too? On the other hand, if the replacement
sentence "It's time for lunch" is already understood, and needs
no further sentence to make it clear, why isn't that the case with "I'm
hungry?" Why is the first in need of translation and not the second?
It is worth stressing here that I am not
denying that speakers can often intend to convey a message that it is time for
lunch by saying "I'm hungry"; what is being questioned is whether such an
intention can change what the words in "I'm hungry" actually mean.
Of course, Holborow isn't trying to
translate one sentence into another; she is offering an analysis of the various
uses toward which we put language -- amplified by the observation that discourse is context-dependent. This topic
will be examined in more detail
below.
The fact that several speakers can intend to
produce different effects by the use of typographically identical words/sentences
depends on the words used
having relatively fixed meanings already. If that weren't so, then, as
noted above, with
respect to a particular utterance (i.e., each physical speech act), any
words would do. The child in Holborow's example could say: "My socks are wet" and
'mean' that she wants her mother to get her some food -- or that her
mother should join the Foreign Legion, or that this week's TV Guide
had been delivered, or that her goldfish has died, or, indeed,
anything whatsoever. If context determined the (public) meaning of our words, all of these would be
possible. Why choose these words if any will do? Could it be
because of what these words already mean, and all competent English
speakers know what they mean, and they/we all agree over what they mean?
Plainly, Holborow failed to consider the
most obvious and plausible option here: What if "I'm hungry" is in fact being used to communicate
the same thing each time, or most of the time? What if it is being used
to indicate that the speaker is indeed hungry (period)? In that case, wouldn't
we be tempted to say that a perfectly ordinary act of communication had
occurred? Isn't this how we ordinarily address and comprehend each other?
Why is this so mysterious? Why do we need to be bamboozled into thinking
otherwise? Why do we need to eulogise the work of someone (i.e, Voloshinov) who has made something
that is
patently obvious seem hopelessly obscure?
Even on Holborow's account, we certainly
can't rule out the
possibility that "I'm hungry" might be being used to say the same thing many
times over. On the other hand, if this possibility could be ruled out, and anything could
mean anything (and was dependent on context), no one else would be able to
indicate, for instance, that it was time for lunch by the use of the words "I'm
hungry" -- including Holborow and her own translated suggestion to that effect!
This is because, if
meaning were that sensitive to each occasion of use -- to the extent that the meaning
of what had been said changed in "every aspect", every time --, then no one else could ever utter
"I'm hungry" and mean "It's time for lunch". In fact, no one else could ever
make the point that has just been made by me in the last sentence, using the same words in just
that way in any other sentence! Once used, the meaning of any given set of
words, or sentence, would
have been allused up, so to speak; and any words uttered thereby would have to be
forever sealed away in the
archives never to see the light of day again.
Presumably, therefore, we aren't
being asked to suppose that once these words have been used in this
uncontroversial manner to indicate that the speaker was indeed hungry, no other
speaker would ever be able to use them this way again. Holborow can't possibly mean that. But, if not,
what is the force of her claim that each utterance changes meaning in "every
aspect"? If in this clear, everyday example this doesn't happen, and at
least two utterances of the same token words can (and do) have the same
meaning (i.e., the same as the 'unspoken utterance', "It's time for lunch"), what can Holborow possibly have meant by what she herself
said?
Moreover, the meaning of any translation sentences/words ("It's time for lunch",
etc.) must be fixed forever in Platonic heaven, otherwise there would be nothing
for the original utterance to be translated into, that didn't also need
translating. And yet, if that were so, why can't it be the case with the words
in the original utterance?
However, let us suppose for a moment that Holborow is right,
and each utterance of "I'm hungry" does mean something
(completely) different each time, and that the
context,
aims and intentions of speakers can actually change the meaning of any of the words used.
In such circumstances, as was argued earlier, who would then be able to say what
such words actually meant? Certainly not the person uttering them; any attempt
to explain his/her own meaning (even if this were 'internally voiced')
would
surely be subject to the very same equivocation/translation. The words used to do just
that would also have to change
in meaning upon being uttered -- or, rather, any of the explanatory words
employed to that end would
themselves be sensitive to such changes on each new occasion of use/translation. Still less would hearers of these
words be able to say what they meant; they could now only guess what these elusive meanings might be, or
might have been -- and, incidentally, whose ownguesses would in
turn be subject to the same sort of equivocation/re-interpretation/translation, too.
In that case, if the meaning of every word is
occasion-sensitive, then so is that of any word that appears in a putative translation
or explanation of it
-- including Holborow's.
To be sure, what someone intends to achieve
by what they say does affect how we interpret the aims and intentions underlying
what they have just said, but this can't affect what the words they use mean.
Why
this is so will now be examined in more detail in the next sub-section.
As seems clear, Holborow failed to
distinguish
speaker's meaning from word or sentence
meaning. What a person intends to achieve with or by his/her words is surely
distinct from what those words mean. If that weren't so then we would have to admit that
the sentences listed below, for example, all meant the same if they were aimed
at making the same point.14a So, if someone uttered
each of these sentences with, say,
the intention of alarming their listeners, then that would
imply that they all meant the same -- i.e., they would all be synonymous!
V3: "Those pickets will stop
you strike-breaking!"
V4: "The Nazis know where you
live!"
V5: "Margaret Thatcher is
your biological mother!"
V6: "Tony Blair really
admires you!"
T1: "I want to alarm you!"
T2: "Holborow is wrong about
meaning being sensitive to intended effect and/or occasion of use."
Consider, for example, V1 and V2: if these
were uttered with the aim of alarming whoever they were directed at, then they
would both have to mean "I want to alarm you!", if Occasionalism were
true. In that case, presumably, "move"
and "your" from V1 and V2 must now mean "I" from T1; "and" and "house has" from
V1 and V2 must mean "want to" from T1, and so on. If not, then what
precisely is implied
by this view of meaning?
In fact, all the above were written
with the intention of showing that Holborow's ideas on this issue are misguided.
So, does this then imply that "Those pickets will stop you
strike-breaking!", for example, means "Holborow and Voloshinov
are wrong about word meaning being sensitive to intended effect and/or occasion
of use", if the use of both of these sentences had the same aim? Is this true of all the rest? Does
the sentence "Those pickets will stop you strike-breaking!" mean the same as
"The Nazis know where you live!" --, whose meaning actually is:
"Holborow and Voloshinov are wrong about meaning being sensitive to intended effect and/or
occasion of use"? On the account under review here, V3 must mean the same as T2!
This alone shows that
context can't narrow
down the options here, ruling certain 'translations' out as fanciful, since all of the
above (and countless more) could be used with the same intention
(expressed in T2, for instance), and in the same surroundings (of this Essay), even if all
of them are totally dissimilar and seemingly unrelated.
Worse
still: if these sentences
are synonymous, it must be possible to use them all
interchangeably. So, the next time someone wants to tell you that Tony Blair
admires you, all he/she has to do is say "Your house has just burnt down!", and
if they want to inform you that the Nazis know where you live, all they need do
is utter "Margaret Thatcher is your biological mother!" -- or, indeed,
"Holborow
and Voloshinov are wrong about meaning being
sensitive to intended effect and/or occasion of use".
If the occasion of
use means that these are synonymous when used with the same intention, then all this, and more, must surely
be the case. And if that is so, it isn't easy to see how any conceivable
context of utterance (short of the highly fanciful) would be able to tell you
that when someone says "Those pickets will stop you strike-breaking!" they
really mean "Your house has just burnt down!".
Of course, all of the above are
written, not spoken, examples of word use, but that can't form the basis of a successful
counter-response to the above objections. [Anyway, Holborow's reported utterance (i.e., "I'm hungry")
was written, too, as were Voloshinov's.] But, the same points could have
been made verbally, so they don't depend
specifically on
the written word. There is surely no significant philosophical or linguistic
difference (at least with respect to the meaning of words/sentences) if, say, V1-V6 were
to be printed
in a hard copy version of this Essay, or if they
were recorded and then played back as part of a speaking book, or even yelled in public
in the main square by the
Town Crier
at noon.
It could be maintained that there is a difference. Voloshinov was at pains to distinguish the
living, interactive use of
language between speakers, and the written word.
Or so it
might be argued...
That particular objection
has been dealt with
here.
Exception might be taken to the
above in view of the fact that Voloshinov and Holborow (along with several other
comrades) draw a clear distinction between the usual meaning of words
(their linguistic meaning) and their occasional meaning (which, from time to
time, Voloshinov seems to call, or associate with, "theme"). However, based on what the
aforementioned comrades actually
say, this distinction can't be sustained. Given their account, only un-used
words would actually have a linguistic meaning, while used words would
have an occasional meaning. Their theory seems to hold that words acquire new
meanings every time they are used. In that case, words would surely have a
linguistic meaningonly if they were never used! [On this, see
Note 16and
Note 17, below.]
That
neutralises the above
objection (i.e., that Voloshinov acknowledges that words have standard
meanings), since if anything can mean anything, then the phrase "standard
meaning" can, too, and we are back once more in that dialectical hole DM-fans seem to want to occupy.
An appeal to the dictionary meaning of words
would be to no avail, either, for those meanings are all culled from past
usage, which, given Voloshinov's theory, implies that only if a word has never
been used in the past (and hence fails to appear in a dictionary) would it have a
linguistic meaning!
Once more,
if this theory were correct, it seems that if a speaker (such as myself)
actually used the word "word" to mean "This expression means itinerant noises
like coughs", then its dictionary entry would have to be revised accordingly.
Either that, or, the linguistic/dictionary
meaning of a word like "cough" would actually be irrelevant, or
even unrelated, to its occasional meaning. But, if that were so, why would
anyone use that particular word? Any word, it seems will do, given the right
intention. And, if that were so, no one would bother compiling
dictionaries, since they would be full of useless definitions that no one observed,
and words that no one ever used.15
This is quite apart from the obvious fact
that if speaker's meaning determined the meaning of words, "dictionary" and
"entry" could mean anything, too!
[It is important to note once more that, in
the above comments, the distinction between the meaning of a word and the sense
of a sentence has been deliberately blurred. That is because the writers whose
views are being criticised here invariably fail to distinguish between them.
So, in order to expose the ridiculous nature of their theories, I am force to
employ words as they use them! It is
also arguable that part of the reason their ideas lapse into confusion so readily is that
they fail to notice this (rather obvious!) fact about the use of language. The distinction itself will be explored in more
detail below.]
Someone might object that the above examples (i.e.,
V1-V6) are highly fanciful and contrived; in
which case they can't be used against Voloshinov or Holborow. But, that isn't so. Sentences like these are uttered every day.
Anyway, the real point is that according to Voloshinov and Holborow any sentences
uttered with the aim of alarming hearers (and who can deny that this
happens many times a day around the world?) will all have the same meaning. The
actual choice of examples is therefore irrelevant.
With respect
to the use of a non-English sentence -- such as "La
plume de ma tante est sur le bureau de mon oncle"
("My aunt's pen is on my uncle's bureau") -- if it were uttered with the
intention of alarming someone, it needn't actually be translated since all
would know it meant, "I want to alarm you". Who then would need translators? Who
would need to learn a foreign language? Who would need a foreign language
dictionary of phrase book? So, when in Spain, for example, if a tourist wanted
to give her details to a Customs official, all she need say is "La
plume de ma tante est sur le bureau de mon oncle" if what she intended to
say was this "Hola,
yo me llamo Frieda
Farfenickle"
("Hi, my name is Frieda Farfenickle").
[Or are
Proper Names exempt from such occasionalist rules? If so, on what basis do they
get a pass?]
Despite this, it could be argued that the
circumstances surrounding the utterance of each of the above sentences (i.e.,
V1-V6) would all be different, and although they would all mean the same in the
abstract, their "theme" would be different, and thus their concrete meaning
would be different, too.
However, even if this were the case, any theory that had the consequence that in
the abstract, V1-V6 all meant the same (even if we knew what an 'abstract
meaning' was!) would still be subject to the objections advanced above.
Moreover, as we will soon see, Voloshinov is hopelessly unclear what he meant by
"theme", and his commentators are no less unclear, too. In that case, an appeal
to "theme" to rescue this theory would be about as helpful as a 'solution' to a
conundrum that had been written in the language of The Voynich Manuscript.
Having said
that, I do not wish to suggest that word meaning (which in turn involves the
content of an utterance) and speaker's meaning are hermetically-sealed aspects
of our use of language. I think Michael Dummett made the point rather well in an
interview he gave back in 1987, reprinted in one of his books:
"There
may be many cases in which the application is difficult, but the principle of
the distinction [i.e., between the content of an utterance and the point of
saying it -- RL] is quite clear. Even to understand one another we have
constantly to assess the motives or the intentions lying behind what is said;
sometimes this is perfectly obvious and sometimes it's difficult. 'Is he saying
that as a joke or is he serious?'. 'Did he think his remark relevant to the
previous conversation, or was he changing the subject?'.
"We need
constantly, in the course of conversation, to ask ourselves questions of this
kind. It is essential that linguistic utterances are in general voluntary,
rational actions and that we have to assess them as such. But the salient point
is that such assessments are like those of any non-linguistic action, as when we
ask ourselves, 'Why did he do that?', or 'What was he aiming at in doing that?'
One does not have, as it were, to learn that as part of acquiring the
language. One simply picks it up in the course of learning how to respond to
other people and interact with other people." [Dummett (1993b), p.182. Quotation
marks altered to conform with the conventions adopted at this site. Italic
emphasis in the original.]
When we try to
understand one another we often have to take into account both the meaning of
the words an interlocutor uses and why they are being used.
In
fact, this theory implies that a cough, for example, would actually mean the
same as a sneeze if it were intended to make someone jump --
and that a child's cry was synonymous with an alarm bell if both were aimed at
waking up the child-minder.
It
could be objected that a cough
or a child's cry aren't
linguistic expressions, hence they are inapt counter-examples.
However, if meaning were indeed
occasion-sensitive (as opposed to it being a feature of the public use of words
drawn from a finite vocabulary, etc.), then any sound or sign could count as a
linguistic move. If, say, someone coughed and they meant (speaker's meaning)
on that occasion: "Look out, the boss is coming!", then it seems, according
to this theory that that noise would mean (linguistically) the same
as: "Look out, the boss is coming!". In which case, for Holborow and Voloshinov,
it looks as if a cough would be just as much a linguistic act as uttering the
words: "Look out, the boss is coming!". Indeed, if that were so, the sentence "Look out, the boss is coming!"
would be
dispensable, and we could all use a cough from now on whenever we wanted to warn of
the boss's approach --, or, indeed, to report on that possibility in this Essay.
So, when I wrote:
If, say, someone coughed and
they meant (speaker's meaning) on that occasion: "Look out, the boss is
coming!", then it seems that (according to Holborow) this noise would mean
(linguistically) the same as the words: "Look out, the boss is coming!".
I could just as well from now on write:
If, say, someone coughed and
they meant (speaker's meaning) on that occasion: "COUGH!", then it seems that
(according to Holborow) this noise would mean (linguistically) the same as the
word: "COUGH!"
Which everyone committed to this theory would
understand, since the sentence "Look out, the boss is coming!" would, for
them, mean the same as a cough, or even "cough".
In that case, the ridiculous nature of the above should
now speak, or cough, for itself.
Again, it could be objected that this response only succeeds in undermining the
argument advanced in
this Essay (which was that the meaning of words and the sense of sentences
aren't in general dependent on contexts of utterance), for if the meaning of, say,
a cough is now admitted to be occasion-sensitive, then meaning in general must be
occasion-sensitive, contrary to what had been claimed.
This is misguided. Given the theory under
consideration, and the example used above,
we would now have nothing into which we could 'translate' the said cough, since the original sentence "Look out, the boss is coming!" is
dispensable (it having been replaced, along with its meaning, by a
cough). If so, either (i) coughs would become meaningless by default -- they would not now be
translatable because the sentence they replaced, and which could be used to
translate them, has dropped from the language --, or (ii) if
coughs retained some sort of a meaning, it would then be equivalent to the now
unusable (or, from-now-on-and-forever-to-be-unused) sentence "Look out, the boss is
coming!" -- once again, it having passed from the language. Either way, coughs would thus have taken on
the role of the now defunct type sentence "Look out, the boss is coming!".
As should seem clear, coughs would thus
become occasion-insensitive, since they would now have this
meaning: "Look out, the boss is coming!", and no other. The whole point of the exercise
would be lost and occasion-sensitivity will have been transformed into its alter-ego: occasion-insensitivity!
[Of course, this would create problems for
those who cough because they have a tickle in the throat, or are suffering from
a chest complaint. Might they come to be described as serial boss-approach-warners? And
what are we to say of the patients in tuberculosis wards? Are they all warning
one another? Of the same or different bosses?]
On the other hand, (iii) even assuming that the
sentence "Look out, the boss is coming!" doesn't slip from the language in the
manner suggested above (or in some other way), the point at issue here would
still be that whatever handle we have on occasion-sensitive acts of communication,
it must rely on linguistic expressions that aren't themselves constrained by
occasion-sensitivity.
So, the point made in the main body of this
Essay wasn't that
nothing is occasion-sensitive, but that not everything could possibly
be occasion-sensitive.
If the translation into language of coughs and
other assorted random noises -- so that they could be taken to mean things like "Look out,
the boss is coming!" -- were itself dependent on nothing but occasion-sensitive
materials (including the sentence "Look out, the boss is coming!"), we
would be involved in trying to comprehend something (the cough) in terms of
something else (its supposed sentential equivalent) that would itself be in need
of an unravelling process all of its own. Down such a road, I fear, lies another
infinite regress, in which impenetrable thicket all meaning would soon become lost.
Again, it could be objected that this still
fails to address the main issue: coughs (etc.) are non-linguistic acts;
hence, they aren't at all what Holborow was adverting to.
The
point about using examples such as coughs and cries (etc.) is that Holborow's
view can't in the end distinguish between the
occasion-sensitivity of such sounds (etc.) and genuine linguistic acts, which she
says are also constrained in this way (i.e., in that they, too, are subject to
the constraints of occasion-sensitivity). If the meaning of both is occasion-sensitive
(whereas the view advanced in this Essay is that only the meaning of the former
is so constrained, when used in the manner suggested), then
Holborow still needs other criteria to tell them apart. If a cough could mean
(speaker's meaning) the same as "Look out, the boss is coming!" (and who can doubt that?),
and any other randomly chosen sentence (such as "My gerbil is dead!") could
also mean "Look out, the boss is coming!" (as it seems it could, given
Holborow's view; that is, if the person using "My gerbil is dead!" actually
meant it, or intended it, as the coded message/warning, "Look out, the boss is coming!"), then the
distinction between linguistic expressions and mere sounds would be
lost, and the points raised in the main body of this Essay would stand.
Despite this, it might be felt that since
coughs and itinerant noises aren't part of a standardised vocabulary, they can't
be interpreted along the lines outlined above. But, if a linguistic expression
can be used to mean anything whatsoever (even something wildly divergent
from the norm -- or to use Holborow's words: it could be "different in every
aspect") then standardised vocabularies must surely drop out as irrelevant. For
example, if the word "cough" (not the actual noise, or action, but the
word itself) could mean, say, "My armadillo is sick", then any connection it
once might have had with its own dictionary entry (or its established meaning) would be lost (as
would those of the other four words used: "my", "armadillo", "is" and "sick").
In that case, the links that the word "cough" had with its standard meaning
would be severed, too. And, if that is the case, an actual cough could
then mean the same as "My armadillo is sick", or any other word or set of words
in the dictionary or the language, which could in turn mean anything themselves, including
coughs.
Again, it might be objected that an actual
cough isn't a word, so it can't perform the roles assigned to it
in the above paragraphs.
But, if anything can mean anything,
we must
surely lose touch with the meaning of the word "word" itself. On this view, the
word "word" could in fact mean: "This expression actually means
itinerant noises like coughs"
if it were so 'intended' by deviant linguists (or if I so intend it
here). If Occasionalism were true, this possibility can't be ruled out.
Occasionalism permits any word to mean anything if it is so intended, or if the
circumstances suggest; this includes words and phrases
like "meaning", "sentence", "word", "cough", "and so on"..., and so on.
Perhaps more significantly, given this view,
it would be possible for plain gibberish to have the same effect on an
audience that a perfectly ordinary sentence had on those who heard both, and
hence for the two to
mean the same, if there were an intention to that effect. In which case, we should have to admit that a nonsensical string
of letters, such as:
[Or,
indeed, if both were intended to annoy or
perplex supporters of Voloshinov's 'theory' of meaning, and succeeded in doing
one or both.]
Moreover, if, as
Voloshinov argues, sentence and word meaning
(not speaker's meaning) were dependent on context and occasion of use, then words
divorced from every context would have no meaning at all.16
So, for instance, the sentence "Voloshinov is correct about meaning and theme"
would mean nothing until someone actually uttered it in a particular context
with a specific intention. But, if it
had no meaning, why would anyone choose to utter it? Why would anyone select
such a meaningless string of words? They might just as well say something
genuinely meaningless like: "BuBuBu" --, which, on this theory, should gain a sense
from being uttered with a special aim in mind. But, wouldn't they rather utter
"I'm hungry" in order to mean "Voloshinov is correct about meaning and theme"?
In fact, the situation is far worse than this; if a sentence such as "Voloshinov
is correct about meaning and theme" is meaningless -- that is, it is
meaningless until it is uttered, if Voloshinov is to be believed --,
then surely no one would use "I'm hungry" to mean something that is
meaningless, i.e., "Voloshinov is correct about
meaning and theme", since both of these sentences would fail to mean anything if
someone uttered "I'm
hungry"!
Plainly, that is because the sentence "Voloshinov is correct about meaning and
theme" wouldn't have been used --
merely
indirectly adverted to --, and so would stillbe meaningless.
Hence, at least
here, a sentence like "I'm hungry", used in a given context, couldn't have its
meaning determined by its occasional use, since it would now have no meaning at
all! Again, that is because it is supposed 'to mean' the same as the un-uttered
sentence, "Voloshinov is correct about meaning and theme", which, because it
hasn't been uttered, has no meaning -- thus implying that "I'm hungry" has no meaning,
either!
This must be the case with all sentences
before they are uttered. "I'm hungry" can't mean anything, no matter how we try
to translate or make sense of it since, if it is used in the way that Voloshinov
and Holborow imagine. It could only 'mean the same' as some other sentence that
wasn't uttered, merely alluded to --
which, because it hasn't been uttered, can have no meaning. Consequently, if true, Voloshinov's theory
concerning the occasion-sensitivity of words and/or sentences would, ipso facto,
become untrue
-- a result that represents yet another ironic 'dialectical inversion', one feels.17
Again, someone could object that this ignores
Voloshinov's distinction between "theme" and meaning. That response will be dealt with
presently.
Alternatively, Voloshinov's theory seems to
imply that
interlocutors must ascertain each other's aims and intentions
before they can be expected to grasp what was said. This would then involve the latter in
having to link aspects and surroundings of any utterance (which, we must recall, are as yet meaningless
to each hearer) -- that
are relevant
to that end in that context -- to an indeterminate number of possible meanings. But, if the
said utterance has no meaning until
it is interpreted (or even until it is uttered!) what is there that hearers could latch on to in the local
environment that might help them to that end?18
It is little use replying that speakers and hearers accomplish this every day, since, on
this view, it is hard to see how that is possible. To be sure, we often make an
educated guess when we encounter the odd things we sometimes hear, but this
typically takes place against a background that consists of an array of words we
already comprehend. But, if all the words we
hear or read were meaningless before we interpreted them, or even before
they were uttered, we would surely be like those trapped in a foreign land,
confronted by a language we had never encountered before.18a0
In fact, we would normally
say that interlocutors communicate because they possess a common language,
which benefits from a shared vocabulary with reasonably settled meanings, and
which both parties
already understand. What
they do not normally do is revise language during every
conversation. And yet, it seems that they must do this if Voloshinov were correct.18a
And, we certainly can't appeal to past
experience to help out here. That is,
interlocutors can't rely on
a previous
use of the same words in the same contexts to ascertain what is intended in or by their
current
employment, for Holborow and Voloshinov tell us that any and all words have
completely different meanings each time they see the light of day. Not only
that, but the circumstances surrounding the vast majority of (if not all) utterances are completely novel,
too.18b
Nevertheless, each new context brings with it
new meanings, according to Voloshinov and Holborow. These novel connotations would not only have
to be supplied by both parties to a conversation, they would have to coincide
for each of the parties to that conversation if communication is to succeed. But, how might
this be
achieved if
neither
interlocutor understands what is said in advance of it being said (since it
is meaningless until it said, given this view), or if
neither party has experienced exactly these circumstances before? Indeed,
given the fact that no two human beings are completely alike, nor have they even
remotely shared the same experiences, this theory implies that no act of communication
would ever succeed. [There is much more on this
below.]
In fact, anyone overhearing such a
conversation, and not knowing the aims or intentions of the interlocutors, wouldn't understand what they had overheard, either -- if Voloshinov were
correct. In general, this is patently
incorrect. We readily understand things not addressed to us. We might
sometimes miss the point of why it was said (just as we might not always
grasp every single detail (if, say, some of the individuals mentioned in such a
conversation were unknown to us)), but that is an entirely separate matter.
More difficult to explain, however, is the fact that
hearers would have to express to themselves in their own language (i.e.,
in their own
idiolect, or
their "inner speech") the aims and intentions of their interlocutors. This would
involve them in representing the latter in a language that wasn't itself subject to the same
constraints. Let us call such a language (i.e., one that
is comprehensible without recourse to any further occasion-sensitive
protocols)
an "immediate language".
Hence, a language understood
without the need for any
further processing would be an immediate language. But, if such an 'internal'
language is indeed immediate, then language itself at some point must be
occasion-independent -- namely, just here, internally. And yet, if
some language is internally immediate, why not the language we use 'externally'? The only possible reason
for denying this would seem to
be that the hypothesised language here is 'internal' to an individual. That option will be considered
presently, and neutralised.
Conversely, if a hearer's own 'internal language' is also occasion-sensitive -- that is, if
it isn't an
immediate language, after all --, then an infinite regress must ensue as interpretation upon
interpretation is layered on top of each incoming message, and each subsequent
translation (and translation of a translation of a translation…) is rendered into that
individual's
inner, inner, inner..., idiolect.
As already noted, this theory would mean that a word in fact possessed no meaning
at all (i.e., no intrinsic meaning) until someone deigned to give it one by using
it. But, if that were
the case, no one would be
able to ascertain whether or not they had settled on the same meaning as
that which had been latched on to by any of their interlocutors. Not only that, any attempt to resolve even
this
quandary would itself stall until a decision had been made (in no language at all,
presumably!) whether or not each party to a conversation meant the same by the
phrase "same meaning", let alone any of the other terms on offer.
And how might that minor miracle be
achieved, for goodness sake?19
On the contrary, if a hearer hasn't
already grasped what is said to him/her, the assumed (internal) process of
interpretation can't even begin. That is because hearers wouldn't be able to
distinguish what was meaningfully communicated to them from irrelevant or
pointless remarks -- or, for that matter, from gibberish and incidental noises
(as we saw earlier).
If they had to decipher words directed at them based only on contexts of
utterance and/or on the aims and intentions of speakers, then they would also have to be able to ascertain
which aspects of those contexts were relevant to that end (again, as noted earlier). [As
we have seen, "context of utterance is itself hopelessly vague!] But, that would
involve them in understanding the said utterance first. Otherwise,
anything could be counted as 'relevant'. If we are to interpret the aims and
intentions of fellow speakers successfully, they must address us in terms we
already understand so that we can layer on top of whatever they say any
additional gloss we deem appropriate -- as we try to discern their intentions,
and as each occasion demands, or otherwise. It can't work the other way round.
We don't divine what others intend by a sort of magical, languageless intuition,
which subsequently enables us to put meaning to their words. That is why we
don't have to wait to ascertain the point of someone uttering, say, "The
BNP is a Nazi Party" before we understand it. Once more, we must
first grasp what is said if we are to figure out the point of someone
saying whatever they say. Hence, the point behind the present author's inclusion of
this sentence about the BNP (which was in fact to argue that Voloshinov is wrong in what he
says) has nothing at all to do with what those words mean. Although, my
intentions certainly affected what I meant (speaker's meaning) to achieve by
using them.
In fact, it is quite easy to see that
Voloshinov's suppositions aren't viable since we already
understand the exemplary sentences from earlier (i.e., V1-V6) before we
know their context of utterance, or the point, or the purpose, anyone might intend by uttering
them:
V1: "Move, and you're dead!"
V2: "Your house has just
burnt down!"
V3: "Those pickets will stop
you strike-breaking!"
V4: "The Nazis know where you
live!"
V5: "Margaret Thatcher is
your biological mother!"
V6: "Tony Blair really
admires you!"
Moreover,
because of our facility with language, and as a result of our socialisation, we also know, or
can form, an educated guess concerning the sorts of contexts
in which such sentences could plausibly feature, or be uttered, and it is this that
helps us
interpret the aims and intentions of others when they arise.20
Of course, we do this with such ease
that we don't notice it, just as we can,
for example,
walk without noticing or knowing how we do it. And that is why we feel we can exclude (as highly
unlikely) most of the fanciful interpretations advanced above of what the
hypothetical child, for example, might have meant by "I'm hungry". That
is also why readers who have made it this far can easily comprehend sentences
like V1-V6 whether or not they are aware that these sentences have all been
fabricated to a specific end, and have no context other than the spurious ones provided here, or
mentioned earlier.
And it is a safe bet that that won't have affected the reader's understanding of
these perfectly ordinary sentences. That fact would be totally inexplicable if
linguistic meaning were context-dependent.
The seeming plausibility of Voloshinov and Holborow's examples (or,
indeed, any imaginative interpretation put upon them) trades on a facility
possessed by all competent language users: that is, of being able to understand sentences independently
of their context of utterance -- saving, of course, those that have
indexical features
(etc.). And this still remains the case even when a reference to the
context of utterance could help hearers ascertain the aims and intentions
of their interlocutors. That is why it isn't necessary for Voloshinov's readers
to know the contexts surrounding his particular use of language in order
to understand him, or his work; indeed, it is because they already grasp the words he chose to use
that they can recognise in general the types of contexts in which the examples
he cites might plausibly occur (should they want to do this), as well as the sorts of aims and intentions they
might reveal or express. That is also why the implication that sentences like V1-V6 have
the same meaning strikes us as completely bizarre, and why we can see
that, despite the fact that uttering any or all of them could have the same effect,
or arise from
the same intention, they don't
have the same meaning.20a
Finally, it is also why we can all see that inscriptions like those in V7 (i.e., "BBB XXX ZZZ QQQ TTT") are totally meaningless,
despite the fact that V7 could have had the same effect on someone as a
meaningful sentence, and be employed to the same ends. Even though V7 has a use -- for example, to
make the very point that it is meaningless21
-- it is, nevertheless, mere babble. Using it to make that very point doesn't show that its
meaning is that it is meaningless. Plainly not, otherwise it would have no
meaning by meaning that -- indeed, in that case, its meaning would be that it had no meaning!22
As we will see later in this Essay,
despite what they might appear to say, the reason why theorists like
Voloshinov (and, it seems, the other comrades mentioned above) find
Occasionalism so
attractive is that they have accepted the traditional view that 'acts of
meaning' are 'inner mental events', private to each individual. Quite apart from
the fact that this theory sits awkwardly with the belief that language is a social phenomenon, if it were true it would actually prevent -- not
facilitate -- communication. Indeed, since this view of meaning is plainly based
on the representational model, it is hardly surprising that it undermines
communication.
Now, there are places in Voloshinov's work where he sort of
half
recognises this, but his grasp of this idea isn't secure enough for him to
appreciate that he has only succeeded in undermining it because of the other things he says about meaning
-- or, indeed, vice versa.23
"Speech had first to come
into being and develop in the process of the social intercourse of organisms
so that afterward it could enter within the organism and become inner speech."
[Voloshinov (1973), p.39. Bold emphases added.]
Here, the order of events is plainly as
follows: speech first, "inner speech"
second. But, if to understand something is:
"...to refer a particular inner sign to a unity consisting of
other inner signs...." [Ibid., p.35.]
And:
"...understanding itself can come about only with in
some kind of semiotic material (e.g., inner speech), that sign bears upon sign,
that consciousness itself can arise and become a viable fact only in the
material embodiment of signs...understanding is a response to a
sign with
signs...." [Ibid., p.11. Italic emphasis in the original.]
Then this can only mean that
before "inner speech" developed, no one would be able to understand a single thing that was
said to them! Why then would anyone want to speak or engage in conversation? What use would language
be if no one could comprehend what anyone else was saying?
Furthermore, if understanding
is accomplished by "a response to a sign with signs", how would it be
possible for this
"response"
to have originally begun?
Indeed, how could outer signs ever have become 'inner signs' in the first place?
And yet, this idea is central to Voloshinov's theory. Unfortunately, however, he torpedoed
his own ideas when he said:
"There is no outer sign
without an inner sign." [Ibid., p.39.]
This can only mean that the development of
speech can't have originally used signs! Recall the order of events, according
to Voloshinov, is as follows:
(1) Outer speech first,
"inner speech" second.
(2) Understanding requires "inner speech" and
a "response" between signs.
(3) But, there can be no outer signs (speech) without
inner signs.
(4)
Therefore, (i) outer speech can't use any signs, and hence (ii) there can be
no outer speech!
That is because when language began there
were, as yet, no inner signs!
But, there could be no outer signs if there are no inner signs [Point (3)],
and there can be no inner signs if there are no outer signs [Point (1)]!
The
whole process can't begin!
If so, no sign could ever have become part of,
or incorporated into, inner speech,
either. In which case, if Voloshinov is to be believed, that must mean that no one in human
history will have understood anything that had ever been
said to them!
This predicament would extend to children
starting to learn to speak, too. Manifestly, they have no inner signs when they
are born. Hence, for them there can be no outer signs, either! [Point (3), once
more.] But, if there are no outer signs, then no child could
build up her own stock of inner signs. In that case, no
child could develop "inner speech". Thus, no child would ever
understand a single thing said to it!
The only avenue of escape for Voloshinov would
seem to be for
him to argue that "inner speech" developed first (thus rejecting
Point (1)). Given such a
scenario, the private use of
signs in "inner speech" would what allowed outer speech to develop. But, this is just the
bourgeois individualist theory (which is
an early modern version of the much older
Platonic-Christian Paradigm)
that has
dominated 'western' thought since Ancient
Greek times -- and yet this is the only way Voloshinov's theory can get off the
ground. His social theory thus inverts into an anti-social theory. Of
course, this
might help explain why Voloshinov equivocated between a social and an individualistic
account of meaning and speech.
Once again, we see the untoward consequences
of buying into Traditional Thought, and (here) the idea that understanding is an
'inner
process'.
It might be thought that Voloshinov's
introduction of "theme"
is capable of breathing life into these dead signs, and thus of neutralising the above
points. Unfortunately, as we will
soon discover, instead of
breathing life into signs, "theme" injects them full of
Formalin.
Anyway, exactly how "theme" can create outer
signs if there are as yet no inner signs is still unclear. Naturally, this means
that not even "theme" can rescue Voloshinov's theory from the nonsensical
implication that understanding would be impossible. Hence, the introduction of
"theme", here, would be about as much use as a margarine cement mixer.
Naturally, this isn't to deny that
languages change, nor is it to reject the idea that the spoken word is part of a living
system of inter-communication -- and neither is it to repudiate the view that context
(among other things) can affect speaker's
meaning --, nor even that social parameters, or forces, have a decisive effect on the
development of language. The above comments are merely aimed at reminding us
that whatever its is that lends to sentences the sense they have (and to words their
meaning), it can't be context of utterance, or the use of inner signs. Speaker's meaning is
parasitic on much more fundamental aspects of the social nature of language --
those that Voloshinov and the other comrades mentioned above appear not to have
noticed. What these features are have been hinted at throughout this site
(especially here).
Other important logical aspects of language will be rehearsed below.
As pointed out
here and in
Note 29andNote 86,
Voloshinov and the other comrades mentioned above seem to have ignored the
important distinction between
the meaning of words and the sense of
indicative sentences. This is a failing they
share with the majority of Philosophers who have written on this
subject --, that is, up until just over a hundred years ago. Beginning with ideas that
were first seriously mooted in
Frege's work, Philosophers working in the
Analytic tradition have generally (but not unanimously) maintained the
opinion
that an account of language that ignores the above distinction is radically flawed.24
This observation, of course, isn't based on
supposition, nor is it mere dogma. We all recognise it to be the case when
we are reminded of it. Even competent speakers of a language would fail to
comprehend what was said to them if it contained words they had never encountered before; and they would remain in that state until
the meaning of those words had been explained to them. In stark contrast, all
of us readily understand sentences wehave never heard before
(saving, of course, those that contain such novel words). This indicates that
word-meaning and sentence-sense can't be the same, otherwise this wouldn't happen.
For example, the words in the previous
paragraph could be reassembled into different combinations, and, providing each
new arrangement
satisfied certain syntactic and pragmatic constraints, they would be readily
understood by most competent speakers of English. However, if the names
"Tony Blair" and "Leon Trotsky" were mixed up to give "Leon
Blair" and "Tony Trotsky" no one would know who was being referred to -- even if they knew who the
original characters were.
Moreover, if the following sentence were
uttered:
V9: "Tony Blair's wrist watch
has been eaten by a Koala Bear",
the vast majority of English language
speakers would understand it even though that sentence (in all probability) has
never been written, spoken or heard before by anyone in human history; and they would comprehend it
without knowing whether it was true or whether it was false, since they would know under what
circumstances it would or could be either one of these. In short, they would understand its sense.
[This theme has been greatly expanded upon in Essay Twelve
Part One.]
Contrast V9 with the following:
V10: Bogomil.
Now, it is highly likely that most English
speakers have never encountered this word before. Even though it contains
familiar letters, no one would understand it until its meaning had been
explained to them, or they looked it up in a dictionary.25
If this word appeared in a sentence, that sentence would similarly remain
incomprehensible until its meaning had been clarified -- unless, of
course, on the rare occasion it had been
worked out by means of an educated guess, perhaps.
This difference between how we read, receive or understand words and sentences shows
that the sense of the latter and the meaning of the former are distinct logical
features of our use of language.25a
All traditional, ancient, and most modern 'theories of meaning' founder on this fact alone.26
Nevertheless, this isn't an obscure feature of language, something
that only
those who study Linguistics or Analytic Philosophy are aware of. All of us
appreciate its validity (and recognise its force) when it is pointed out to us
since we depend
on it to communicate everyday of our lives. We all understand sentences we
have never seen or heard before, and we all fail to comprehend words we have never
previously encountered. The fact that this distinction had been ignored
for thousands of years (and is still largely ignored today) by Traditional Theorists shows how
divorced from ordinary life -- and how obsessed with atomistic theories of
language -- such thinkers had (and have) become (and this is so for reasons
examined in Essay Twelve (summary
here)).26a
Naturally,
this means that serious errors were introduced into thought by
previous generations of Philosophers, who not only ignored, they disdained, the vernacular,
preferring instead a fetishised view of language.27
[Again, why this is so and why it is
significant are explained in more detail in Essay Twelve
Part One.]
Moreover, any
analysis of language that
tried to explain the meaning of words and the sense of sentences by an
indiscriminate appeal to speaker'susage (i.e., to what a speaker
idiosyncratically intends to convey or achieve by employing certain
sentences or words) would similarly fail to account for the phenomenon noted
above. If the sense of a sentence were (generally) based on the use to which a
speaker might (idiosyncratically) put it, then competent speakers of a language
wouldn't be able to understand sentences they had never heard before -- just as they now
fail to comprehend novel words they have never previously encountered. If the idiosyncratic use of words determined
meaning, and if intentions or contexts of utterance determined the sense of sentences, word
meaning and sentence sense would be all of a piece.28
In that case, language users wouldn't be able to understand both words and
sentences they had never met before, rather than just failing to comprehend
words they had never heard before. Since most of the sentences we encounter
are novel, while the words they contain are not, we would in such circumstances
fail to understand anything said to us until everything had been explained -- but which
explanation would also need explaining..., and so on --, and for the same reason.
This might be why Socialist Worker
had the following to say a few years ago (ironically, just before the
UK-SWP became engulfed in the scandal around
'Comrade Delta' and allegations of rape, which succeeded in
halving its membership
over the next year following a series of mass resignations):
"But language
can't be divorced from society and used however
we like. Meanings can't be dictated by
individual intentions.... [One] example is last
year's 'Slutwalk' protests against sexism. Women
organised these demonstrations after
a police
officer in Canada suggested that women should
avoid 'dressing like sluts' to protect
themselves from rape. 'Slut' is a derogatory
term used to insult women based on their
supposed sexual behaviour. It promotes the false
idea of women as naturally pure and chaste in
order to denounce those who don't conform to
this stereotype. The protests highlighted
women's oppression and attracted people who
wanted to fight it. But adopting the word 'slut'
didn't change its meaning in wider society. It
created divisions in the ranks of those who
wanted to fight sexism. The bigots can draw
confidence from this. They see women using the
word 'slut' as a licence for them to use it too.
So 'reclaiming' oppressive words doesn't
ultimately strengthen the fight against
oppression -- it makes it harder." [Socialist
Worker 2290, 18/02/2012, p.9. Quotation
marks altered to conform with the conventions
adopted at this site. Paragraphs merged; bold
emphasis and link added.]
In
addition to the above, a plausible account of language must be able to relate the clear
distinction we draw between the sense of sentences and the meaning of words to our capacity to form
and comprehend novel sentences -- the senses of which are related (sometimes
systematically, sometimes not) to the manner in which their constituent words
have been combined (etc.), coupled with the meaning of the words used. It must, therefore, connect the sense of
a sentence to
rules of syntax, which in turn must be related to something other
than idiosyncratic use.29
It is here, perhaps, where the weakness
of Voloshinov's 'theory' is most obvious: the confusion of the meaning of words
with the sense of sentences.30
Again, as already noted, he isn't alone in taking this wrong turn; it is a
major failing of all Traditional Theories of language (and many modern ones,
too).
Oddly enough, this atomistic approach to discourse also plagues accounts of language
written by several prominent Wittgensteinians -- including, it seems, practically every
'Wittgensteinian' who is also a social scientist.31
At this point, it could be objected that
Voloshinov's theory of language isn't susceptible to the above criticisms. That is because of (a) The distinction he drew between meaning and "theme",
(b) His insistence that written words
and spoken words are subject to different criteria, and because of (c)
His opposition to what he
calls "abstract objectivism".
Item (b) has already been discussed
(here), so I will consider (a)
first.
Unfortunately, Voloshinov's comments on "theme" are far too
sketchy and
confused for anyone to be able to say what he actually meant by this word!
To compound matters, Holborow, Parrington and Doherty provide us with little
help in this regard, either. Indeed, Parrington doesn't even use the term!
Nevertheless, Voloshinov had this to say about
"theme":
"Let us agree to call the
entity which becomes the object of a sign the theme of the sign. Each
fully fledged sign has its theme. And so every verbal performance has its theme.
"An ideological theme is
always socially accentuated. Of course, all the social accents of ideological
themes make their way into the individual consciousness (which, as we know, is
ideological through and through) and there take on the semblance of individual
accents, since the individual consciousness assimilated them as its own. However,
the source of these accents is not the individual consciousness. Accent, as
such, is interindividual....
"The theme of an ideological
sign and the form of an ideological sign are inextricably bound together and are
separable only in the abstract…." [Voloshinov (1973), p.22.]
"A definite and unitary
meaning, a unitary significance, is a property belonging to any utterance as
a whole. Let us call the significance of a whole utterance its theme…."
[Added in a footnote: "The
term is, of course, a provisional one. Theme in our sense embraces its
implementation as well; therefore our concept must not be confused with that of
a theme in a literary work. The concept of 'thematic unity' would be closer to
what we mean."]
"…The theme must be unitary,
otherwise we would have no basis for talking about any one utterance. The theme
of an utterance is individual and unreproducible, just as the utterance itself
is individual and unreproducible. The theme is the expression of the concrete,
historical situation that engendered the utterance. The utterance 'What time is
it?' has a different meaning each time it is used, and hence, in accordance with
our terminology, has a different theme, depending on the concrete historical
situation ('historical' here in microscopic dimensions) during which it is
enunciated and of which, in essence, it is a part.
"It follows, then, that the
theme of an utterance is determined not only by the linguistic forms that
comprise it -- words, morphological and syntactic structures, sounds, and
intonation -- but also by extraverbal factors of the situation. Should we miss
these situational factors, we would be as little able to understand an utterance
as if we were to miss its most important words. The theme of an utterance is
concrete -- as concrete as the historical instant to which the utterance belongs.
Only an utterance taken in its full, concrete scope as an historical
phenomenon possesses a theme. That is what is meant by the theme of an
utterance.
"...Together with theme or,
rather, within the theme, there is also the meaning that belongs to an
utterance. By meaning, as distinguished from theme, we understand all those
aspects of the utterance that are reproducible and self-identical
in all instances of repetition. Of course, these aspects are abstract: they have
no concrete, autonomous existence in an artificially isolated form, but, at the
same time, they do constitute an essential and inseparable part of the
utterance. The theme of an utterance is, in essence, indivisible. The meaning of
an utterance, on the contrary, does break down into a set of meanings belonging
to each of the various linguistic elements of which the utterance consists. The
unreproducible theme of the utterance 'What time is it?' taken in its
indissoluble connection with the concrete historical situation, cannot be
divided into elements. The meaning of the utterance 'What time is it?' -- a
meaning that, of course, remains the same in all historical instances of its
enunciation -- is made up of the meanings of the words…that form the
construction of the utterance.
"Theme is a complex,
dynamic system of signs that attempts to be adequate to a given instant of
generative process. Theme is reaction by the consciousness in its generative
process to the generative process of existence. Meaning is the technical
apparatus for the implementation of theme. Of course, no absolute,
mechanistic boundary can be drawn between theme and meaning. There is no theme
without meaning and no meaning without theme. Moreover, it is even impossible to
convey the meaning of a particular word…without having made it an element of
theme, i.e., without having constructed an 'example' utterance. On the other
hand, a theme must base itself on some kind of fixity of meaning; otherwise it
loses its connection with what came before and what comes after -- i.e., it
altogether loses its significance….
[Quoting
Marr]
"'But was such an all-meaning word in fact a word?' we might be asked. Yes,
precisely a word. If, on the contrary, a certain sound complex had only one
single, inert, and invariable meaning, then such a complex would not be a word,
not a sign, but only a signal. Multiplicity of meanings is the constitutive
feature of a word. As regard the all-meaning word of which Marr speaks, we
can say the following: such a word in essence has virtually no meaning; it is
all theme. Its meaning is inseparable from the concrete situation of its
implementation. This meaning is different each time, just as the situation
is different each time. Thus the theme, in this case, subsumed meaning under
itself and dissolved it before meaning had any chance to consolidate and
congeal. But as language developed further, as its stock of sound complexes
expanded, meaning began to congeal along lines that were basic and most frequent
in the life of the community for the thematic application of this or that word.
"Theme, as we have said, is
an attribute of a whole utterance only; it can belong to a separate word only
inasmuch as that word operates in the capacity of a whole utterance…. Meaning,
on the other hand, belongs to an element or aggregate of elements in their
relation to the whole. Of course, if we entirely disregard this relation to the
whole (i.e., to the utterance), we shall entirely forfeit meaning. That is the
reason why a sharp boundary between theme and meaning cannot be drawn.
"The most accurate way of
formulating the interrelationship between theme and meaning is in the following
terms. Theme is the upper, actual limit of linguistic significance; in
essence, only theme means something definite. Meaning is the lower limit
of linguistic significance. Meaning, in essence, means nothing; it only
possesses potentiality -- the possibility of having a meaning within a concrete
theme. Investigation of the meaning of one or another linguistic element can
proceed, in terms of our definition, in one of two directions: either in the
direction of the upper limit, toward theme, in which case it would be
investigation of the contextual meaning of a given word within the conditions of
a concrete utterance; or investigation can aim toward the lower limit, the limit
of meaning, in which case it would be investigation of the meaning of a word in
the system of language or, in other words, investigation of a dictionary word.
"A distinction between theme
and meaning and a proper understanding of their interrelationship are vital
steps in constructing a genuine science of meanings. Total failure to comprehend
their importance has persisted to the present day. Such discriminations as those
between a word's usual and occasional meanings, between its
central and lateral meanings, between its denotation and connotation, etc., are
fundamentally unsatisfactory. The basic tendency underlying all such
discriminations -- the tendency to ascribe greater value to the central, usual
aspect of meaning, presupposing that that aspect really does exist and is stable
-- is completely fallacious. Moreover, it would leave theme unaccounted for,
since, theme, of course, can by no means be reduced to the status of the
occasional or lateral meaning of words." [Ibid., pp.99-102. Italic
emphases in the original.]31a
It would, of course, be unfair to criticise
Voloshinov too much for the sketchy nature of these comments since he admitted his ideas were
provisional. He was prevented from developing them into full, or even fuller,
coherence by the fact that he disappeared during the Stalinist purges, which
began soon after he wrote his book. Those who have followed in his footsteps
and who have simply regurgitated his ideas aren't so easily excused.
Even so, it is worth pointing out that
Voloshinov supplied his readers with little or no evidence to
substantiate this distinction between "theme" and meaning -- or, indeed, much
else that he dogmatically asserts in his
book. In fact, readers will find no experimental results, observations,
surveys, tables, graphs or
figures (or even so much as a single reference to other studies which record
or report such data/information!) and no statistical analyses and
mathematics in support of a single substantive conclusion he draws in the entire work. That
fact alone ought to worry comrades who regard Voloshinov's book as a major
contribution to the Science of Linguistics.
However, the fact that it
doesn't, should surprise no one who is familiar with the
a priori and dogmatic nature
of 'dialectical philosophy'.
In like manner, Parrington, Holborow
and Doherty offer little (or any) empirical evidence to back-up their claims that Voloshinov's ideas are of
any scientific merit -- or,
indeed, for allaying the concerns of those who might be tempted to conclude that his
ideas have been
imposed on reality, contrary to what
we are told dialecticians never do.32
Anyway, given the nature of what
Voloshinov actually said, no evidence could ever have been, or could ever be found
to support his claims. That is because, by definition, "theme" is
totally inaccessible
since
it is essentially occasion-sensitive. This means that not only is "theme"
inaccessible to scientific enquiry, it is inaccessible to each and every
participant in a conversation --
since, as Voloshinov himself admits, "theme" is affected by the microscopic
differences between cases:
"[T]heme must be unitary,
otherwise we would have no basis for talking about any one utterance. The theme
of an utterance is individual andunreproducible, just as the
utterance itself is individual and unreproducible. The theme is the
expression of the concrete, historical situation that engendered the utterance.
The utterance 'What time is it?' has a different meaning each time it is
used, and hence, in accordance with our terminology, has a different theme,
depending on the concrete historical situation ('historical' here in
microscopic dimensions) during which it is enunciated and of which, in
essence, it is a part." [Ibid., p.99. Bold emphases added.]
In that case, "theme" can serve no part in
effecting communication, even if we knew what "theme" was. [Those who think we
do know what "theme" is are encouraged to continue reading, after which their premature feelings
of confidence should emerge somewhat..., shall we say..., shaken.]
If the above is indeed the case, it might well be
wondered how anyone could possibly tell whether an utterance does, or does not, have a "theme".
If something is intrinsically unique, has a transient nature and is
ephemeral
in the extreme, how
might its existence even be detected, let alone confirmed?32a
In fact, in the place of supporting evidence
Voloshinov presented his readers with what looks suspiciously like a
Transcendental Argument to demonstrate the existence of "theme".33
Ex hypothesi, that is all he could have offered anyway, since whatever evidence there might have been for
the existence of a particular "theme" must have (of necessity) arrived far too
late on the scene for it to be of much use. A split-second delay would be
far too
long to wait, if, as Voloshinov says, even microscopic changes alter "theme".
Hence, by the time any of this elusive 'evidence' became apparent, the alleged
"theme" would have changed, or would have disappeared. Naturally, this means that it would
be impossible for anyone to confirm this aspect of Voloshinov's theory.
Even film, video or recorded evidence would be of no use; these couldn't possibly preserve the
microscopic details surrounding the original utterance.34
Indeed, it is unclear whether it is possible for anyone to begin to form the
faintest idea of
what such confirmation might even look like.
Recall what we were told about "theme":
"Let us agree to call the
entity which becomes the object of a sign the theme of the sign. Each
fully fledged sign has its theme. And so every verbal performance has its theme."
[Ibid.]
Hence, the "object" of a
sign is intimately connected with the unique, occasional use of certain signs.
In that case, such an "object" plainly can't be identified, let alone
studied independently of singular events like these. Since these are in
principle unrepeatable they are
uncheckable, and if that is so, no scientific investigation would be
able to confirm this aspect of Voloshinov's theory. What could be measured, observed, or tested in such circumstances,
anyway? Even if there were anything to observe, how might test
results be confirmed if the "object" studied is irreduciblyuniqueandephemeral in the extreme?
This situation isn't at all like the experiments carried out in
High
Energy Physics, for
instance, where things happen extremely quickly, too. There such events are
reproducible since they aren't unique, and they aren't
occasion-sensitive. With "theme", this isn't the case. Hence, not only did
Voloshinov fail to provide any evidence to support his claims, none could have been
offered by him, or by anyone on his behalf, for that matter --, now or ever.
What then are we to make of claims like
these?
"Finally, for me there could be no question of
superimposing the laws of dialectics on nature but of discovering them in it and
developing them from it." [Engels (1976),
p.13. Bold emphasis
added.]
"The dialectic does not liberate the investigator from
painstaking study of the facts, quite the contrary: it requires it."
[Trotsky (1986), p.92. Bold emphasis added]
"Dialectics and materialism are the basic elements in the
Marxist cognition of the world. But this does not mean at all that they can be
applied to any sphere of knowledge, like an ever ready master key. Dialectics
cannot be imposed on facts; it has to be deduced from facts, from their
nature and development…." [Trotsky (1973), p.233.
Bold emphasis added.]
"'[The dialectic is not a] magic master key for
all questions.' The dialectic is not a calculator into which it is possible to
punch the problem and allow it to compute the solution. This would be an
idealist method. A materialist dialectic must grow from a patient,
empirical examination of the facts and not be imposed on them…."
[Rees (1998a), p.271. Bold emphases added.]
"A consistent materialism cannot proceed from
principles which are validated by appeal to abstract reason, intuition,
self-evidence or some other subjective or purely theoretical source. Idealisms
may do this. But the materialist philosophy has to be based upon evidence taken
from objective material sources and verified by demonstration in practice...."
[Novack (1965), p.17. Bold emphasis added.]
"Marxism, therefore, seeks to base our ideas
of things on nothing but the actual investigation of them, arising from and
tested by experience and practice. It does not invent a 'system' as previous
philosophers have done, and then try to make everything fit into it…."
[Cornforth (1976), pp.14-15. Bold emphases added.]
As we have seen (in Essay
Two), comrades who say such things, or who assent to them, quite happily do
the exact opposite in the very next breath, and readily impose their ideas on nature
and society, just
like Voloshinov.
Furthermore, even if there were some corroborating
evidence, it would surely have to be expressed in linguistic form, at some point. In that case,
it would itself be subject to the very same strictures applied to its own
"theme" and meaning, and so on ad infinitem. How would it be
possible to identify the "theme" of any sentence expressing or reporting this evidence, or
confirm whether or not it even had a "theme" if its own "theme" is
equally ephemeral and elusive?35
In addition, if the "microscopic" details
surrounding an "utterance" are essentially unique then within
nanoseconds of an "utterance" ending those involved in the conversation
would be at a loss themselves as to what its "theme" had been --, that
is, if it indeed
had one. [Or, even if they knew what they were looking for!] In fact, even as the sound waves carrying each utterance were
travelling between speaker and hearer the "microscopic" details surrounding the
original speech act would be altering, changing the "theme", or
perhaps even losing
it, forever. Worse still, during
vocalisation the "microscopic" details
proximate to each and every
nascent
speech act would be changing
diachronically. This means that,
while a speaker
was
speaking, the theme of what he or she was in the act of saying would be
altering -- unless, of course, we are to suppose that each "theme" is timed to
coincide with the beginning and end of each speech act.36
Indeed, unless "themes" were timed to begin or end miraculously like this, it would mean that each
utterance must possess an indefinite number of "unitary themes", depending on how
fast its originator spoke, how many micro-phonetic parts it contained, or
how often a speaker coughed, sneezed, or was interrupted during in a
conversation. Of course, anyone with a stammer would be doubly handicapped.36a
It could be objected that this is all
rather unfair since Voloshinov speaks of a "unitary theme" that
belongs to each
utterance, and he tells us that the "theme" of an utterance is "indivisible".
However, what these phrases actually mean will, of course, depend on how we
count utterances. Voloshinov appears to believe that "themes" and utterances
can be paired-off, one-one. In fact, something like this would have to
be the case, otherwise the ascription of a "unitary" and "indivisible" "theme" to an utterance would
be entirely empty. If so, it might look as if "themes" can be individuated
by the utterances they 'accompany'. But, that can't be right since "themes"
are circumstance-sensitive, which implies that any particular
type
utterance could in fact be the expression of countless different themes at
different times for each of its
tokens, as the "microscopic" details (etc.)
surrounding them varied. We saw as much above with respect to the sentences Holborow
herself discussed:
"Let us take an example…. [:]
I'm hungry conjures up a general concept. When, however, we look at
different contexts in which the phrase might be used, we see how the evaluative
accent changes everything. A child saying this to her mother might be
indirectly a request for the mother to get her something, an enquiry about what
there is to eat, or a statement that she just feels like something to eat.
One adult saying it to another might mean that it's time for lunch and be a
suggestion that they go somewhere to eat…. In each case the context is not
merely the gloss on the meaning but constitutes different meanings -- different
in every aspect…." [Holborow (1999), p.28.]
Here, each token utterance of the type "I'm
hungry" means something entirely new. If so, they must presumably have different
"themes". Indeed, as Voloshinov himself says:
"The theme of an utterance is
individual and unreproducible, just as the utterance itself is individual and
unreproducible. The theme is the expression of the concrete, historical
situation that engendered the utterance. The utterance 'What time is it?' has
a different meaning each time it is used, and hence, in accordance with our
terminology, has a different theme, depending on the concrete historical
situation ('historical' here in microscopic dimensions) during which it is
enunciated and of which, in essence, it is a part." [Voloshinov (1973), p.99.
Bold emphasis added.]
Since
we aren't allowed to consider the
meaning of type utterances (the idea is foreign to Voloshinov, it seems
-- but, meanings might be part of what he refers to as the "self-identical" aspects of an
utterance; p.100), Voloshinov's theory appears to indicate that token utterances of a certain
type are in fact pairable with
an indefinite number of "themes" according to circumstances.36a1
Conversely, the 'same' "theme" could be expressed by different type utterances.
Voloshinov doesn't explicitly rule this alternative out; even though it seems to be inconsistent with
some of the things he said, it is implied by other things he wrote, too. [On this, see Note 36a1, and
below.] So, the "theme" above (if it is one!), expressed by
the child's desire for her mother to get her some food, could in fact be
expressed in a number of different ways. The child could say any of the
following -- each expressing or instantiating the
same "theme":
P1: "Please get me some
food."
P2: "I'm
starving/famished/ravenous."
P3: "Is it nearly time for
dinner?"
P4: "I want a
biscuit/apple/burger/banana/pizza…"
P5: "I want to eat
something."
P6: "My tummy's rumbling."
P7: "My stomach thinks my
throat is cut."
And so on. In fact there are countless ways
this hypothetical child might express the 'very same' "theme".
These possibilities now raise serious
questions about how the pairing of "themes" and utterances is supposed to work.
More pointedly: Which "theme(s)" is/are to be paired with which utterance(s) if,
in theory, an utterance might represent a 'different' theme at different times,
and the 'same' "theme(s)" might be expressed by different utterances at same or
different times? Indeed, how are we to rule out the possibility that one
utterance could in fact express two or more "themes" at once (which seems
to be a viable option since two or more "themes" -- as allowed for by the theory
-- could be expressed by one and the same utterance on different occasions of
use)?36b
For example:
P8: "I'm hungry,"
could indicate that the one saying it wanted
feeding as well as expressing a veiled criticism of the one not doing the
feeding. In that case, it would have two "themes" --
if, of course,
this is what a "theme" is! Who can say?
Someone uttering P8
could thus mean (i.e., speaker's meaning), "Get me some food" as
well as
"I think you are a rather poor carer." Indeed, there might be other "themes"
'themed' by this one sentence on the same occasion (such as "I'm more important
than him/her, so feed me first", "You always treat me worse than
him/her", or "You are my employee, do as I say!", and so on).
To be sure, one or more of the above could in
principle be ruled out by a suitable definition or
stipulation.
It could then
simply be baldly asserted that each token utterance was paired one-one with
exactly one "theme". [How that could be checked is even
less clear!] Unfortunately, that would mean that whenever the 'same
utterance' was produced, the 'same' "theme" would have to be present, as a matter of definition.
That would, of course, make a mockery of the occasion-sensitivity of "theme"!
Either that, or it would mean that (despite appearances to the contrary) no
utterance was actually repeatable since each would be identified and
individuated by its own unique and unrepeatable "theme" -- which would
superglue each utterance to a unique set of circumstances. Indeed, this latest observation
seems to be consistent with some of the other things Voloshinov says:
"[T]heme must be unitary,
otherwise we would have no basis for talking about any one utterance. The theme
of an utterance is individual andunreproducible, just as the
utterance itself is individual and unreproducible. The theme is the
expression of the concrete, historical situation that engendered the utterance."
[Voloshinov (1973), p.99. Bold emphasis added.]
Unfortunately, he then went on to
say:
"The utterance 'What time is
it?' has a different meaning each time it is used, and hence, in accordance
with our terminology, has a different theme, depending on the concrete
historical situation ('historical' here in microscopic dimensions)
during which it is enunciated and of which, in essence, it is a part." [Ibid.,
p.99. Bold emphasis added.]
In that case, it seems reasonably clear that
Voloshinov wouldn't have pointed out that "The utterance 'What time is it?'
has a different meaning each time it is used…" (emphasis added), if the same utterance
hadn't in fact been used -- otherwise, the second "it" would dangle with no referent.
This indicates that, confused as he was, Voloshinov wanted to appeal to the
possible use of the same type utterance, tokened in new circumstances,
all the while clinging on to the idea that each utterance is totally unique!
With the best will in the world, it isn't easy to see how any of this is feasible --, nor is it
easy to figure a simple way out of this dialectical thicket. It is even less easy to see why
anyone (least of all the comrades mentioned above) would voluntarily propel
themselves right into centre of this impenetrable briar patch.
It could be argued that even though "What time
is it?" might be uttered countless times in many different circumstances, each
one is individuated by the occasion of its use, and hence by its "theme" (a
point in fact made a few paragraphs back!). Maybe so, but this simply commits
Voloshinov to a belief in type utterances, something he would have rejected (as
abstract objectivism). Anyway, we have already seen that each utterance could
have many different "themes", so "theme" itself seems incapable of individuating
anything, least of all an utterance. [We will return to this
below.]
On the other hand, it could be argued that
"theme" might be identified by the 'thought' conveyed by each utterance.
However, that option would itself risk becoming bogged down in a metaphysical
dispute over the precise nature of 'thoughts', and how they too might be
individuated! Anyway, we have already seen (in
Note 23) that Voloshinov had
himself blocked that escape route:
"In point of fact, the speech
act, or more accurately, its product -- the utterance, cannot under any
circumstances be considered an individual phenomenon in the precise meaning of
the word and cannot be explained in terms of the individual psychological or
psychophysiological conditions of the speaker. The utterance is a social
phenomenon." [Ibid., p.82. Italic emphasis in the original.]
Nevertheless, if we ignore this intractable problem for the moment, the
question would still remain: How do we individuate 'thoughts' except by
reference to the utterances they supposedly accompany, or instantiate?37
But, that just loops the discussion back in on itself. The whole point of the volunteered
response outlined in the previous paragraph seemed
to be aimed at trying to identify, or individuate, a "theme" by means of an
accompanying
'thought'. It now looks as if this can't be done without defining a 'thought' in
terms of utterances that are themselves supposedly identified by a "unitary theme".
But, that
in turn seems to mean that "themes" may be individuated only if they have
already been individuated!
Maybe we could pair-off 'thoughts' with type
utterances? Unfortunately, this would only serve to undermine "theme's" context-dependency, since the same utterance would implicate the same
'thought', and hence
the same "theme", and that would just loop the discussion back to where it was at
the end of the last paragraph.
Perhaps an appeal to meaning might help? But, again, if meaning
is parasitic on "theme", we are no further forward. Maybe the physical
properties of an utterance -- that is, the sound patterns associated with
specific sets of vibrating atoms or molecules -- could supply the principle of
individuation for "unitary themes"? Unfortunately, criteria of
individuation for sets of already identical atoms and molecules (distinguishable
only by an appeal to even more problematic spatial and temporal coordinates,
scalar energy and vector fields) aren't all that easy to construct (as
we have already seen). But, even if they were, this would still be of
little help. That is because those criteria would have to be
expressed in linguistic form, too, which would in turn attract the very same
difficulties that bedevilled the alleged "theme" they supposedly accompanied!
This doesn't look like a
very promising way out of this dialectical
dungeon.38
Furthermore -- and returning to an earlier theme
(no pun intended) --, if
utterances are to be individuated by means of circumstances, and the
latter are still microstate-sensitive, a finite set of words could conceivably
represent a potentially infinite (or indefinitely large finite) set of such
token utterances (since there seems to be no upper limit on the different
circumstances surrounding each utterance if any one of the latter is paired-off
with one of the former), all with their own "unitary themes". Hence,
and once more, the question, "What time is it?" could in fact mean
countless different things because of the indefinite number of surrounding circumstances that might accompany,
or occasion, each
of its exemplary utterances, all of which would presumably instantiate their own "themes". Naturally, this
would seem to imply that since the meaning of "What time is it?" isn't fixed by context-independent considerations
(according to Voloshinov), it could exemplify any number of such "unitary
themes", as the micro-details of each nascent utterance required -- including
those indicated or suggested during vocalisation, or those attendant upon that utterance while it was in
the process of being
registered in a hearer's 'consciousness', and so on.
Consequently, unless far more clearly defined
criteria are provided (by those sympathetic to Voloshinov's ideas) for counting,
distinguishing, or identifying utterances and "themes" (etc.), it seems
impossible to decide whether there are in fact countless "unitary themes"
pairable, one-one, one-many, many-one, or many-many, with utterances
(interpreted as identifiable spoken tokens, etc.) --, or whether there exist
more complex sets of functional relations between utterance tokens and "theme"
tokens, or between utterance types and "theme" tokens, and so on ad nauseam.
Having said that, it is worth pointing out
that the difficulties we face trying to comprehend what Voloshinov could possibly
have meant by what he wrote are largely
the result of the confused way in which he expressed himself. For example, on
the topic in hand (i.e., the individuation of "theme"), he had this to say:
"The theme must be unitary,
otherwise we would have no basis for talking about any one utterance. The theme
of an utterance is individual and unreproducible, just as the utterance itself
is individual and unreproducible. The theme is the expression of the concrete,
historical situation that engendered the utterance. The utterance 'What time is
it?' has a different meaning each time it is used, and hence, in accordance with
our terminology, has a different theme, depending on the concrete historical
situation…." [Ibid., p.99.]
From this,
as we saw earlier, it looks like Voloshinov thought
that an utterance could be individuated by its "theme":
"The theme must be unitary,
otherwise we would have no basis for talking about any one utterance…." [Ibid.]
On the other hand, he clearly thought that
"theme" was dependent on the concrete circumstances surrounding it:
"The utterance 'What time is
it?' has a different meaning each time it is used, and hence, in accordance with
our terminology, has a different theme, depending on the concrete historical
situation…." [Ibid.]
But, he also appears to have believed
that concrete circumstances were expressed by "theme":
"The theme is the expression
of the concrete, historical situation that engendered the utterance." [Ibid.]
In addition, it looks like Voloshinov thought
that not only was "theme" unreproducible, so were utterances:
"The theme of an utterance is
individual and unreproducible, just as the utterance itself is individual and
unreproducible." [Ibid.]
And yet, as noted above, he then spoke about
utterances being repeated:
"The utterance 'What time is
it?' has a different meaning each time it is used…." [Ibid. Emphasis
added.]
So, an utterance is and isn't
repeatable, hence its "theme" is and isn't unreproducible!
"The meaning of the utterance
'What time is it?' -- a meaning that, of course, remains the same in all
historical instances of its enunciation", [Ibid., p.100.]
it also looks like he believed that meaning
is fixed, after all, but only when the same utterance is produced,
something he had just said couldn't happen!
Unfortunately, the bemused reader will search in vain in the articles written by
the aforementioned comrades for any help in comprehendingwhat on earth
Voloshinov was banging on about!39
Again, it could be objected that the above
seriously misrepresents Voloshinov in that it ignores the clear distinction
he drew between meaning and "theme":
"A definite and unitary
meaning, a unitary significance, is a property belonging to any utterance as
a whole. Let us call the significance of a whole utterance its theme. The theme must be unitary,
otherwise we would have no basis for talking about any one utterance. The theme
of an utterance is individual and unreproducible, just as the utterance itself
is individual and unreproducible. The theme is the expression of the concrete,
historical situation that engendered the utterance. The utterance 'What time is
it?' has a different meaning each time it is used, and hence, in accordance with
our terminology, has a different theme, depending on the concrete historical
situation….
"It follows, then, that the
theme of an utterance is determined not only by the linguistic forms that
comprise it -- words, morphological and syntactic structures, sounds, and
intonation -- but also by extraverbal factors of the situation. Should we miss
these situational factors, we would be as little able to understand an utterance
as if we were to miss its most important words. The theme of an utterance is
concrete -- as concrete as the historical instant to which the utterance
belongs….
"Together with theme or,
rather, within the theme, there is also the meaning that belongs to an
utterance. By meaning, as distinguished from theme, we understand all those
aspects of the utterance that are reproducible and self-identical
in all instances of repetition. Of course, these aspects are abstract: they have
no concrete, autonomous existence in an artificially isolated form, but, at the
same time, they do constitute an essential and inseparable part of the
utterance. The theme of an utterance is, in essence, indivisible. The meaning of
an utterance, on the contrary, does break down into a set of meanings belonging
to each of the various linguistic elements of which the utterance consists. The
unreproducible theme of the utterance 'What time is it?' taken in its
indissoluble connection with the concrete historical situation, cannot be
divided into elements. The meaning of the utterance 'What time is it?' -- a
meaning that, of course, remains the same in all historical instances of its
enunciation -- is made up of the meanings of the words…that form the construction
of the utterance.
"…On the other hand, a theme
must base itself on some kind of fixity of meaning; otherwise it loses
its connection with what came before and what comes after -- i.e., it altogether
loses its significance…." [Ibid., pp.99-100. Bold emphasis alone added.]
From
this it could be argued that Voloshinov actually acknowledged many of the points
made above, and consequently they can't be used against him. Unfortunately, however, there are other things he said that undermine this 'sympathetic' interpretation of his intentions:
"A definite and unitary
meaning, a unitary significance, is a property belonging to any utterance as
a whole. Let us call the significance of a whole utterance its
theme….
"…The theme must be unitary,
otherwise we would have no basis for talking about any one utterance. The theme
of an utterance is individual and unreproducible, just as the utterance itself
is individual and unreproducible. The theme is the expression of the concrete,
historical situation that engendered the utterance. The utterance 'What time
is it?' has a different meaning each time it isused, and hence, in
accordance with our terminology, has a different theme, depending on the
concrete historical situation ('historical' here in microscopic dimensions)
during which it is enunciated and of which, in essence, it is a part….
"Together with theme or,
rather, within the theme, there is also the meaning that belongs to an
utterance. By meaning, as distinguished from theme, we understand all those
aspects of the utterance that are reproducible and self-identical
in all instances of repetition. Of course, these aspects are abstract: they
have no concrete, autonomous existence in an artificially isolated form,
but, at the same time, they do constitute an essential and inseparable part of
the utterance. The theme of an utterance is, in essence, indivisible. The
meaning of an utterance, on the contrary, does break down into a set of meanings
belonging to each of the various linguistic elements of which the utterance
consists….
"Theme is a complex,
dynamic system of signs that attempts to be adequate to a given instant of
generative process. Theme is reaction by the consciousness in its generative
process to the generative process of existence. Meaning is the technical
apparatus for the implementation of theme. Of course, no absolute,
mechanistic boundary can be drawn between theme and meaning. There is no theme
without meaning and no meaning without theme. Moreover, it is even impossible
to convey the meaning of a particular word…without having made it an element of
theme, i.e., without having constructed an 'example' utterance….
"Theme, as we have said, is
an attribute of a whole utterance only; it can belong to a separate word only
inasmuch as that word operates in the capacity of a whole utterance….
Meaning, on the other hand, belongs to an element or aggregate of elements in
their relation to the whole. Of course, if we entirely disregard this
relation to the whole (i.e., to the utterance), we shall entirely forfeit
meaning. That is the reason why a sharp boundary between theme and meaning
cannot be drawn.
"The most accurate way of
formulating the interrelationship between theme and meaning is in the following
terms. Theme is the upper, actual limit of linguistic significance; in
essence, only theme means something definite. Meaning is the lower limit
of linguistic significance. Meaning, in essence, means nothing; it only
possesses potentiality -- the possibility of having a meaning within a concretetheme…." [Ibid., pp.99-101. Bold emphases added; italic
emphases in the original.]
In this extract, while Voloshinov
distinguished "theme" from meaning, he also identified the two, saying that:
"A
definite and unitary meaning, a unitary significance,
is a property belonging to any utterance as a whole. Let us call the
significance of a whole utterance its theme…." [Ibid., p.99.
Bold emphases added.]
"Unitary meaning", "unitary significance" and
"theme" are one and the same here.40
To be sure, Voloshinov later acknowledged that words (etc.) possess fixed
meanings, but he had already torpedoed that idea by his prior
equation of meaning with "theme" -- since the latter isn't fixed. Moreover, he added
the following thoughts:
"…The utterance 'What time is
it?' has a different meaning each time it is used, and hence, in
accordance with our terminology, has a different theme….
"There
is no theme without meaning and no meaning without theme. Moreover, it is even
impossible to convey the meaning of a particular word…without having made it
an element of theme, i.e., without having constructed an 'example'
utterance….
"…Meaning, on the
other hand, belongs to an element or aggregate of elements intheir
relation to the whole….
“…Meaning, in essence,
means nothing; it only possesses potentiality -- the possibility of having a
meaning within a concretetheme….
"...Therefore, there is no
reason for saying that meaning belongs to a word assuch. In essence,
meaning belongs to a word in its position between speakers; that is,
meaning is realized only in the process of active, responsive understanding…."
[Ibid., pp.99-102. Bold emphases added.]
All
of these appear to make fixity of meaning a rather empty notion for Voloshinov
-- that is, if meaning is indeed occasion-specific and context-dependent, or if
it can change with each utterance (and can't be
ascertained apart from them), or, indeed, if it is speaker-relative, too.
It could be objected that this still
misrepresents Voloshinov in that he is quite clear that while there is no
clear boundary separating these two notions, at the extreme end of this continuum they are entirely different:
"The most accurate way of
formulating the interrelationship between theme and meaning is in the following
terms. Theme is the upper, actual limit of linguistic significance; in
essence, only theme means something definite. Meaning is the lower limit
of linguistic significance. Meaning, in essence, means nothing; it only
possesses potentiality -- the possibility of having a meaning within a concrete
theme…." [Ibid., p.101; italic
emphases in the original.]
But, according to this, without an
association with "theme", meaning "means nothing". Moreover, we are given no
clues as to how meaning can slowly appear along this alleged continuum. Is,
therefore, meaning like, say, the temperature of a metal bar as it is being heated from cold
to warm, and then to hot? But, what would be an example of a 'tepid' sort of meaning? An
utterance that was mumbled? Or, one that was cut-off in mid-stream? Or, one that
was uttered between two distinct surrounding circumstances or locations, on the run, as it
were? Indeed, what sense can be made of half a meaning, or 25% of one?
Hence, although Voloshinov does try to distinguish
"theme" and meaning, the other things he says identifies them, as pointed out
above. For example:
"A definite and unitary
meaning, a unitary significance, is a property belonging to any utterance as
a whole. Let us call the significance of a whole utterance its theme. The theme must be unitary,
otherwise we would have no basis for talking about any one utterance. The theme
of an utterance is individual and unreproducible, just as the utterance itself
is individual and unreproducible. The theme is the expression of the concrete,
historical situation that engendered the utterance. The utterance 'What time is
it?' has a different meaning each time it is used, and hence, in accordance with
our terminology, has a different theme, depending on the concrete historical
situation…." [Ibid, p.99. Bold emphases added; italic emphases in the
original.]
Of course, this quandary isn't helped by
the fact that we still haven't got the faintest idea what "theme" is!
The above might still be regarded as a little
unfair to Voloshinov, for he went on to connect "theme" with "understanding":
"The distinction between
theme and meaning acquires particular clarity in connection with the problem
of understanding….
"Any genuine kind of
understanding will be active and will constitute the germ of a response. Only
active understanding can grasp theme -- a generative process can be grasped only
with the aid of another generative process.
"To understand another
person's utterance means to orient oneself with respect to it, to find the
proper place for it in the corresponding context. For each word of the utterance
that we are in process of understanding, we, as it were, lay down a set of our
own answering words. The greater their number and weight, the deeper and more
substantial our understanding will be.
"Thus each of the
distinguishable significative elements of an utterance and the entire utterance
as a whole entity are translated in our minds into another, active and
responsive, context. Any true understanding is dialogic in nature….
Understanding strives to match the speaker's word with a counter word….
"Therefore,
there is no reason for saying that meaning belongs to a word as such. In
essence, meaning belongs to a word in its position between speakers; that is,
meaning is realized only in the process of active, responsive understanding.
Meaning does not reside in the word or in the soul of the speaker or in the soul
of the listener. Meaning is the effect of interaction between speaker and
listener produced via the material of a particular sound complex. It is like
an electric spark that occurs only when two different terminals are hooked
together. Those who ignore theme (which is accessible only to active, responsive
understanding) and who, in attempting to define the meaning of a word, approach
its lower, stable, self-identical limit, want, in effect, to turn on a light
bulb after having switched off the current…." [Ibid., pp.102-03. Bold
emphasis added; italic emphasis in the original.]41
Here, meaning is no longer linguistic (i.e.,
it no longer belongs to the use of a word), it is essentially psychological,
and is now a
feature of the interaction between at least two 'minds'. In that case, meaning
isn't:
"the lower limit
of linguistic significance. Meaning, in essence, means nothing; it only
possesses potentiality -- the possibility of having a meaning within a concrete theme…." [Ibid., p.101.]
Nor is it what we were earlier led to believe:
"The meaning of an
utterance, on the contrary, does break down into a set of meanings belonging to
each of the various linguistic elements of which the utterance consists. The
unreproducible theme of the utterance 'What time is it?' taken in its
indissoluble connection with the concrete historical situation, cannot be
divided into elements. The meaning of the utterance 'What time is it?' -- a
meaning that, of course, remains the same in all historical instances of its
enunciation -- is made up of the meanings of the words…that form the
construction of the utterance." [Ibid., p.100. Bold emphases added.]
Meaning has now become:
"the effect of interaction between speaker and
listener produced via the material of a particular sound complex. It is like
an electric spark that occurs only when two different terminals are hooked
together. Those who ignore theme (which is accessible only to active, responsive
understanding) and who, in attempting to define the meaning of a word, approach
its lower, stable, self-identical limit, want, in effect, to turn on a light
bulb after having switched off the current…." [Ibid., p.102.]
[As we will
see later, Voloshinov has
clearly run-together several different meanings of "meaning"! In fact, as Note 23shows, if Voloshinov were
correct, inter-subjective understanding would be impossible.]
Nevertheless, even if we ignore these serious
difficulties for now, the above passages still can't help
us in our understanding of Voloshinov's theory, since we are now entirely
unclear about both "theme" and meaning!
Moreover, if
understanding
were in fact
dependent on translation, that would compound the problems facing
Voloshinov's theory even further. That is because a listener would have no way of knowing whether his/her
translated words accurately represented the "theme" that his/her
interlocutor had (in fact?) intended, or had associated with their own words
when they were uttered, or, indeed, were associated with what they had said by
the 'concrete circumstances' of their utterance.
Instead of having merely to understand a speaker, a hearer would now have
to unravel an intrinsically inaccessible and un-reproducible "theme" before
understanding could even begin!
Worse still, the "theme" associated
with an utterance (according to the
'definition' we were given) is totally unique; it can't have been
experienced by that individual, or by anyone else, for that matter, in all of
human history -- ever. How then could anyone use this totally unique
"theme" to assist in the understanding of someone else's words? Naturally, this
means that far from assisting linguists or psychologists find a solution to
the 'problem' of understanding, the introduction of this radically obscure
notion ("theme") isn't just a
hindrance, it presents them with an completely insurmountable obstacle,
the equivalent of throwing an anvil at a drowning man.
Furthermore, if all understanding involves
translation, then speakers themselves would fail to understand even their
own words. As seems reasonably obvious, if translation is to be successful, it must represent
that which is
to be translated in a medium that is already understood. But, if this
prior understanding itself requires still further translation (which it must do if,
given
this theory, all understanding requires translation), then that just
introduces yet another infinite regress, with translation upon translation
stacking-up in order to facilitate each episode of "understanding".
Translation has to take
place in some language or other, which according to Voloshinov must itself be
"theme"-dominated, and hence occasion-sensitive. That being
the case, these translations would
now depend on resources which are themselves intrinsically inaccessible, and
would relate to speech-acts and surrounding circumstances that are themselves sensitive to
changes that take place every microsecond (according
to Voloshinov). Moreover, since no speaker has
access to any of their own past "themes" (or any at all!) to assist him or her
in this endless "theme"-hunt, they would be searching for the terminally ephemeral by means
of the psychologically unattainable. This is the equivalent of looking for a
needle in a haystack when (i) you have never seen a needle before, (ii) no one
else has either, and (iii) no one knows what a haystack is!
Consequently, on this account, speakers would
fail
even to understand themselves!
In that case, the following would be
impossible:
"Thus each of the
distinguishable significative elements of an utterance and the entire utterance
as a whole entity are translated in our minds into another, active and
responsive, context. Any true understanding is dialogic in nature….
Understanding strives to match the speaker's word with a counter word…."
[Ibid., p.102.]
If such "counter words" have any meaning, they
must also have a "theme", and if that is so, hearers will fail to
understand these words, and they will do so for the above reasons. Furthermore,
even if the "theme" of an utterance were
in fact accessible to speaker and hearer alike, only a minor miracle would make the
"theme" of a listener's "counter word" coincide with the "theme" of the original
utterance. Either way, and once again, understanding and communication would fail.
The usual response to this line of argument runs something like this:
E1: Well, we never really
understand one another, do we?
But, if that were the case, we must fail to
understand E1, too. And, if that is so, any response that depends on E1 must
also fail, for we wouldn't know what we were being informed of by means of it!
This is quite apart
from the incongruity of being presented with a theory of understanding that ends up
denying there isn't any of it to be had!
[That is, if anyone actually understands
this theory to begin with -- which, if E1 were true, they wouldn't, would they?]41a0
Conversely, if understanding a particular
translation required no further acts of understanding, or of translation
(that is, if the regress outlined above were short-circuited somehow), it would
then be pertinent to ask why translation was introduced to account for
understanding in the first place. If at some unspecified point we succeed in comprehending our own
'translated' words un-mediated, as it were, by any further
acts of translation (as this short-circuited variant would have it), why can't
we do this directly with the words others send our way? Why can't we just
understand them? Not only would this prevent the above regress (and the
subsequent attempt to block it on an ad
hoc basis), it would conform with what we already mean by
"understanding" (as will be demonstrated below).
The only conceivable reason for accepting the
sort of psychologistic detour we met above (which appeals to what appear to be
occult acts of 'inner translation' to account for understanding and the use of
language) would seem to
be that comprehension is a private mental process that we accomplish directly
by means of "inner speech", or some such.
Now, we don't have to appeal to the
definitive case mounted by Wittgenstein against
the possibility of there being a "private language"
to oppose this approach to 'cognition'; Voloshinov's own precepts rule it out,
for he declares that:
"Meaning does not reside
in the word or in the soul of the speaker or in the soul of the listener.
Meaning is the effect of interaction between speaker and listener produced
via the material of a particular sound complex." [Ibid., pp.102-03. Bold
emphasis alone added.]
In that case, it is difficult to see why Voloshinov
(or, indeed, any of his epigones) found he had to appeal to translation
in order to account for
our ability to understand one another, when, given his own theory, it drops out of
the picture. If anything, our understanding accounts for
translation, not the other way round -- otherwise, as noted above, the
individual concerned wouldn't know whether or not she/he had translated a given "sound
complex" correctly.
Of
course, if could be argued that "correct" has no place here, since meaning is a
negotiation between speakers. But, if that were so, there would be no
distinction between translation and mistranslation, which would, naturally
undermine the possibility of translation itself, just as calculation would be
undermined if there were no distinction between calculation and miscalculation.
Be
this as it may, an earlier allegation that there is a tension in Voloshinov's
work -- whereby, on the one hand, he wants to see language as a social product
or phenomenon, while, on the other, his ideas about "understanding" suggest that
he has fallen prey to the traditional theory that language and our capacity to
understand what is said depends on 'inner acts of intellection' -- now seems
correct.41a
Here is what Voloshinov says, for example, about
"understanding":
"Idealism and
psychologism alike overlook the fact that
understanding itself can come about only within some kind of semiotic material
(e.g., inner speech), that sign bears upon sign,
that consciousness itself can arise and become a viable fact only in the
material embodiment of signs...understanding is a response to a sign with
signs." [Ibid., p.11. Italic emphasis in the original.]
"In the first instance, to
understand means to refer a particular inner sign to a unity consisting of
other inner signs, to perceive it in the context of a particular psyche....
"Self-observation
(introspection) is the understanding of one's own inner sign.... We do not see or
feel an experience we understand it. This means that in the process of
introspection we engage our experience into a context made up of other signs we
understand. A sign can only be illuminated with the help of another sign."
[Ibid., pp.35-36. Italic emphases in the original.]
This is unfortunate since, if the above were the case, human beings
couldn't evenbegin to
"understand" anything. That is because we aren't born with 'signs' in our heads (or in our
'consciousness') -- unless we assume that a baby has a set of 'innate' signs in her/his
'psyche'. Hence, if acts of understanding were indeed a function of the relation between
signs, as Voloshinov says, they couldn't take place. After all, "a sign can
only be illuminated with the help of another sign", so, if we have none to begin
with, the process of "illumination" can't even begin. [On this, see
Note 23.]
Despite this, it is rather
odd to say that our heads are full of "signs" --, or, perhaps that
"consciousness itself can arise and become a viable fact only in the material
embodiment of signs" -- since Voloshinov isn't too clear what he means by "sign". Hence, not much can be
done with this peculiar
idea of his. [However, I will return to this topic later.]
Anyway, the above comments at least
pin Voloshinov's flag to the traditionalist mast: understanding for him is (in
the "first instance") an inner, private affair. Despite his other gestures to the
contrary, he has clearly failed to break decisively with Platonic, Christian, and
Cartesian Mythology. Plainly,
this is
one "ruling idea" that has landed, and set up home in, yet another
radical "psyche".
[Alas, other comrades seem to have caught the same bug.]
One response to the above might run along the
lines that
hearers have to (in Voloshinov's words) "orient" themselves toward a
speaker's utterance:
"To understand another
person's utterance means to orient oneself with respect to it, to find the
proper place for it in the corresponding context. For each word of the utterance
that we are in process of understanding, we, as it were, lay down a set of our
own answering words. The greater their number and weight, the deeper and more
substantial our understanding will be." [Ibid., p.102. Bold emphasis added.]
Clearly, this must involve the translation of the latter's words
into the listener's own
idiolect -- or perhaps into their own "inner speech":
"Idealism and
psychologism alike overlook the fact that
understanding itself can come about only within some kind of semiotic material
(e.g., inner speech), that sign bears upon sign,
that consciousness itself can arise and become a viable fact only in the
material embodiment of signs...understanding is a response to a sign with
signs." [Ibid., p.11. Italic emphasis in the original.]
Quite apart from the fact that Voloshinov offered no empirical evidence to
substantiate this bizarre idea (that we accompany the speech of others with
strings of our own words -- i.e., "inner speech", or "counter words" -- in order to comprehend
our interlocutors), any parallel dialogue like this would actually get in the way
of our attending to what was being said. It would
be rather like having to put up with an irritating 'inner
i-Pod' -- which
couldn't be ignored, turned down or switched off while we struggled to listen to what
was being said to us.41b
Even if such an 'inner running-commentary' actually
took place, it still wouldn't explain how we succeed in understanding anything
said to us, for it would clearly fail to account for our immediate
comprehension of the words (i.e., the "signs" that appear in "inner speech")
that these 'inner i-Pods' themselves constantly pump into
our 'inner ears'. If all understanding requires
such "inner speech", the constant din of this inner nuisance would surely
have to be accompanied by an even 'inner inner i-Pod', ('inner, inner
speech') if it, too, is to be
comprehended, and so on, ad infinitem.
On the other hand, if we
directly understand our own individual 'inner i-Pods' (this "inner speech") without recourse to any
further such devices (that is, if this infinite regress is terminated at the
first stage), then what reason could there be for not stopping
it one stage earlier still? Why may we not understand each other's words directly and
dispense with these spooky 'inner voices'/'inner signs'? If we understand "inner speech"
directly, then why not 'outer' speech?
[As we saw above, the only reason for
supposing that we can't understand 'outer speech' directly without the
intercession of these 'inner voices' -- the latter of which we seem to be able
to
comprehend directly without any further intercession by an 'inner, inner voice'
-- is that, for Voloshinov, understanding is an individualised, secret,
'inner process'. On this, see the
next section.]
Furthermore, the mere correlation
of two parallel streams of language (wherein an 'inner' dialogue supposedly
accompanies its 'outer' correlate, as one or both are processed in the Central
Nervous System [CNS], one presumes) doesn't establish that one of them is the
translation of the other, any more than talking aloud in English while a Russian
film is on TV counts as translating it. And this remains the case even if the one doing the
talking actually understands Russian. Hence, even if we could comprehend the
nature of "inner
speech", it wouldn't establish
that a successful translation had been accomplished by means of it.
It
would count as a translation of the former only if the words they contained had the same meaning (and
presumably the same "theme") as those which they sought to translate, but according to this theory,
no two utterances can have the same "theme"
(and thus not even the same meaning), so these annoying 'inner voices' would
be no use at all (even if they existed!). Just like the antics of an incompetent
translator, this ghostly charade would get no translation right, since there is,
on this view, no such thing to be had!
The
sensible theorist, therefore, will switch this annoying device off -- or,
perhaps better still, question its existence to begin with.42
As noted earlier, the only apparent reason for rejecting
the above objections would have to be based on the belief
that "inner speech" is immediate to 'consciousness', and is therefore instantly
comprehensible -- simply because it is "inner". This view in turn
trades on the further idea that when something is inside our heads (or is part of the CNS, perhaps?), a sort of
internal, ghostly viewer or listener takes over and does the
translating and the understanding (directly and without further
translation), for us. There is no other way to make sense of the metaphors
Voloshinov and others use here.
If so, intimate,
internal proximity seems to be the
factor that renders such speech automatically comprehensible. In contrast, speech that is 'outer'
somehow prevents, or, at least, fails to facilitate, understanding (in the "first
instance -- p.35.).43
In that case, it looks like the mere fact that such speech is inner means
that it is capable of being grasped directly without the need for another
even more inner, inner 'meta-translating' device to act as the next intercessor
in the chain. But, as noted above, if "inner speech" is indeed speech, presumably it
too must be occasion-sensitive. And yet, if that is so, the elusive "theme"
associated with each inner representation of the utterances encountered in 'outer speech'
will be
even more inaccessible than the "theme" allegedly associated with its
intended outer correlate. And, as noted above, short of a minor miracle, there is no way
these two speech episodes could have identical "themes", given the strictures
Voloshinov placed on "theme".
If, on the other hand, "inner speech"
isn't occasion-sensitive (and thus has no "theme") then we are owed an
explanation as to why it should be called "speech" in the first place, and why
(in the second) this use of "signs" is exempt from -- while their outer
correlates are still subject to -- occasion-sensitivity. Indeed, if "inner
speech" isn't
itself
occasion-sensitive, then how could it help translate "theme" accurately if the
"theme" of 'outer speech' is occasion-sensitive? And, if
"inner speech"
has no "theme" then how might it be understood? Hw might it have any
meaning?43a
"There is no theme without meaning and no meaning without theme. Moreover, it is even
impossible to convey the meaning of a particular word…without having made it
an element of theme, i.e., without having constructed an 'example'
utterance…." [Ibid., p.100. Bold emphasis added.]
Indeed, "inner speech" can't be understood if it has
no "theme". This isn't just my view, it is Voloshinov's:
"…The theme must be unitary,
otherwise we would have no basis for talking about any one utterance. The theme
of an utterance is individual and unreproducible, just as the utterance itself
is individual and unreproducible. The theme is the expression of the concrete,
historical situation that engendered the utterance. The utterance 'What time is
it?' has a different meaning each time it is used, and hence, in accordance with
our terminology, has a different theme, depending on the concrete historical
situation ('historical' here in microscopic dimensions) during which it is
enunciated and of which, in essence, it is a part.
"It follows, then, that the
theme of an utterance is determined not only by the linguistic forms that
comprise it -- words, morphological and syntactic structures, sounds, and
intonation -- but also by extraverbal factors of the situation. Should we miss
these situational factors, we would be as little able to understand an utterance
as if we were to miss its most important words. The theme of an utterance is
concrete -- as concrete as the historical instant to which the utterance belongs.
Only an utterance taken in its full, concrete scope as an historical
phenomenon possesses a theme. That is what is meant by the theme of an
utterance." [Voloshinov (1973), pp.99-100. Bold emphases alone added.]
And yet, Voloshinov situates understanding
in
the psyche, which means the "signs" comprising "inner speech" must have a
"theme" of their own:
"In the first instance,
to
understand means to refer a particular inner sign to a unity consisting of
other inner signs, to perceive it in the context of a particular psyche....
"Now in what form do we
receive the psyche, receive inner signs, for observation and study? In its pure
form, the inner sign, i.e., experience, is receivable only by self-observation
(introspection)....
"The fact is, after all, that
inner sign is the object of introspection and inner sign, as such, can also be
outer sign. Inner speech could indeed be given voice....
"Self-observation
(introspection) is the understanding of one's own inner sign.... We do not see or
feel an experience we understand it. This means that in the process of
introspection we engage our experience into a context made up of other signs we
understand. A sign can only be illuminated with the help of another sign."
[Ibid., p.36. Italic emphases in the original.]
But, as noted above, if the "signs" comprising "inner
speech" attract a "theme" of their own, understanding must fail:
Hence, even if we could comprehend the nature of "inner
speech", it wouldn't establish
that a successful translation had been accomplished by means of it. It
would count as a translation of the former only if the words they contained had the same meaning (and
presumably the same "theme") as those which they sought to translate, but according to this theory,
no two utterances can have the same "theme"
(and thus not even the same meaning), so these annoying 'inner voices' would
be no use at all (even if they existed!). Just like the antics of an incompetent
translator, this ghostly charade would get no translation right, since there is,
on this view, no such thing to be had!
[This passage has been quoted from
here.]
The traditional
account (i.e., one that holds that 'thinking' (etc.) takes place 'inside the
head') is in fact derived from the mystical idea that
'consciousness'/the 'soul' can be likened to
a sort of internal viewer of, or
listener to, the contents of the 'mind'/brain -- somewhat similar to the way a
cinemagoer watches a film in an auditorium, only this is supposed to be far more intimate. This metaphor
implies that 'consciousness' operates like a sort of linguistically-challenged,
sub-, or quasi-human
'entity', a social atom located somewhere in the cerebral, psychological or verbal universe. In Voloshinov's work,
as we have just seen, this 'inner auditorium' re-surfaces as the "psyche",
which is a sort of semi-passive,
mute 'inner couch potato', whose only job, it seems, is juggling with, and comparing,
whatever "signs" manage to drift its way.
It is "semi-passive" since
it looks like this ghostly
head-lodger isn't
permitted to translate "inner speech" into speech that is even more inner
so that it can understand the original "inner speech", in order to
forestall the infinite regress alluded to above. This ethereal, internal
individual certainly doesn't seem to engage in any practical activity; no one imagines it jogs about inside
the skull, finds employment in a
mitochondrial power plant, or agitates neurons into working-to-rule. It
certainly enjoys no social connections of any sort.
Alternatively, this trope might suggest that
whether or not inner 'consciousness' possesses its own 'inner, inner
language', it need never use it because plain and simple "inner speech" can be
understood directly with no need of further acts of intercession. In that case, this 'inner spectator' would be a sort
of taciturn but highly intuitive (if not magically gifted) 'inner couch
potato', since it wouldn't need to translate "inner speech" into something even more
'inner' in order to comprehend it.
Indeed, it would appear to be an 'inner
projection' of ourselves, just as 'god' is an 'outer projection'.
Small wonder, then, since this view originated in Christian and Platonic
Mysticism, and was given its modern shape by Descartes. Voloshinov's "psyche" is
clearly the correlate of the Cartesian 'soul'
One or other of these alternatives would have to be the
case if translation is to stop at some point, and this semi-passive
'cranium squatter' is to 'understand' things directly (and then 'explain' them
somehow to us -- perhaps we have 'inner ears', too?) without the need for still
more 'inner, inner, inner...' intercessors.43b
On either account, the connection between the
use of language and understanding has been severed -- which result seems to be
contrary to Voloshinov's own stated aims. That is because, even given this approach,
language drops out of the picture, since, at some point, "translation" must be effected in a non-linguistic
form or medium, 'intuitively', as it were. Understanding has in the end to be divorced from
the use of language to avoid the infinite regress of ever 'inner, inner couch
potatoes', required by this theory in order to facilitate the entire process. Comprehension thus becomes a non-linguistic, sui generis,
feature of our private 'mental' lives. But, if comprehension works like this (i.e., if
it is in the end 'inner', direct and immediate), then the motivation to provide an
explanation for it by postulating such 'inner processes' vanishes. If we all
understand one another in such a direct way at some point, why postulate
the need for "inner speech" to assist us? Other than serving to confuse
the easily confused, what possible role can it play?
So, even
on this account, "inner speech" does no work; at some point we all seem
just to understand
one another.43c
[Any who
reckon this misrepresents Voloshinov
should consult Note 23, and then
perhaps think again.]
Once more, if 'inner understanding' is itself
sui generis and spontaneous,
needing no further acts of intercession, why can't everyday 'outer' understanding work
in the same way? What possible reason could there be for an internal device of
this sort to provide an inner sanctum where language is finally processed.
Indeed, what is the point if, in the end, we end up with an explanation of
understanding that simply reduplicates the 'problems' associated with whatever
it supposedly replaced, and which mystifies the
phenomenon into the bargain (by locating it in a hidden and inaccessible realm)? What is gained by an appeal to an 'inner' process
that works just like the outer one for which it was supposed to provide some
sort of explanation? If the immediate understanding of one human being by
another is indeed a 'problem' (which requires a philosophical
and/or scientific
'solution'), why is the reduplication of that very same 'problem' in
an occult, 'inner' sanctum deemed a significant advance? If in the end
understanding is something we just do (if it is a basic fact about all of
us), then why do we need to burrow away inside our heads to find a more basic
process that merely reproduces the very thing that needed 'explaining' in the
first place: the intelligent use of language by humans who in the end typically understand
one another
immediately?43d
At this point, and as noted in several other Essays (for example,
here and
here), the atomistic
nature of the traditional theory (that understanding, etc, takes place in our
heads) should be obvious for all to see, for the 'explanatory' core of this
approach to language presents us with what looks suspiciously like an isolated
individual -- beloved of bourgeois ideology -- lodged inside each head.
This oracular, cranial squatter -- who differs from the
Cartesian 'soul' in name
alone -- is, on this account (and not surprisingly), far removed from the
affairs of communal life. Such a speechless atom would have no need of a public
language -- nor would it require socialisation. Its 'discourse' (if such it may
be called) can't in fact be social, it is manifestly 'inner' and private.
Nevertheless,
private property in the means of speech production sits rather awkwardly
with what is supposed to be a Marxist account of language.
If we continue the above
theme (no pun intended), we encounter another, related, problem: even if the 'representational'
view of language were correct, how could language actually represent things to
this 'inner spectator'? Voloshinov talks
as if "signs" are able to do this all on
their own, perhaps as we internally compare
them
(which signs seem to carry their meaning on their faces, as it were). But, who
views these inner "signs" is left a complete mystery -- unless, of course, we
postulate an 'inner eye', or an 'inner observer', to fit the bill.
Anyway, how can sounds or words communicate anything to a mere
viewer of pictures (or, indeed, a hearer of sounds)? Surely, they could only do this
if this 'inner watcher' was already a language user, and possessed
'inner, inner eyes' or 'inner, inner ears' of her/his own -- along with an 'inner'
social life, whereby these skills were first acquired.44
If our 'outer' social life and our 'outer' eyes and ears aren't enough, then how can these 'inner' sense
organs take up the slack? In what way are they superior to the skills we have
all acquired as part of our socialisation?
In
fact, and to the contrary, an 'inner spectator' like this is nothing
more than a little man/woman "in the head", with no family, friends or
acquaintances -- entirely 'self-socialised' and 'self-educated'.45
Naturally, the metaphor used earlier (i.e.,
that cinema-going head-lodger) itself suggested this 'inner spectator' interpretation,
but even if this analogy were inapt, how else are we to make sense of these "inner
representations" to 'consciousness'? What is the point of using the word
"represent" (that is, if we interpret Voloshinov's
own words in
this way) if there is no
one to whom anything is represented? If this word means what we
ordinarily take it to mean (that is, if we don't misrepresent its meaning, or fail
to
regard it as the
transitive verb
that
it is, and which requires an object -- without an object, a viewer of
these 'representations', they would be like pictures hung by a robot in a
gallery that no one has ever visited, or can visit), then this account clearly depends on yet another homunculus theory of the mind.45a
Here is Voloshinov's metaphor (which suggests
he accepted his own version of this 'theory'):
"Individual consciousness is
not the architect of the ideological superstructure, but only a tenant lodging
in the social edifice of ideological signs."
[Voloshinov (1973), pp.12-13. Bold emphasis added.]
So,
according to Voloshinov, instead of having to endure an
interminable i-Pod, with no 'Off' button,
inside our skulls, we all seem to have an invisible internal friend who
sifts through the myriad of sensory inputs the
CNS sends
his/her/its
way, all of which are then 'represented' to this 'friend' so they can be communicated
somehow to
each of us. This inner invisible companion must, of course, explain everything to us --,
presumably by 'whispering' in our 'inner ears', making use of inner "inner speech"
-- since we seem incapable of understanding anything without him/her/it
intercessing on our behalf.46
Naturally, this means that there would have to be at least two of these 'cerebral
squatters' inside each skull: one to do the explaining and one the
listening. Worse still, each of these homunculi would themselves have to have
similar, but smaller 'friends' in their minds/brains/heads to 'whom' things are
likewise 'represented', and so on... We might then wonder how we ever manage to hear
anything above the din, as this potentially infinite body of jabbering
Russian Dolls went about their cacophonous daily business.47
Figure One: The Human
Psyche?
In July 2015,
Disney
Pixar released an animated, children's film,
Inside Out, which inadvertently exposed the absurdity of the 'Homunculus
Theory' of 'the mind':
Videos One, Two, And Three: Disney's
'Little People In The Head'
On the other hand, if understanding is made manifest by our
competent use of language (alongside associated skills and performances) in a public
domain, then an appeal to the intercession of "inner
speech" to facilitate it, is unnecessary. Indeed, we don't need to anthropomorphise
the brain/'mind'/CNS in this way in order to account for our ability to
comprehend one another --, since, of course, there is nothing here that needs accounting
for.48
The
contrary supposition (i.e., that "inner speech" is essential to understanding) is clearly motivated by a
powerful set of ideological illusions, chief among which is the belief that
unless something is internalised it can't be understood. This by-now-familiar representational view of
language and thought is itself based on the idea that it is mere proximity and
internal immediacy
that renders "inner speech" directly comprehensible to 'consciousness'.
That is, it is the inner manipulation of signs
and/or symbols (or their physical or psychical correlates) that constitutes
understanding, as opposed to 'outer' communication, behavioural competence and
social interaction that does. [On
this, see below.]
It is also plain that the traditional
picture is itself motivated by yet another set of inappropriate
nominalisations
and
reifications
of everyday words -- terms that ordinarily express or exhibit our intellectual
and
linguistic skills, dispositions and states --, a wrong turn that is compounded by their consequent
fetishisation.48a
This traditional approach runs along
the following (highly truncated) lines: if 'consciousness', 'language' and
'the understanding' are in fact objects or inner processes (and who can
possibly doubt that if they have been given names?), or if they are based on these
inner objects and processes, a successful theory (especially if it hopes to be
'scientific' and 'philosophical') must account for their
inter-relationship.
However, these 'inner entities' have
been conjured into existence by the simple expedient of 'naming' them --
which plainly divides and then separates one from another by objectifying, or
reifying, them.
Because of such moves these separated 'items' now
require a 'theory' to re-connect them! Enter Traditional Philosophy and
contemporary Cognitive 'Science'.49
But, this is an attempt to find a 'solution' to a bogus problem. Bogus, because
the original distinction between these 'internal objects and processes' was motivated by these inappropriate linguistic moves, and nothing more.
Attempt because it is impossible to complete the task this pseudo-problem
presents those who invented it, or who now try to wrestle with it, since these entities (i.e.,
'consciousness', 'language' and 'the understanding', etc.) are
figments of the imagination, motivated by the
reification and fetishisation of a handful of concepts.50
As any competent user of the language may
readily confirm, this isn't how we already use words like "understand",
"think" and "to be aware"; we don't employ them to name inner objects and
processes. This is revealed by the further fact that we ordinarily decide, for instance,
whether someone has understood what is said to them by an appeal to outer criteria.
We don't examine the contents of their heads, or try to access their mental
imagery. If this is what we mean by "understanding" (that is, if we apply this
word successfully on the basis of outer criteria like this, which cri8teria are associated
with publicly checkable performances, skills and achievements (as opposed to hidden and
mysterious inner 'events'),
then the employment of this word to depict what goes on inside our heads
will be seen for what it is -- the
Platonic-Christian-Cartesian Paradigm in
all but name.
Naturally, this last set of bald assertions needs some defending --
but, fortunately, no much.
Undeniably, language has developed and grown
as result of the material interaction between human beings and the world.
Manifestly, this didn't
take place as a result of the occult deliberations of an obscure, inner ethereal
entity (i.e., "consciousness", or "thought") beloved of tradition.
That
observation isn't just consonant with a Marxist view of the social nature of language
and human beings, it agrees with everyday
linguistic and social practice. When studying the social and intellectual development
of humanity, for example,
archaeologists and historians would make no progress at all if they attempted to
consider the machinations of these mythical inner objects and processes.51
What they do (what we all do), of course, is examine the conditions under
which our ancestors lived -- the social and political forms they assumed --,
their struggles, writings, inter-relationships, means of production,
relations of exploitation, etc., etc. In addition to this, the study of artefacts, inscriptions, buildings,
coffins, possessions, property relations, class structures, and so on, would add
detail, where necessary. This is
what constitutes an HM study of the past (and of the present, for that matter). If language is
intimately connected with humanity's social development, then a materialist account of
discourse and comprehension need
take no heed of these hidden, 'inner objects and processes', even if sense
could be made of them.
'Inner processes' like these aren't hidden from us because they are
especially well-concealed, difficult to locate or
inspect;
there is in fact nothing there to study -- or, rather, it makes no
sense to suppose there is -- and this is so for reasons given above (which are further elaborated upon below).
The contrary supposition that there are such
occult (i.e., hidden) goings-on is often motivated by yet another inappropriate use of language,
itself a result of the influence of an archaic tradition, the aforementioned Platonic-Christian-Cartesian
Paradigm -- and nothing more. Apart from a crass misuse of words,
allied with
this mystical tradition, there is nothing to suggest that
such 'inner processes' exist. Indeed, that is why it was asserted
above that these mysterious 'inner objects and processes' are immaterial (in both
senses of that word); they couldn't feature in a materialist account of
anything since they don't exist (or rather, once again, no sense can be
made of the supposition that they do). In our practice we take no heed of them; our
material use of language and our shared behaviour show that such
'objects and processes' are chimerical.51a
The
social nature of language implies that individuals aren't free to attach their
own private meaning to words so that they become the meaning of those
words -- least of all a meaning that runs counter to the open, public application of terms like "understand",
"thought", and
"to be aware". This is partly because whatever personal gloss might be put on
any such words -- as is the case with other social products, such as commodities --, their meaning
or 'value' is fixed
by outer, not 'inner', material conditions. [This topic will be examined in more detail
presently.]
Hence, despite his disclaimers, Voloshinov's
theory not only depends on just such a
reification of language, it relies on an
anthropomorphisation of the mind or brain. That is, it depends on a
inner projection of outer social categories
onto the aforementioned fictional, 'inner couch potato'
-- i.e., onto what is, in all but name, theCartesian Soul.
These seemingly dogmatic assertions will now
be defended.
To summarise:
In connection with Voloshinov's
claims about translation and "orienting" ourselves to another's speech, it is worth noting that unless
listeners could confirm that they had translated their interlocutor's words into
their 'own language' correctly they would be in no position to say
whether or not they had successfully "oriented" themselves toward that speaker,
to begin with. But, how
could they do that without alreadyhavingunderstood
what was said? Otherwise, any translation is going to seem right -- in which
case we can't talk about "right" (to paraphrase Wittgenstein).51b
Hence, the 'theory' of understanding being
examined here implies that there must be a correct pre-translation
of a speaker's words into the "inner speech" of his/her hearers if
they are to "orient" themselves to that speaker correctly. If so, the claim that speakers have to "orientate" themselves to one
another if they are to understand what is said is the reverse of the truth. They would in fact have to understand the words spoken to them before
orientation could even begin (otherwise, on this 'theory' the supposed
translation would itself be incomprehensible). In that case, the appeal to
translation and orientation to account for understanding is an empty gesture,
since it, too, would require the pre-existence of the very thing they had been
introduced to explain -- i.e., the inter-subjective understanding of language.
Once again we see that
the idea that understanding is a mysterious 'inner process' in need of
scientific 'explanation' underlies this traditional
approach to language, and because of that our capacity to understand one another
is turned into a 'philosophical problem'. But, there could be no philosophical
problem concerning 'the understanding' that required for its resolution the
application
of a some sort of linguistic or psychological Superscience.51c That is because we
should already have to be expert in the use of the word "understanding"
even to be
able to comprehend the formulation of the 'problem', let alone grasp its
supposed 'solution'.
Naturally, this isn't to suggest that
most scientists and philosophers don't find 'understanding' problematic, but
that 'difficulty' is a direct result of conceptual confusion.
This can be seen from the fact that if
scientists, for example, didn't already
comprehend the word "understanding", they would be in no position to
put together a single coherent sentence that expressed even the suspicion that
there was a problem concerning 'understanding', to begin with -- nor would they be able to
comprehend any of the proposed 'solutions'.
And that goes for
Philosophers, too.
That is why the difficulties theorists claim
to find with the use of words like "understanding" (and a host of other related
terms) can be attributed to conceptual confusion; if they weren't already masters of this
word, its application and associated
vocabulary, they couldn't function as educated or competent adults. The
fact that they find these concepts 'problematic' when they theorise about
them -- as opposed to when they use this word along with its associated termscorrectly every day -- shows they
are conceptually confused. 'Problems' only arise when an attempt is made to
interpret these terms theoretically (i.e., 'philosophically'), as the supposed names of
these mysterious 'inner processes' (etc.).
Either that, or they are being deliberately disingenuous.
It could be objected here that the mere fact
that we are competent users of certain words doesn't mean that understanding
and communication aren't problematic. Human beings, for example, used words like
"water" successfully for centuries, but it is ridiculous to suppose they
understood its nature (i.e, its chemical structure or why it behaved the way it
does) just because of that. In this case, the difficulty for scientists is
to give a scientific account of how human understanding works; this task
is therefore one of providing a scientific and in some cases a materialist,
theory of the way we internalise, or make sense of what is said to us (etc.). To
give an analogy: able-bodied people can walk, but that doesn't mean that they
know how they manage to do that (i.e., what muscles they use, etc.). And yet that doesn't prevent scientists
from studying the physiology of walking in order to discover its underlying
mechanisms, etc.
Or, so an objection might go.
Alas, the above analogy is lame. First of
all, our capacity to walk is plain for all to see, as is the existence of water.
That capacity, and that substance, weren't conjured into existence by
inappropriate nominalisations and reifications, as is the case with the internal
processes assumed to be identical with, or constitutive of, understanding.
Second, we don't use
walking in order to comprehend our ambulatory skills, but we have to
understand something before it can become part of theexplanation of anything
-- and that includes the supposed 'inner processes' associated with understanding
itself, as well as the nature of water. That requirement can't be bypassed or circumvented. In short, we have to be experts at using
language intelligently in order to grasp the supposed 'problem', in the first
place,
let alone its alleged
'solution'. But, in this respect we already know all there is to know
about the use of the word "understanding", and its related vocabulary.
If we didn't, we would certainly fail to comprehend the original
'problem' as well as any proposed 'solution'. This isn't the case with walking or with
the study of the chemistry of water. [Naturally, that fact doesn't
prevent anyone studying the physical concomitants of walking, or the chemistry
of water.]
So, the insistence that we need a theory
of how 'understanding' works (as part of a scientific
or philosophical account of 'the mind') was, as a matter of fact, first motivated by a series of linguistic
false moves, and nothing more. As noted above, traditionally, the phrase
"the understanding" (and related concepts and expressions) were interpreted as the names of
inner processes (as part of the
Platonic-Christian-Cartesian tradition), and that was in turn motivated by the
nominalisation of verbs
like "to understand", "to think", "to imagine" (etc.).
This means that the onlyevidence that there are such 'inner
objects and processes' is a series of spurious nominalisations and incautious
reifications!52
It is worth emphasising this point since
most theorists either ignore it or fail to recognise its significance: the
only 'evidence' that there are any
wild geese here that need chasing is
a
spurious set of nominalisations. Hence, this phoney 'chase' depends
solely on the idea that if there are names for these inner
'objects' and 'processes', there must be
objects and processes (in nature, or in our heads) which answer to them. [We have met
'word-magic'
like this several times in other Essays at this site -- particularly
here, and
here.]
In fact, to call a philosophical investigation of this sort a "wild goose chase"
would be to slander wild geese -- at least they had the decency to exist before
they were chased!
Again, it could be objected that somethingphysical
must be responsible for our understanding if we are to base it on real
material processes. In that case, as materialists we have little choice but to attribute the capacity to
form thoughts (etc.) to processes at work in the
CNS -- mediated by practice, subjectivity, and ideology, etc.,
etc.
Such thoughts and processes are emergent properties of complex structures,
and have evolved as result of our intelligent use of language -- which were
themselves materially-, and dialectically-grounded in our social and economic
development. In that case, the nominalisations referred to above needn't imply that a single 'entity' answering to a given
Proper Name is responsible for all, or even most, of our psychological abilities,
qualities, processes, states, skills and affectations. It could be the case that a series of
(suitably complex, dialectical) processes in the brain (mediated by the other
features mentioned above) underpin the original emergence of
'consciousness', and thus of understanding (etc.), from its
material base.52a
Or, so it could be maintained...
Allied with this is the claim that we use our brains to think. In that case, it might
be a good idea to examine that claim in more detail. So, for the
purposes of argument, let usassume we do use our brains to think.
Well, we
certainly use books, pens, paper, computers -- even our hands and feet (and much
else besides) -- to do whatever we choose to do with them, but without a brain we
couldn't use or do anything at all.
I presume all
are agreed on that.
However,
if we did use our brains -- and we now agree we need a brain to use anything
-- then that must mean we would have to use our brains in order to
use our brains! But, in that case, we would now have an infinite regress, since
we would have to use our brains in order to use our brains, in order to use our brains, in order
to...
In that case, it makes no sense to suppose we use our
brains to do anything.
[That
shouldn't be taken to mean that the present author thinks the brain is a redundant organ! After all,
it has just been asserted that without a brain we wouldn't be able to do anything at
all.]
Admittedly,
the above conclusion isn't just controversial, it seems to be both counter-intuitive and
un-scientific -- hence, preposterous. In which case, it might be worth
expounding the above argument more slowly and in more detail, to see if a mistake has been made
somewhere.
We may
perhaps begin with this uncontroversial assumption:
P1:Having a brain is a necessary
condition for being able to doanything at all.
From which
we may perhaps argue as follows:
P2: If P1 were the case,
we would need another brain to use our brains.
P3:
But, we
don't have a spare brain; we have only
one brain each.
P4:
Therefore, we don't use our brains.
P5: If
we don't use our brains, we certainly don't use them to think.
Of course,
that doesn't imply thinking doesn't take place in the brain, only that if
it does take place there, we wouldn't be in control of our thinking,
since we don't use our brains.
In response,
it might be thought possible to argue that we think withour brains, but
it is unclear what that means. If it means that having a brain is a necessary
condition for us to be able to do anything at all (i.e., P1), then, once
again, that is uncontroversial. On the other hand, if it means we use our brains
to think (which is its most natural interpretation), then no sense can be
made of it (and for the above reasons).
Furthermore,
any suggestion to the contrary (i.e., that we do in fact use our brains to
think) clearly implies a modified form of Cartesianism. That is because it
means there is 'something'
over-and-above the brain -- as, for instance, in "I use my brain to
think" -- that uses the brain to think.
But, what can that
'something' be other than
the 'soul', or maybe a disembodied or non-material 'mind'? Either that, or it implies that each of us
has an homunculus (a
little man) in our
heads that uses our brains (or even employs 'his' own brain) to do the thinking for us. That
would be rather like the
set-up suggested in the
Disney film,
Inside Out. But, does this 'little man in the head' also have a brain?
If so, the same problem applies to 'him'. 'He' can't use 'his' brain to think,
either! On the other hand, if 'he' has
no brain -- and
having a brain is a necessary condition for anyone
to be able to do anything at all (i.e., P1) --,
then this 'little man' wouldn't be able to do anything, let alone 'think for
us'.
P1:Having a brain is a necessary
condition for being able to doanything at all.
Some
readers might counter that the "I" here refers to the individual concerned.
However, there are good reasons to think otherwise (on that, see Anscombe (1975), and Hacker (1993a), pp.207-28).
But,
even if "I" were a referring expression that designated the
individual concerned, its use here would still suggest that there was something
identifiable and 'internal' to each individual that was separate from the brain
(another brain?), which uses the brain to do the thinking. But, as
pointed out above, if having a brain is a necessary
condition for being able to doanything at all (P1, again!), then this "I" would also need a brain to use its brain, and so on...
It could be objected that the brain uses
itself, or even that a part of the brain -- a module, perhaps -- uses other parts to do the
thinking. However, if having a brain is a necessary
condition for being able to doanything at all (P1), and
the brain used itself to think, then the brain
would
need a second brain in order to do so --, or even cause a given module to think. Down that route I fear lies yet another
infinite regress -- as in: the brain needs a brain, which needs a brain, which
needs a brain, which needs..., to think.
Is this perhaps still being a little too fast?
Ok, so, let us suppose that apart
of the brain uses another part to think. These parts could be:
(i) Entirely
separate;
(ii) Partially interlinked; or,
(iii) Completely
interconnected.
Let us call
the part of the brain that does any of the above, B(1), and the part that does the thinking as
a result -- or which is
controlled by B(1) -- B(2). In that case, B(1)
does no thinking itself, B(2) does it all under the control of B(1).
P1:Having a brain is a necessary
condition for being able to doanything at all.
But, if that were so, we wouldn't
need a brain to do, or to use, anything, as we supposed earlier (P1),
we
would
just need a part of the brain to do it. In that case, in order to do
anything
we would only need a B(1). But, that just replaces "brain" with "B(1)"
in P1-P5, yielding P6-P10:
P6:
Having a working B(1) is a necessary condition for being able to do anything
at all.
P7:
Hence, if we usedB(1), we would need another
B(1) in order to do so.
P8: We have only one B(1) each.
P9:
Therefore, we
don't use B(1).
P10:
If we don't use B(1), we certainly don't use it
to make B(2) think.
It could be
objected that the above reasoning is prejudicial. While we might need B(1) to make, or enable, other parts
to think, it doesn't follow that we need it in order to do everything, or
even anything.
Different modules take on different tasks. We might even argue that thinking is
a capacity, state or activity that is distributed across an entire brain.
In that
case, let us suppose that module
M(1) does task T(1), module M(2) does task T(2),
module M(3) does task T(3),..., and
module M(n) does task T(n) -- the use of one or more of which
enables us to think. We could even suppose that
these tasks overlap or interlink in some way.
On this new
account, one or more of the above modules would be identical with B(1), from earlier. But, that just replaces
"B(1)", or even "brain", with one or more of the following:
(i) M(1), M(2), M(3),..., M(n);
(ii) A
conjunction, or a disjunction (a union or an intersection, to use the jargon),
of the elements M(1), M(2), M(3),..., M(n); or,
(iii) A
sub-set of those elements/modules.
Suppose (i) is the case.
If so, call the set comprising M(1), M(2), M(3),..., M(n),
M.
Alternatively, suppose
(ii) is the case.
If so, call this set M(C v D). [Where "C" stands for "conjunction of these elements", "D" for "disjunction
of these elements"
and "v" for "or".]
Finally, suppose (iii) is the case.
If so, call this option, S. [Where "S" stands for "sub-set
of these elements/modules".]
Clearly, one of these must be the
right choice. That is, either M,
M(C v D), or S must be the correct option. Call that
disjunction itself M(Ω).
So, M(Ω) isa disjunction ofmembers ofthe set: {M, M(C v D), S} -- i.e.,
M(Ω) comprises these sub-sets: M, M(C v D), S.
In
that case, we can replace the word "brain" in P1, or "B(1)"
in P6, with "M(Ω)", as follows:
P11: Having a
working M(Ω) is a necessary condition for being able to do anything
at all. [That must be so since M(Ω) is in effect every module
comprising the brain.]
P12:
Hence, if we used M(Ω), we would need another M(Ω)
in order to do so.
P13:
We have only one M(Ω) each.
P14:
Therefore, we don't
use M(Ω).
P15:
If we don't use M(Ω), we certainly don't use it
to think.
[The same result emerges if we take each
element of M(Ω) severally or collectively, but that task has been left to the reader
(but not her brain) to complete.]
If we
now argue that we don't useM(Ω),
or any element comprising it, to control anything, then it must beautonomous of our
will.
In that case, the result is conceded:
we don't use our brains, after
all.
That disposes of the response that thinking is a capacity, state or activity
which is distributed across an entire brain that we met earlier. If thinking is
distributed in this way across an entire brain, but isn't controlled by
anything, then thinking must be independent of the will. In that
eventuality, it isn't easy to see how it could be attributed to the individual
concerned, how any thought would be that person's thought.
The problem is that if the above were so, something elsemust control what we do
or what we think (since we plainly don't act or think randomly). What that 'something else'
might be is now entirely
mysterious, but it looks suspiciously like an autonomous Cartesian 'soul', or
a 'non-physical mind', once more.
It could be
objected that the argument presented above itself leads to a modified form of
Cartesianism, for if we don't use our brains, or we don't use M(Ω)
(or any sub-set of it), then it/they must indeed be independent of our
brains, and hence must be controlled by something immaterial.
But that
isn't so. Cartesianism implies there is something over and above the brain that
controls the brain. Full-blooded Cartesianism posits an immaterial soul that
does this, and which thinks independently of the brain. Modified
and more contemporary versions of Cartesianism hive all of this off to the entire brain, or to some module or modules of
the brain, which does the thinking, etc. But, this form of Cartesianism-Lite still locates thought
in our heads. The argument presented above (i.e., P1-P15) shows
that no sense can be made even of this modified version. The implication is
that if we want to continue arguing that thought takes place in our heads, then
that would automatically commit us to full-blooded Cartesianism.
By way of
stark contrast, the approach adopted at this site, and in this Essay, rejects
such a metaphysical use of
language
in its entirety, and redirects our attention toward how we actually use
words to speak about our psychological make-up and our cognitive states and
abilities (which doesn't even remotely suggest we think with our brains or even
that we do so 'in our heads'). I have referenced dozens of books and articles
(written from a Wittgensteinian perspective) that argue in support of that approach --
here
and here, for example.
This means
that the approach adopted at this site is neither committed to the doctrine that
thought takes place 'in our heads' nor even to its opposite, its 'negation'; just that no
sense can be made of eitheroption. The same applies to the claim that the brain
acts independently of our will, or that it is even controlled by our will.
Every single oneof those options is rejected, and for the same reason. P1-P15-type
reductios can be used to show that no sense can be made of each of these
metaphysical (or 'scientific') alternatives. Again, that is left to the reader to
complete for herself. [Or she can check out the literature mentioned in the
previous paragraph.]
Now, we
might be tempted to replace the above modules with a computer programme of some
description -- or something analogous to one --, claiming perhaps that we use some sort of 'software' to do all our
thinking, or, indeed, to do anything at all. In that case, just replace "M(Ω)" above with "software of
some sort". Nothing changes. No sense can be made of the idea that
we use our brains, part of our brains,
or even 'software', to do anything.
It could be
countered that computers actually use software to do various tasks. If so, why can't
we use
something analogous to software to do whatever we do, just like computers? However, as the above shows,
whatever it is that computers actually do, we can make no sense of the
supposition that we do likewise. Of course, computers don't actually use
anything, they just operate in the way they were intended by their designers and programmers. In which
case, a human being is necessary for computers to do anything, and if that is
so, we are back
where we were a dozen or so paragraphs ago.
Someone
might wonder what would happen to the above considerations if one day
computers became autonomous, or even self-aware, and then maybe they were
capable of designing and building other computers of the same sort. In that
case, no human being would be required for these computers to do
anything. But that
is just science fiction, and when we descend into realms of fantasy like
this, where we have
no rules to guide us, no rules to determine what we can legitimately assume or
infer, and, indeed, what we
may not, then we can plainly assume or infer anything we like. Hence, if someone
were allowed
to assume computers might become autonomous or even self-aware, what is to stop someone else from
assuming that an 'evil genius' (analogous to the 'evil demon' Descartes introduced
into his argument to test the veracity of his own thoughts) has
installed a (hidden) programme (or 'back door') in such computers to mimic autonomy and self-awareness, when the computer
concerned isn't
actually autonomous or self-aware, after all. And, in response to every attempt
to circumvent that counter-response, we assume this 'evil genius' is even more cunning than we thought and has
designed a programme to circumvent each and every such attempt. And if we now try to argue
that computer experts would surely be able to find any such hidden programmes/'back doors' in the
code, that
would concede the point at issue since that 'evil genius' will have succeeded in
mimicking human autonomy, self-awareness and thought.
Suppose we now
attempt to argue that other computers might still become autonomous and self-aware,
where
it could also be shown by computer experts that no secret programmes/'back doors' had been
installed to mimic autonomy. But, what is to stop someone else arguing that
those who have checked to see if there are no secret programmes (etc.) are all
mistaken, or that they have all been bribed, drugged or hypnotised to find no
such secret programmes/'back doors'? Or, indeed, that these programmers are
themselves androids programmed by this 'evil genius' to come to that
conclusion. It would be no good objecting that such a scenario is implausible since it is no less implausible to suggest that computers might become
self-aware. If one implausibility is permitted it is difficult to see how
the number of allowable implausibilities may be restricted to that one. Indeed, in science fiction
we
aresupposed tosuspend our usual notions of plausibility.
The bottom
line here is that when we introduce science fiction
into philosophy, all bets are off.
Of course, there are colloquialisms -- such
as "Use your brain!" -- that seem to suggest otherwise, that we do
use our brains, but we should no more
want to take that colloquialism literally than we would want to take "I have half a mind to enter
politics" literally, either.
However, let
us suppose some way can be found to circumvent or neutralise the above
conclusions; even then our difficulties would only just be beginning. In
that eventuality it would be worth asking: if we do indeed use our brains, or we
run software that enables us to think "in our heads", or which in the end does
all our calculations/thinking for us, how do we know that any of our
thoughts and calculations are valid/correct? How might we check what our brains
supposedly conclude? How might we validate the results of this 'internal processor'?
Especially if it controls everything we do? If we can't
check these results, except we use our brains or this 'software' to check itself
-- which would be like someone checking their own height by placingthe
palm of their hand on the top of their head -- how
do we know that anything our brains have produced is correct, even about itself and
what it supposedly does or doesn't do?
Again, it could be
countered that we must
be able to arrive at correct conclusions, at the truth, some or even most of the time
otherwise our species wouldn't have survived. But, if all we have available to
us is the output of this 'internal processor', how do we know that anything is
the case? How do we know that we have even evolved? That we have brains? That we are
human beings? That anything else exists? No good appealing to 'evidence', since all
such
'evidence' is processed by this 'Internal Big Brother' [IBB],
which has yet to be judged trustworthy.
It doesn't take much
navel-gazing to see that
we are now facing exactly the same sort of problems that haunted Descartes
(indeed, this is just a variation of the science fiction option we met earlier). He
'extricated' himself from this bottomless pit of scepticism (concluding that he had neutralised the
'evil demon' he imagined might be screwing with his thoughts) by appealing to a
beneficent 'God' -- whom he imagined wouldn't allow him to be so deceived -- in
order to validate his conclusions.
Must we
do likewise?
But, even
that would be to no avail. The question would then be: who
guarantees 'God's' thoughts?
[That is just
the theological version of:
"Who guarantees the results generated by our very own IBB?"]
Of
course, Descartes's 'solution' was no solution, since everything we think we know about 'God'
has been fed to us by our very own IBB, which has yet to be judged reliable.
So, theological fiction turns out to be
no more help than science fiction was to begin with.
That is why it was asserted in Essay Three
Part Four (not yet published) that every Traditional and Modern 'Theory of Mind' collapses into
some form of
Solipsism-- via Descartes.
[On whether
we think with our
brains, see Geach (1969b). See also Note 2. Added on
Edit: Details of the references I have cited can be found in the
Bibliography. However,
no one should conclude from the above that I am a sceptic or that I accept any
of the
sceptical conclusions I have just reached. They are only being aired in order to underline
the sceptical implications of the idea that we 'think with our brains' --
or, indeed, that 'thinking takes place in our heads' -- in other words, it was
meant to highlight the sceptical implications of Cartesianism and neo-Cartesianism
(i.e., Cartesianism-Lite). I have
said much more about that in Essay Thirteen Part
One, and, as noted earlier, I will say even more
in Essay Three Part Four.]
Despite this, it is worth re-iterating the fact that the only
'evidence' to suggest that there are 'processes' at work in the brain/CNS
(etc.), which underlie 'consciousness' and 'the understanding' (etc.), are
the aforementioned nominalisations and reifications. In fact,
apart from tradition (i.e., the dominant Platonic-Christian-Cartesian
Paradigm), the idea held by revolutionaries that there must be such
'processes' is itself motivated by the misguided belief that materialism somehow
requires it.
It could be objected that evidence substantiating a dialectical approach
to 'consciousness' does in fact exist; indeed it is now
possible to correlate certain mental processes with neurological states (using
brain
scans, etc.). [The correlations themselves are in fact rather suspect; on that,
see Note 53.]53
However, these correlations don't prove that
an identity exists between neurological events and 'mental states', any more
than a wet pavement proves rain is identical with wet pavements, or a headache
is identical with a blow to the head!
It could be countered that rain causes wet
pavements. In like manner, certain states and process in the
CNS cause specific
psychological or mental traits -- or, at least, the latter emerge from the former.
However, as pointed out in this Essay, the belief that there are
such "mental" states and processes is motivated solely by the
nominalisation and then the
reification of verbs associated with our psychological makeup/lives. That in
turn is the result of the fact that
theorists still haven't broken with the dominant Cartesian Paradigm.
What, for instance, does the phrase "mental
state" mean? As it is ordinarily used, "mental" often means that the
relevant subject is mad or deranged; the phrase itself is connected with
psychological well-being in general -- or, indeed, its opposite. Hence we have
"mental patients", "mental hospital" and "mental health". To be sure, we all know
that "mental state" doesn't mean a
secret state or process 'in the head', of suspicious provenance and even more dubious
nature. How do we know this? Well, as Norman Malcolm points out:
"The causal theory of mind
defines the concept of a mental state as the concept of a state that has a
certain causal role. The advocates of this theory employ the term 'mental state'
in an uninhibited way. Any belief, or desire, or pain, is called a 'mental
state'. This is not the way that this expression is used in everyday life. A
twinge of pain in the shoulder cannot be called a 'mental state' -- nor wanting
a second cup of coffee, nor the belief that one left one's gloves in the car. In
everyday language a long-term anxiety or depression is called a 'mental state':
in regard to a person whom you knew to have suffered from a persisting
depression you might ask 'What is his present mental state: is he still
depressed?'
"Some of the causal theorists
are aware that the expression 'mental state' is unsuited for many of the
phenomena they want the causal theory of mind to cover. For example,
Armstrong says 'I attach no special importance to the word "state". For
instance, it is not meant to rule out "process" or "event".' This concession is
not much help, since a twinge in the shoulder is no more called a 'mental
process' or a 'mental event' than it is called a 'mental state'." [Malcolm
(1984), pp.75-76. Malcolm is referring to Armstrong's book: A Materialist
Theory of the Mind, p.82. Quotation marks altered to conform with the conventions
adopted at this site.]
Some readers might be tempted to object that
what we ordinarily say has no place here. But, that isn't so, as Button, et
al, explain (although their comments were largely aimed at the analogy
Cognitive Scientists draw between computers and human psychological
attributes, states, and processes, they nevertheless apply in general here):
"As
to the widespread disparagement of attempts to
resolve philosophical problems by way of appeals to 'what we would ordinarily
say', we would proffer the following comment. It often appears that those who
engage in such disparaging nonetheless themselves often do what they
programmatically disparage, for it seems to us at least arguable that many of
the central philosophical questions are in fact, and despite protestations to
the contrary, being argued about in terms of appeals (albeit often inept) to
'what we would ordinarily say...'. That the main issues of contemporary
philosophy of mind are essentially about language (in the sense that they
arise from and struggle with confusions over the meanings of ordinary words) is
a position which, we insist, can still reasonably be proposed and defended. We
shall claim here that most, if not all, of the conundrums, controversies and
challenges of the philosophy of mind in the late twentieth century consist in a
collectively assertive, although bewildered, attitude toward such ordinary
linguistic terms as 'mind' itself, 'consciousness', 'thought', 'belief',
'intention' and so on, and that the problems which are posed are ones which
characteristically are of the form which ask what we should say if
confronted with certain facts, as described....
"We have absolutely nothing
against the coining of new, technical uses [of words], as we have said. Rather,
the issue is that many of those who insist upon speaking of machines' 'thinking'
and 'understanding' do not intend in the least to be coining new, restrictively
technical, uses for these terms. It is not, for example, that they have decided
to call a new kind of machine an 'understanding machine', where the word
'understanding' now means something different from what we ordinarily mean by
that word. On the contrary, the philosophical cachet derives entirely from their
insisting that they are using the words 'thinking' and 'understanding' in the
same sense that we ordinarily use them. The aim is quite
characteristically to provoke, challenge and confront the rest of us. Their
objective is to contradict something that the rest of us believe. What the 'rest
of us' believe is simply this: thinking and understanding is something
distinctive to human beings..., and that these capacities set us apart from the
merely mechanical.... The argument that a machine can think or understand,
therefore, is of interest precisely because it features a use of the words
'think' and 'understand' which is intendedly the same as the ordinary use.
Otherwise, the sense of challenge and, consequently, of interest would
evaporate.... If engineers were to make 'understand' and 'think' into technical
terms, ones with special, technical meanings different and distinct from
those we ordinarily take them to have, then, of course, their claims to have
built machines which think or understand would have no bearing whatsoever upon
our inclination ordinarily to say that, in the ordinary sense, machines do not
think or understand." [Button, et al (1995), pp.12, 20-21. Italic
emphases in the original. Quotation marks altered to conform with the conventions adopted at this site.]
[On this also see Hallett (2008), particularly pp.91-99. There are dozens of
examples of the above sort of equivocation and confusion, listed and analysed in Bennett and Hacker (2003).]
Hence, if Cognitive Scientists want to explain things like "belief", "emotion"
and "thought", they will either have to use these words as they are
ordinarily employed, or they will fail to explain what they imagine they are
referring to, having replaced them with a handful of technical, but
typographically identical, alternatives. Of
course, in that case belief, emotion and thought, as we ordinarily
understand them, will thereby remain unexplained. That being so,
the idea that computers can be used to explain or help understand human
psychological attributes, states and processes
is entirely misguided. [On this, see Robinson (2003b).]
Returning
to an earlier point: neurological correlations can't show that
'mental events' are brain processes, or even that they are caused by brain
processes; that is because the term "mental event" is, at best, hopelessly
obscure, at worst, a complete misnomer. More specifically: as we have seen, the terms
employed by
theorists (e.g., "thought", "consciousness", etc.) are
either (a) the same as those we ordinarily use or (b) they aren't related to the ordinary
employment of typographically similar words. If (a) were the case, then
theorists will be misusing such terms, and what they have to say by means of
them would be both misguided and confused. Alternatively, if (b) were the case, then
any alleged correlations can't illuminate thought or consciousness, but 'thought' and 'consciousness', words that have a technical, and as-yet-unexplained,
meaning, and we would be none the wiser.
Indeed, as Malcolm points out,
correlations can't possibly
capture what we mean when we use ordinary psychological predicates (etc.); in
which case these correlations are philosophically uninteresting -- howsoever
scientifically illuminating, or otherwise, they might be. [In connection with this,
however, see the
suggestions made in
Note 37.]
Naturally, the above comments aren't correct simply because of the present
author's diktat; Note 53 and the
references given in Note 86, are aimed at
substantiating these seemingly perverse (if not apparently anti-scientific)
assertions. [On this, see also Hanson
(1971b).]
A
comparison might help here. Let us suppose that there turned out to be a
verified correlation between the exchange values
of certain commodities and specific 'brain', or 'mental states', of those who
had, say, either manufactured or purchased those commodities -- assuming
for the moment that such phrases had a clear meaning and weren't dependent on the
aforementioned Cartesian Paradigm. The question is: Would
we abandon the labour theory of value as a result of this hypothetical discovery? The
answer, I trust, is pretty clear; if a link like this were demonstrable, we
should rather say that the value of the commodities in question (or some other
'objective' feature of the world) was responsible for producing the said
'brain'/'mental states', not the other way around (or something along those
lines), and advise further research. We wouldn't want to abandon our commitment to the truth of
propositions ascribing value to commodities if neurological concomitants were
one day unearthed by scientists -- no matter how well confirmed they might prove to be.
Of course, the obvious objection to the
above would be to counter-claim that no such correlations between commodity
values and brain/mental states exist, nor are they ever likely to. But, that
riposte would miss the point; what goes on 'in the head' can't provide the basis for an
ascription of social concepts to anything that a Marxist should rightly regard
as significant -- in this instance, 'objective' economic factors, but in the case under
consideration, the products of social relations among human beings expressed by our ordinary use of language in connection with familiar psychological
attributes (etc.). [And this is a view shared by Voloshinov, no less --, that is,
as far as can be
ascertained. On that, see Note 11
and Note 23.]
Hence, the position defended here isn't that
psychological and neurological research into the brain is misguided, but that reference to what goes on in the
CNS (etc.) can provide
no insight into linguistic meaning -- even if one were needed. Just as
the value of a commodity is a consequence of complex social structures,
processes and inter-relationships (and isn't dependent on what transpires inside the heads
of individuals collectively or severally -- the latter is indeed part of
the folly behind
Rational Choice Marxism), our use of language is also the product of collective
action and interaction (and is similarly irreducible to individual 'mental acts' -- even if
there were such a thing).
[This
topic overlaps with a recent controversy in Analytic Philosophy between
"Internalism" and "Externalism". Since this doesn't impact on
ideas of central concern to Marxists, no more will be said about it here. However, since "Externalism" is relevant to some of the ideas developed in
Essay Twelve
Part One, a section on this topic
will be added there at later date.]
On
these alleged correlations, and the so-called "modularity of mind", see
Uttal
(2001). Here is Professor Uttal's summary of some of the main points of his
recent book
(however, readers mustn't
assume that I agree with everything he says -- he, too, is clearly in the grip
of the aforementioned Cartesian Paradigm, evidenced by his talk about the relation between 'mind' and 'brain', and his reference
to "mental processes", for instance
--; these comments are only being quoted here for his view of these alleged correlations):
"On the Limits of Localization of Cognitive Processes in the Brain.
"Psychology has always been in search of metaphors and explanatory theories.
Earlier we had to do with hydraulic, mechanical, electrical, and eventually
computer models to serve as
heuristics
to help guide our thinking about the
nature of cognition. In this century a new science --
neurophysiology
-- and a
remarkable collection of new
physiological
recording tools have become available
as an alternative to these older metaphors. We have gone through a series of
physiological measures including, the
galvanic skin response, the
electroencephalograph, and the
evoked brain potential, each of which promised to
provide a material key to understanding mental activity. All of these methods
were especially exciting for psychologists because they promised to provide a non-invasive means of correlating brain activity with mental actions. In the
main, however, none of these methods has been successful in answering even the
most basic questions of how the brain produces or encodes mental activity. The
main reason for this failure has been the fact that these measures are asking
questions as [at? -- RL] the wrong level. The ultimate basis of mental activity must be the
informational state of a huge collection of
neurons
interacting, not en masse,
but as an intricate web, a network in which the details of the intercommunicated
information are salient. Measures of integrated activity such as the
EEG
or the
EVBP
simply do not assay the essence of the relationship between mind and brain.
"The latest
'new' methodology
"Now there is another entry in the search for a metaphorical model. The
availability of the
PET
and
fMRI
scanning procedures in the last decade has once
again excited psychologists. Indeed, it has more than just excited them. Entire
sections of experimental psychology in some of our most prestigious university
departments have abandoned purely cognitive studies in favour of correlative
studies of these images and behavioural tests. Furthermore, some departments have
frighteningly over committed their resources to this single line of research. I
believe this to be a programmatic error that is based upon an inadequate
consideration of the basic assumptions and logic of the research that is
emerging willy-nilly from this breathless attack on one of the most fundamental
questions of
psychobiology
-- the issue of whether or not mental processes can be
localized in particular regions of the brain. It seems to me that there should
be a cooling off period before we charge ahead into a research paradigm that has
many unanswered questions and faces many conceptual, technical, and logical
problems.
"In the following paragraphs, my goal is to raise some cautions and to
stimulate a bit of reflection about what is currently going on in many
neuroscience
laboratories. Some of the cautions are age-old ones, but some are
associated with the most modern technical matters.
"Six suggestions
"First, perhaps the most difficult challenge that has to be faced by those who
are comparing brain images and cognitive processes is the uncertainty involved
in precisely defining the components of mental activity. Throughout the history
of psychology, we have tried to define mental activity in an enormous number of
different ways. Other than the antique and persisting trichotomy of
'input-central-output', efforts to develop sharp definitions of mental modules
have been notoriously unsuccessful. Every century defines their own mental
components and few of these definitions are perpetuated into the next. A few
very general terms persist -- memory, emotions, percepts, etc. -- but even these
are fraught with lexicographic difficulties. Arguably, the mental modules that
psychology currently uses are either a priori or ad hoc hypothetical constructs
or are operationally defined by the experiments we use to study mental activity.
At least one survey (Grafman, Partiot, and Hollnagel, 1995) goes on for seven
pages listing the variety of cognitive processes that have been associated with
the
frontal cortex
in particular! Clearly, an adequate classification of mental
processes is not yet at hand.
"Second, the findings that have emerged from the scanning-cognitive
laboratories are not yet stable. Pulvermüller (1999) has pointed out that the
cognitive processing of word meanings has been 'located' in all of the major
lobes of the brain! Few studies are replicated under the same conditions, and
often those that are do not support each other.
"Third, there is ample evidence, especially that emerging from some of the
newer event-related scanning procedures that the cognitive processes are not
localized but the result of widely distributed action in the brain.
"Fourth, there is a host of technical uncertainties and a highly fragile
logical chain between neural activity and the scanned outputs from fMRI and PET
systems and even more concern about what these signals mean. Experts in the
field are well aware of these difficulties, but often we psychologists take at
face value some highly dubious steps in the logic. At the very least, it must be
appreciated that it is a mathematical truism that any bounded
field
will exhibit
a maximum. This means that there will always be a peak of activity someplace in,
for example, a fMRI image. Correlations between behaviour and cognitive activity
are, therefore, guaranteed regardless of the actual biology of the situation.
The emphasis on 'hot spots' incorrectly directs attention away from critical
changes of activity in other regions -- both increases and decreases.
"Fifth, The statistical and experimental design aspects of the scanning
procedures are also matters of deep concern. Small shifts in criterion levels
can force drastically different interpretations of data. Normalization and
averaging procedures may produce spurious conclusions concerning localization.
The frailty of the subtraction and double dissociation methods, and the
elaborate processing necessary to see anything at all raise serious concerns
about whether this new approach will fail in the same way that the older methods
did to answer the most basic questions faced by cognitive neuroscience.
"Finally, despite its implicit acceptance by many researchers in this field,
the localization versus distribution issue remains unresolved. There is a
theoretical bias toward 'localization' abroad in cognitive neuroscience these
days that may be totally unjustified. The entire scanning-cognition effort is
based upon the assumption that mental processes or modules are actually
localized in particular regions of the brain. However, there is abundant
evidence that this may be a misreading of the data. The brain is a highly
interconnected, redundant, and nonlinear system that is more likely to use a
distributed representation scheme than a highly localized one. Localization is
an easy way out for experimental design, but it may be fundamentally incorrect
in principle. Not in the sense of any obsolescent idea of 'mass action' but,
rather, in terms of a complex network of interacting parts. There is, in this
regard, a great confusion in this field over such a simple matter as the
necessity versus the sufficiency of a brain region's role in a cognitive
process. Experiments may quite properly show that one region of the brain is
necessary to carry out some mental task, but that does not rule out the
possibility that many other regions are also required for the process to occur.
The 'necessary' region may not be 'sufficient' to encode the cognitive act. The
emphasis on associating one or a few regions with some cognitive task may thus
produce an illusion of localization where none, in fact, exists.
"Conclusion: The Challenge
"I hope that my readers will not do the field of cognitive neuroscience the
disservice of dismissing this essay as just a 'pessimistic' view. Given the
state of the science, it may be more realistic than pessimistic. At the very
least, it seems to me that we should be considering these issues rather than
plunging ahead into what may be an enormous waste of resources and time.
Whether...my point of view is correct or not, there is an obligation to at least
consider the questions that are raised here.
"In this brief opinion piece, it is not possible for me to provide the
scientific citations to support the assertions that I make. A much more complete
rendition of the argument against an assumption of brain localization, and,
thus, the importance of a considered evaluation of what psychologists are doing
in scanning laboratories is presented in my forthcoming book -- The New
Phrenology: The Limits of Localizing Cognitive Processes in the Brain (MIT
Press. 2001).
"References:
"Grafman, J., Partiot, A., & Hollnagel, C. (1995).
'Fables in the prefrontal
cortex'. In Behavioral and Brain Sciences18, 349-358.
"Pulvermüller, F. (1999). 'Words in the brain's language'. In Behavioral and Brain
Sciences22, 253-336.
"William R. Uttal
"Professor Emeritus (Psychology) University of Michigan
"Professor Emeritus (Engineering) Arizona State University" [Partially
quoted from
here
(the old link to the full passage is now dead). Quotation marks altered to conform with the conventions adopted at this site;
spelling modified to agree with UK English.]
[Professor Uttal has updated and augmented his criticisms in Uttal (2008, 2011).
There is a Podcast of some of his ideas available
here (it would be wise to open this in a new window or tab, and there is a
slight delay
before the Podcast begins), as well as a PDF transcript of an interview with Professor
Uttal,
here.]
Again,
it is worth pointing out yet again that like so many working in this area, Professor Uttal
is still labouring under illusions generated by the Cartesian Paradigm.
Uttal (2004) tries to break free from its spell, but it is nevertheless clear
that he has failed in that endeavour. That can be seen, for example,
from the following comment found in the above PDF:
"Our best guess now --
without a lot of supportive evidence -- is that the brain is best studied at the
level of the neuronal nets (the network of cells that make up the brain tissue);
that that is where the mind resides, in terms of the information processes at
this very fine microscopic network."
There are numerous
other comments like this scattered throughout the interview mentioned above, the Professor's
books, and the summary quoted earlier.
To be sure, some might want to argue that if
mental events had no material/dialectical base, that would leave it open for others to postulate a
non-material platform for human 'consciousness', which would clearly possess unwelcome Idealist implications.
Of course, Idealists are going to argue for
an immaterial mind whatever we say. But, in order to avoid the implication that
their theory leaves room for immaterialism, materialists have simply
assumed they have no choice but to postulatejust sucha 'material foundation'
for thought in hypothetical processes in the CNS (but which aren't reducible to
them), etc. However, what this material base could possibly be is seldom
spelled-out in any detail. And no wonder! Given Lenin's 'definition' of
matter, it isn't at all clear
whether any such account could be given.54
Be this as it may,
HMdoesn't in fact
require such a (metaphysical) theory of 'consciousness'.55
That, of course, hasn't stopped dialecticians from wanting to impose
their version of this Ancient
Paradigm on hypothetical processes and structures in the brain, 'the mind',
or the CNS -- and despite
the constant refrain that this is something they
never do. Nevertheless, this imposition involves them reading into the phenomena the view
that 'consciousness' is an "emergent property" of the CNS --
dialectically linked to increased neural complexity, social development and practice -- in order to support
the idea that there is (or could be) a 'scientific', or a 'dialectical', theory of 'mental
phenomena' not reducible to the "crude" operation of mere "matter and motion".55a
There is no little irony here: in order to avoid
Idealism, DM-theorists have spirited ("divined") into existence several
highly obscure 'concepts' (which, by shear coincidence, I am sure, turn out to have been borrowed from
Traditional Metaphysics and
Neo-Platonic
Mysticism -- thus imbuing their ideas
-- even
here -- with an impeccable ruling-class pedigree). But, these 'concepts' readily collapse
into LIE since they, too, are dependent on the derivation of a set of
psychological truths from the (altered and
distorted) meaning of certain words.
In trying to avoid Idealism, DM-theorists have simply slipped right back into
it!
[This
slippage was explained in detail in Essay Twelve Part One,
as well as here.]
Unfortunately, few branches of science are as
suffused with conceptual confusion as Psychology (and that comment doesn't just apply to
DM-theories of 'cognition'). It is highly doubtful, therefore, whether Voloshinov's attempts to clarify
matters will greatly alter this sorry state of affairs (despite
the plaudits of his epigones).56
It could be objected here that while
Voloshinov himself provides no evidence in support of his claims, there is
evidence that substantiates what he says, and John Parrington's article, for
instance, summarised some of it for us.
However, when we examine the assembled
'evidence' we find it is indirect and
allusive,
at best. In
fact, Parrington's 'evidence' is perhaps more accurately to be described as mere
supposition. As he himself admits (but note once again the
neo-Cartesian language!):
"The problem with studying
inner speech is that it is impossible to observedirectly using
objective scientific methods, hidden as it is within the mind of the
individual. However, much valuable information about [inner speech's -- RL]
character has emerged by using some ingenious indirect methods….
"…An excellent attempt at
describing what inner speech would sound like if wecould actually
hear it is
James Joyce'sUlysses….
"…A study of literature may
seem a strange way to investigate the workings of the mind, but
Bakhtin
believed
that novels 'permit readers to see things that are obscured by the
restraints on expression in other applications of language.'…
"…[M]atters become
necessarily more speculative once we start to consider some of the
possible concrete mechanisms whereby social change is translated into change in
consciousness itself. Part of the problem will always be our inability toaccess inner speech directly. However, it should be clear from
Voloshinov's work, as well as that of Bakhtin and
Vygotsky, that a wide range of
sources can be used successfully as an indirect source of information
about our thought processes…." [Parrington (1997),
pp.134-35, 141, 143. Bold emphases added. Quotation marks altered to conform
with the
conventions adopted at this site.]
But, if we can't access "inner speech"
directly, how do we know it even exists? Worse still: Do we have any idea what the phrase "inner speech" could possibly mean?
Are we to imagine that cells or neurons in our heads hold conversations with
each other? Must we suppose that certain "modules" in the brain chat amongst themselves over
the synaptic fence? Does the brain give lectures to the spinal chord?
Is
Parrington perhaps referring to sub-vocal movements of the larynx? That is, 'outer speech' with the volume turned way
down?56a0
In fact, Parrington finds he has to refer to
James Joyce's Ulysses to provide his readers with a vague sort of idea what "inner
speech" might be. But, if we all know (from
introspection?) what "inner speech"
is,
we should hardly have to be told. Anyway, Parrington's own phrasing
indicates that few of us (if any) know what this mysterious 'inner process'
actually is.
This can be seen from
his use of the prefixing clause: "if we could actually hear" "inner
speech". He wouldn't have needed to add that rider if we all knew what to
listen out for, or what he was talking about.
In addition, it is also worth asking how Parrington
knows that certain novels reveal "inner speech" to us. All he says
in support of this odd idea is
this:
"An excellent attempt at
describing what inner speech would sound like if wecould actually
hear it is James Joyce's Ulysses…." [Ibid., p.135. Bold emphasis
added.]
But, if he has never heard "inner speech", and no one
else has, how could he possibly know that certain novels are capable of reveal anything to
us in this respect? Apparently, Parrington's onlyevidence that the
above novel (along with its many cryptic allusions to everything under the
Sun?) can
serve as an accurate (scientific!?) source is based on abelief expressed by
Bakhtin(a
non-scientist!) about novels in general! Exactly how Bakhtin himself knew
that certain novels record "inner speech" is no less
mysterious. No doubt, as Lenin said of Hegel,
Bakhtin must have "divined" it.
[Several detailed comments
about Vygotsky's work will be added at
the end of this Essay
at a later date. Until then the reader is directed to Chapter Ten of Williams
(1999) -- 'Vygotsky's Social Theory of Mind'.]
Perhaps then, Parrington is alluding to soliloquy,
or to other vocal/sub-vocal ramblings? If he is, then we already understand what these
are, and we have direct access to them (unlike "inner speech").
Moreover, and better, we don't need to be referred to passages lifted from
obscure "stream of consciousness" novels to tell us any more about
these phenomena, nor need we appeal to
indirect evidence to identify them (again, unlike "inner speech").
If so, Parrington
can't be referring to soliloquy (etc.). Perhaps he is alluding to the thinking we all
supposedly engage in while awake, or while reading (say)? If so, why call this
"inner speech"?
Maybe, then, Parrington referring to the low
mumblings that certain individuals produce as they read? But, not everyone
mumbles sub-vocally to themselves when reading. In fact, speed readers don't mumble at all. Even so,
and once again, we already know what this is, and we have direct
access to it (unlike "inner speech").
Nevertheless, this 'inner dialogue', about which
we are all supposedly aware -- or half aware --, which allegedly accompanies
our waking moments, is perhaps Parrington's best candidate so far. But, we can
all hear (in the sense of "attend to") this commentary, so it can't be "inner
speech", either, or Parrington wouldn't have had to labour this point quite
so much. We would all know what he was talking about if this were the
correct
candidate.
More pressing, however, is this question:
How
does this approach to 'inner speech' manage to avoid undermining belief in
the social nature of language?
Gilbert Ryle's comments are oddly apposite
here (since they were based on a firm and unequivocal commitment to the social nature of
language):
"This trick of talking to
oneself in silence is acquired neither quickly nor without effort; and it is a
necessary condition of our acquiring it that we should have previously
learned to talk intelligently aloud and have heard and understood other people
doing so. Keeping our thoughts to ourselves is a sophisticated accomplishment.
It was not until the Middle Ages that people learned to read without reading
aloud. Similarly a boy has to learn to read aloud before he learns to read under
his breath, and prattle aloud before he prattles to himself. Yet many
theorists have supposed that the silence in which most of us have learned to
think is a defining property of thought. Plato said that in thinking the soul is
talking to itself. But silence, though often convenient, is inessential, as is
the restriction of the audience to one recipient.
"The combination of the two
assumptions that theorizing is the primary activity of minds and that theorizing
is intrinsically a private, silent, or internal operation remains one of the
main supports of the
dogma of the ghost in the machine. People tend to identify their minds with
the 'place' where they conduct their secret thoughts. They even come to suppose
that there is a special mystery about how we publish our thoughts instead of
realizing that we employ a special artifice to keep them to ourselves." [Ryle
(1949a), p.28. (This links to a PDF.) Bold emphasis and link added.]
Although
Voloshinov gives lip service to the social nature of language, his
commitment to 'inner speech' only succeeds in undermining that commitment (as
readers will see for themselves if they follow the above link). It seems that Parrington's approach does likewise.
Be this as it may, Parrington then proceeds
to tell us that one of the major features of "inner speech" is:
"...its predicative
(subject-less) character. A child talking to itself 'already knows' what he or
she is talking about and therefore there is no need for naming the subject….
Inner speech must be even more telegraphic and abbreviated, and probably uses
words that are highly personally coded -- that is they have a private meaning
for the person who is using them, which may be different from their accepted
social meaning." [Parrington (1997), p.135.]
Here, he is drawing on a limited contrast between "inner
speech", soliloquy and the ramblings of children. While all of these are
"predicative" to some extent, "inner speech" is perhaps even more so
-- or, so he tells us. But, the
subjectless nature of such 'language' here isn't unique to any of the latter. Conversations
between two or more people often take much for granted, including the subject of
discussion. Many are "predicative", and many are coded (think of
Cockney
Rhyming
Slang, 'rap', etc.). So, it seems that "inner speech" is much like "outer speech" in this
regard, too.56a
All this is quite apart from the fact that
Parrington can't possibly know that 'inner speech' is how he says it is, since
we have already been told that:
"The problem with studying
inner speech is that it is impossible to observedirectly using
objective scientific methods, hidden as it is within the mind of the
individual. However, much valuable information about [inner speech's -- RL]
character has emerged by using some ingenious indirect methods….
"An excellent attempt at
describing what inner speech would sound like if wecould actually
hear it is James Joyce's Ulysses…." [Ibid., pp.134-5. Bold emphases
added.]
If 'inner speech' can't be observed directly
(but can it even be observed indirectly?), and if we can't actually hear
it, how does Parrington know it is "predicative"? I rather suspect
Parrington has confused his own (or someone else's) guess with evidence,
here.
This, of course, only deepens the mystery; if "inner" and "outer" speech
are no different, at least in this respect, why all the fuss? And how is it possible for
the allegedly "private meanings" of certain words to engage with, or be
captured by, "inner speech"
and thus be of any use? If certain meanings and certain words are private, even though no one can
hear the 'speech' that is supposed to encapsulate them (otherwise Parrington would have appealed to that
phenomenon as a fact, and thus wouldn't have bothered with all that 'indirect' evidence), what linguistic function could they possibly serve? How could
'private meanings' even be recorded (imprinted) if no one has access to
them, and no one can hear them?56b
Anyway, it is reasonably clear from other things that Parrington says
that he is alluding to something much deeper than mere soliloquy,
as he himself notes:
"…[I]nner speech is the link
between thought and language…. [T]here is a gap between thought and words…inner
speech is the fluid interphase where meaning can start to be formed and
shaped…." [Ibid., p.135.]
If "inner speech" stands between "thought" and
language, then it can't be identified
with any meaningful use of language, let alone any that is exhibited in soliloquy.
However, Parrington is rather coy about what this 'something'
actually is. Even so, he does refer his readers to studies that
Vygotsky completed several generations ago (pp.133ff.), but he failed to direct
them to more recent research carried out into this obscure phenomenon (it if is
one!) -- for example,
that supposedly relating to children.57
Even if Parrington had done this, we would still be no further forward, for
we still have absolutely no idea what "inner speech" is; until
that daunting
problem -- in fact it is a pseudo-problem, as we
have seen,
and will see -- is resolved we are in no position to decide what would even count
as evidence for or against 'its' existence. If we haven't a clue what we are
looking for, any evidence gathered could, for all anyone knows, relate to
something else, or, indeed, to nothing at all. As noted in Essay Six: you can
look for your keys if you don't know where they are but not if you don't know what
they are.
Moreover, it is unclear how Vygotsky himself
was able to study something that Parrington elsewhere declares no one can
directly experience. If Vygotsky had in fact succeeded in listening to the
"inner speech" of children as they spoke to him, as they conversed with others.
or as they babbled to themselves, then this would make "inner speech" look
pretty
direct, and hence unproblematic, since it would be a clear example of these
children learning to soliloquise, or, indeed, to ramble aloud. Such phenomena then,
if that is what Vygotsky observed (or was referring to), wouldn't
count as "inner speech" -- at least, not as Parrington seems to understand the term.58
All this is, of course, in addition to the serious philosophical difficulties
(outlined
earlier) associated with "inner speech".
Putting these annoying quibbles to one side
for now, Parrington clearly wants to read more into "inner speech" than even the dearth of 'evidence'
he presents permits, for, as we saw above, a few pages later we are
informed that:
"…[I]nner speech is the link
between thought and language…. [T]here is a gap between thought and words…inner
speech is the fluid interphase where meaning can start to be formed and
shaped…." [Ibid., p.135.]
How Parrington knows that "inner speech" is such a
link he once again failed to say. [It is to be hoped he isn't trying to impose yet another thesis on the brain/'mind'!]
The question now is: Is "inner speech" even a
linguistic phenomenon? If it is, how could it be an interface
between language and 'thought'? If 'thought' and language absolutely require
just such an intermediary, and "inner speech" is indeed a linguistic
phenomenon, then there would have to be an analogous link between
'thought' and "inner speech", too. On the other hand, if "inner speech" doesn't
itself need such an interface with 'thought', why then is one needed between
ordinary 'outer' language and 'thought'?
Alternatively, if "inner speech"
isn't a linguistic
phenomenon, why call it "speech" and credit it with other linguistic
features, such as meaning and predicativity, in the first place?
More problematic, however, is the fact that
the occurrence of episodic bouts of "inner speech" -- if they
aren't examples of
soliloquy, etc. -- would normally be regarded as clear evidence of a psychotic
personality disorder
in the one so afflicted. Given what little we are told, such inner voices
would be a sure sign, not of a fluid interface between 'thought' and language,
but of a deranged or split personality. Small wonder then that Ulysses
seemed to some to be so apposite. What next? The 'memoirs' of
Charles Manson
or Peter
Sutcliffe?
Nevertheless, if we reconsider the following
words, they might help us understand what Parrington really meant:
"…[I]nner speech is the fluid
interphase where meaning can start to be formed and shaped, based on the
emotional, practical and social experience of the individual…." [Ibid.,
pp.135-36.]
But, what sense of "meaning" is this? Is
Parrington
speaking about linguistic meaning? If so, it would be of little use in
helping us understand Voloshinov, for according to him:
"Meaning does not reside
in the word or in the soul of the speaker or in the soul of the listener.
Meaning is the effect of interaction between speaker and listener produced
via the material of a particular sound complex." [Voloshinov (1973),
pp.102-03. Bold emphases added.]
Plainly, such an "interaction" can't reside
in the head of either interactor. Hence, if Parrington is trying to make
Voloshinov's ideas clear, contradicting him is hardly a good place to begin!
[However, as we have seen (here
and here), the source of this difficulty
lies in the fact that Voloshinov can't make his own mind up whether
meaning is a social phenomenon, or whether it is a private, 'internal' affair. Parrington has obviously inherited
this confusion.]
Of course, part of the problem here is the fact that the word
"meaning" itself has many different meanings;
here are just a few:
(1) Personal Significance: as in
"His Teddy Bear means a lot to him."
(2) Evaluative Import: as in "May Day
means different things to different classes."
(3) Point or Purpose: as in "Life has
no meaning."
(4) Linguistic Meaning, or
Synonymy: as
in "'Vixen' means 'female fox'", "'Chien' means 'dog'",
"Comment vous appelez-vous?" means "What's your name?", or
"Recidivist" means someone who has resumed their criminal career.
(5) Aim or Intention: as in "They mean
to win this strike."
(6) Implication: as in "Winning
this dispute means that management won't try another wage cut again in a hurry."
(7) Indicate, Point to, or Presage:
as in "Those clouds mean rain", "Those spots mean you have measles", or
"That expression means she's angry".
(8) Reference: as in "I mean him over
there", or "'The current president of the USA' means somebody different at
most
once every
eight years."
(9) Artistic or Literary Import:
as in "The meaning of this novel is to highlight the steep decline in political integrity."
(10) Conversational Focus: as in "I
mean, why do we have to accept a measly 1% offer in the first place?"
(11) Expression of
Sincerity or
Determination: as in "I mean it, I do want to go on the
march!", or "The demonstrators really mean to stop this war."
(12) Content of a Message, or the
Import of a Sign: as in "It means the strike starts on Monday", or "It
means you have to queue here."
(13) Interpretation: as in "You
will need to read the author's novels if you want to give new meaning to her
latest play", or "That gesture means those pickets think you are a
scab."
(14) Import or Significance:
as in "Part of the meaning of this play is to change our view of drama",
or "The real meaning of this agreement is that the bosses have at last learnt their
lesson."
(15) Speaker's Meaning: as in "When
you trod on her foot and she said 'Well done!' she in fact meant the exact
opposite".
(16) Communicative Meaning: as in "You
get my meaning", or "My last letter should tell you what I meant", or "We have
just broken the code, hence the last message meant this...."
(17) Explanation: as in "When
the comrade said the strike isn't over what she meant was that we can still
win!", or "What is the meaning of this? Explain yourself!"
(18) Translation, or a Request for
Translation -- as in "What does 'Il pleut' mean in German?"59
This isn't to suggest that these are the only meanings of "meaning", or that
several of the examples listed don't overlap. [For example, items (4) and (17)
intersect, as do (5) and (11), and (9) and (14), as well as (4) and (18). For
more on this and the distinction between "natural" and "non-natural" meanings
see
Grice (1957) -- this links to a PDF -- and Stainton (1996), pp.103-10,
although I don't necessarily agree with everything Grice had to say.]
From what little Parrington says, it looks as if he might have meant (i.e.,
"intended") senses (1), (2), and, of course, (15).
Nevertheless, it seems reasonably clear that
many of the problems confronting Parrington, Holborow and Voloshinov's accounts
of language arise from their failure to notice that this apparently simple
word (i.e., "meaning", and its cognates) is in fact highly complex. Because
they have conflated several different connotations of this word, their ideas
naturally create confusion instead of dispelling it --indeed, as we have seen.
However, and once more: In this they are in
good company: most Traditional Philosophers have done (and still do) the very
same thing.60
Earlier we had occasion to quote the
following passage from Parrington's article:
"…[I]nner speech is the link
between thought and language…. [T]here is a gap between thought and words…inner
speech is the fluid interphase where meaning can start to be formed and
shaped…." [Parrington
(1997), p.135.]
The first thing that strikes one about the above
comment is that Parrington appears to think that thought and language are
distinct, so that the former can exist without the latter. This might be to
misinterpret him, but he does invite misunderstanding when he says such
things. [On this, see here.]
Now, although Parrington asserts that there is
here a "gap",
he neglected to show that there is indeed one. Worse still, he failed to explain what a supposition
like this could possibly mean. For example, might such a "gap" be measured in centimetres, seconds,
or missing teeth? If not, what sort of "gap" is this? Is it a literal "gap"
(like the space that exists between the platform and the trains in certain
underground
stations), or is it metaphorical (like a gap in someone's memory)?
Well, perhaps he is alluding to an explanatory
"gap"? But, if so, there is no such thing. If, per impossible, there were, it would 'close'
even
before it 'opened'. That is because the supposition that there is such a
"gap" would have to be expressed in the same medium either side of the supposed
divide -- in thought and in language --, thereby 'closing' the alleged
"gap". Plainly, the thought that there might be such a "gap" and its
linguistic expression are one and the same.61
To some, these claims might seem somewhat dogmatic, if not
perverse and wrong-headed. Hence, it
could be argued that if there is an objective gap between thought
and language, the above constraints on its explanation, even if correct,
are surely irrelevant. The gap either exists or it doesn't -- or so the argument might
go.
However, any
who doubt the claims made in the last but one paragraph are invited to say to themselves: "There is a gap between thought
and language" and then repeat the same 'thought' without using any words
at all! Upon doing that (or, in fact, uponfailingto do it!), they
will soon see there is no such "gap".61a
Indeed, it is worth reminding
ourselves that the deflationary argument
presented above was originally aimed at countering the idea that there is an explanatory
gap in our knowledge, and it sought to establish (indirectly) that our mastery
of language shows that no such "gap" exists -- in the sense that the supposition
itself made no sense, not that it was empirically false.
This is largely because the formulation of the thought that there is such a
"gap" and its linguistic expression are one and the same, as we have
seen.62
All of this is quite apart from the fact that
the supposition that there is a "gap" is itself based on the idea that the words
used to describe 'either side' of it are the names of 'internal objects and processes'.
In turn, the existence of these'internal objects and processes' is
based solely on this
nominalisation! Because of that, 'language' and 'thought' have now been
separated, thus producing a spurious "gap" by the simple expedient of inventing artificial
names like these, and nothing more! Hence, the "gap" Parrington
refers to is a consequence of this linguistic false step.
Or, so things at least seemed to the
Traditional Theorists who invented this way of depicting the 'mind' (even if
they might not have put it this way!). Plainly, to them, this meant that these spurious
entities ('thought' and 'language') needed to be 're-connected'.
[However, this is just as empty a supposition as thinking
that the word "God" and the word "Satan" imply there is a gap between these two! What two?!]
From this
tightly knotted web of confusion out
popped the 'philosophical problem' of the 'gap' between 'language' and
'thought' -- and, indeed, between 'mind' and
brain!
In that case, all we have here is yet another
spurious 'problem' that has arisen from a crass
use/distortion of ordinary
language -- and nothing
more.
Again, as Marx noted:
"The philosophers have only
to dissolve their language into the ordinary language, from which it is
abstracted, in order to recognise it, as the distorted language of the actual
world, and to realise that neither thoughts nor language in themselves form a
realm of their own, that they are only manifestations of actual life." [Marx
and Engels (1970), p.118. Bold emphasis added.]
On
the other hand, if the words "language" and "thought", for example, don't actually name, or refer to, any such objects
and
processes, then
the assumption that there is a "gap" between the things they supposedly denote
is baseless.
[On this, see Note 61. The idea that all words are
names was debunked in Essay Three
Part One.]
In which case, not only is there no "gap", there are no (named) objects or processes here to form one,
in the first place!
As should now seem clear, here as elsewhere, this "gap" has only opened up because of the
literal interpretation of
an inapt metaphor
-- compounded by yet another distortion of language.62a0
Nevertheless, it could be objected that this
doesn't even begin to deal with the scientific problem of the relation
between language and thought. Hence, it could be pointed out that Parrington might
have meant that there is a gap in the current scientific explanation of
the connection between thought and language, one that Voloshinov's ideas helped
close. That appears to be why Parrington said the following:
"However, this still leaves
us with the question of the concrete mechanisms whereby this process takes
place." [Parrington
(1997), p.136.]
From this it seems that the supposed "gap"
might be a euphemism for our
profound lack of knowledge of the physical, mental or
psychological mechanisms or causal links, or, indeed, "mediations", that connect 'thought' and
'language'.
But, a few lines earlier Parrington had already declared that:
"Language, therefore, is not
just an expression of otherwise independent and fully formed thought, but rather
is a necessary form of the thought's realisation." [Ibid., p.135.]
This appears to mean that our only handle on
thought is purely linguistic. This further seems to suggest that
Parrington himself half accepts the view that (i) thought isn't in fact an aspect of the
'mind' that can be isolated independently of its linguistic expression, and
that (ii) there is
thus no "gap" between thought and language, after all.
[However, things aren't quite this simple. On
that, see Note 61, again.]
Nevertheless, there are other things that
Parrington says which suggest he failed to appreciate the significance of the
above
admission. As we found with "meaning", the word "thought" (and its cognates) is
far more complex than most theorists seem to acknowledge. Again, it is only when
philosophers try to theorise about this 'concept' (and thus restrict the
meaning of the word "thought" to what goes on in our
heads) -- as opposed to when they
use language normally to express their thoughts and to understand the thoughts of
others -- that confusion arises.62a
If so, there is no object or
'mental process' here called "thought";63any supposition to the contrary
can
only have been prompted by yet another inept linguistic
reification. Moreover, what is true of "thought" is also true of "language" (and for the same
reason). In which case, there aren't two objects or processes here (inside or
outside the head) for there to be a "gap" between, or for
science to study.64
The fact that Parrington has been misled --
as have so many others -- by a series of spurious reifications like this is
confirmed by the way he poses the problem: it is
only if thought and language are understood as literally two sorts of
objects or processes that a "gap" could emerge between them (even if this is
just an explanatory "gap"). Otherwise, his use of this word (i.e.,
"gap") is surely
metaphorical.
Be this as it may, traditionally, several competing media have
been proposed as bearers of thought, or which are capable of bridging the alleged 'gap' between these two nominalised
'entities' ('thought' and 'language'). For example, (a) Some hold that one side
of this 'divide' consists of material processes and events, while the
other side comprises the mental or psychological concomitants of language/thought.
(b) Another view
sees mental processes linked to words
(or proto-words, or semantic structures) physically represented
(somehow) in the brain (perhaps as 'concepts', or "signs" (Voloshinov's
view)), or in some other
inchoate
form. There are of course many other possibilities, here. Indeed, while there are
parts of Parrington's article that suggest he might have favoured the second
of these options, others indicate that he might in fact have preferred the first.
Whichever set of functional inter-connections Parrington accepts, both of those
mentioned above are motivated by the inappropriate metaphors already highlighted
--, i.e., those that represent the contents of our heads as 'objects' or
'processes' of some sort, which stand in specific (if changing) relationships
with one another. So, on one side of the "gap" we might have physical
processes; on the other, 'mental' or 'psychological events'. Alternatively, one
side might consist of 'mental events' ('thoughts'), while the other is comprised
of 'internal
representations' of linguistic expressions (in the 'mind', or in 'consciousness')
etc., etc.65
Even so, wherever the boundary between these disparate entities is imagined to
lie,
and whatever supposedly falls either side of it, Parrington seems to believe
that "inner speech" can be slotted neatly into the resulting "gap".
"…[I]nner speech is the link
between thought and language…. [T]here is a gap between thought and words…inner
speech is the fluid interphase where meaning can start to be formed and
shaped…." [Ibid., p.135.]
But, the
"gap" itself appeared out of nowhere as a result of the reification of a
metaphor (which pictures thoughts as objects or
processes), and nothing more.
Well, is there anything to recommend this
(traditional) view over
and above the (inapt) metaphors and
nominalisations from which it emerged? It seems
not --. or if there is, Parrington was remarkably quiet about it. In that case, if there is
nothing to recommend this picture other than the linguistic distortions and misapplications outlined above,
maybe we should re-direct our attention to the motives of those materialists
who think there is, or should be, something that fills this "gap".
Perhaps these motives arise from a genuine desire to find a
materialist-sounding explanation for 'consciousness'? This might involve, inter alia, an attempt to go behind
the social conventions that already exist for expressing our thoughts or talking about them in order to trace their material
roots in the CNS (etc.). But, why would anyone
want to go behind social convention in order to account for human thought? It
would seem that only
the politically naive, or those with overtly anti-socialist aims and intentions, would want to do that. In
which case, have those Marxists who have toyed with these ideas been duped once again
into accepting an alien-class agenda, and the adoption of a ruling-class view,
not just of nature,
but now of the 'Mind'? It isn't easy to resist that conclusion in view of the
Idealist implications of this approach --
outlined earlier, and
again below.66
However, the problem with attempts to
go behind convention lies not so much with the ideological compromise this
introduces (on that, see Essay Twelve
Part One, and here), but with the fact that those who
venture down that path are forced to
employ words they already comprehend (as competent language-users) as
if they didn't! Or, they find they have to use words which now have to be interpreted in odd ways in order to convince themselves that
there is a
'problem' here, and hence that there is such a "gap", to
begin with.
But, this worry (and this alleged
'problem') has only arisen because of the misuse
of these very same ordinary words, again, as Marx hinted:
"The philosophers have only
to dissolve their language into the ordinary language, from which it is
abstracted, in order to recognise it, as the distorted language of the actual
world, and to realise that neither thoughts nor language in themselves form a
realm of their own, that they are only manifestations of actual life." [Marx
and Engels (1970), p.118. Bold emphases added.]
Indeed, those so minded have to persuade
themselves that there is a 'scientific problem' about the reference of
these transmogrified 'concepts', when the ordinary terms used to set the
'problem' up weren't referential to begin with. That is because these
ordinary words don't
in fact
represent anything, they merely facilitate description and communication
(based on criteria available and applicable in a public domain). In effect,
as has been pointed out in many of the Essays at this site (and as Marx
indicated), such theorists fall prey to the idea that scientific-sounding
philosophical 'problems' can be
manufactured to order by the simple expedient of
misusing ordinary language.
The upshot is that this
set of linguistic moves involves a distortion of the very medium it had been
intended to explain (i.e., language), turning the word "thought", for instance,
into a name, when it functions typically as a verb (or,
predicatively, as a
descriptive, not a referential, term). We have encountered
this dodge several times before; this is just the latest
unfortunate (but almost universally misconstrued) example.67
Hence, in order to motivate this 'scientific'
enquiry, a 'problem' had first to be created where none before existed. [And, it
is worth recalling that it
had originally been motivated by assorted
mystics and priests.] In order to do this, it had
to be shown (or, rather, it was merely hinted at and insinuated -- it was never
demonstrated) that
our ordinary words and phrases relating to our psychological lives (e.g., verbs/compound
verbs,
like "to think", "to be aware", "to understand", etc.)
were
limited, defective,
contradictory or misleading -- or, at least, that they were superficial,
non-'philosophical', pre-scientific, or they reflected 'folk
psychology'. To that end, these perfectly ordinary expressions were
torn from their usual contexts and turned into the names of metaphysical
objects, containers or processes, so that these (now) 'private objects and
processes' could be
re-located
inside our heads -- opening up the very "gap" that Traditional Theorists,
and others, then spent the next two thousand four hundred years trying
(unsuccessfully) to close, or bridge!
An alternative strategy turned ordinary words
into the names of the 'inner' psychological attributes of that all-wise, all-knowing, constantly
jabbering, surrogate in-house theatre critic (i.e., "inner speech", mentioned
earlier, which serially
explains the stream of life to each of us in terms we instantly understand,
since we are apparently too dim to comprehend such things for ourselves, unaided) -- a source we
implicitly trust, that has our inner ear at all times, and to whose own "speech" we must, and always do, attend if we are to grasp what others say to us -- but whose own
"speech" is readily comprehensible and has no need for its own 'inner, inner' intercessor.
[This is, of course, the Platonic-Christian-Cartesian
'soul' in all but name.]
In all this, it was just assumed that because we are all
familiar with these ordinary psychological words in their normal everyday contexts,
a radical change of use wouldn't affect their meaning. Either that, or it is
simply taken for granted that part of the meaning of these ordinary words -- i.e.,
whatever it is that helps us use them in normal contexts -- could be transposed
without alteration into entirely novel contexts. Plainly, the intention here was to
investigate perfectly normal phenomena
(like our ability to think) when no literal sense can be made of the novel use of languagenecessary to usher in these 'problems' -- without, of course, conjuring into existence
that
super-loquacious, 'inner' invisible
intercessor again.
In effect, language was taken on a trip -- it
went "on holiday", to paraphrase Wittgenstein.68 Words
were uprooted
and flown off on a mystery tour, dressed in outlandish -- nay garish -- clothing
so that they looked entirely alien and 'problematic'. While away on
this merry jaunt they are encouraged to do outlandish things; they became
'metaphysically drunk', as it were, which motivated all manner of strange ideas
and goings-on, and they (these words) found themselves in totally alien surroundings. This
linguistic vacation
'allowed' theorists to derive immaterialist, if not
ghostly
Idealist, conclusions
from them --
theories which (unsurprisingly) turned out to be highly conducive to a ruling-class,
and mystical,
view of the human 'condition' or 'soul'.68a
Even so, never questioned (and seldom
justified) is the spurious legitimacy that this 'linguistic mystery tour'
conferred on the metaphysical and
super-scientific
theories that were 'derived' from itover the centuries. Indeed, this is just one
more reason why ruling-class ideas become the rulingideas --
and they rule,
alas, Marxist thought, too. Few comrades even so much as question this picture! In fact, this is one
area where right-wing ideologues and Marxists share common ground (even if they
paint the same picture using different metaphors, and then re-employ them
in different ways, to different ends).
Worse still: not only did
a more recent
'bourgeois twist' give life to the 'rational economic mind', it opened up the
metaphysical space for ruling-class ideas about humanity and nature to dominate
and distort our idea of ourselves and hence our relation to the 'status quo' -- receiving spurious
'scientific' support dressed-up
these days in Neo-Darwinian finery.68b
Unfortunately, this 'virus of the
mind' -- the metaphysical approach to language
and 'mind' -- seduces far too many erstwhile materialists into thinking boss-class, immaterialist, individualistic thoughts
of their own. Not so much divide and rule, then, as: duped and ruled.69
Whatever merits the
philosophical-sounding arguments in favour of such an alien-class approach to language
and 'mind' possess, the results seem clear enough: This distortion of language
(i.e., the transmogrification of all words into names designating abstract
entities, concepts, ideas, essences, substances, processes or events) amounts to its
fetishisation -- i.e.,
the distortion of social forms of communication,
so that what had once been a result of the relation between human beings
(language) is transformed into the
real relations between things, or into those things themselves -- or,
indeed, into linguistic forms that represent these things 'in our heads'.69a
And, this is
all the more unimpressive when Marxists are co-opted to this end.70
Apart from this, there is little to
recommend the traditional approach.71
On the other hand, perhaps Parrington meant by "thought"
something pre-linguistic. [Indeed, it seems he did.] Alternatively, maybe he holds that the
"mind" is a sort of 'container' in which "mental entities" mill around, occasionally
bobbing to the surface from time to time in 'conscious' linguistic form --, or
even that they do so disguised as "images", "feelings" or "emotions"?72
Parrington's reference to
Freud's
"unconscious" (pp.139-40)
suggests that he does indeed incline in this direction. If so, that is bad news.73 The nature of the
"unconscious" is obscure, at best -- despite the totallyundeserved
fame Freud enjoys for having 'discovered' 'it'. In fact, it is now clear that
other ruling-class theorists had already concocted this notion decades, if not centuries, earlier.74
It is highly doubtful whether scientific knowledge
will be advanced much by the use of fictional notions like this -- which are themselves the
product of further linguistic distortion and fetishisation.
However, since Parrington didn't outline his ideas in this area in any great detail, little more can be said
about them.
Despite the above dead end, what sense can be
made of the following claim?
"Inner speech is the fluid
interphase where meaning can start to be formed and shaped, based on the
emotional, practical and social experience of the individual." [Parrington
(1997), pp.135-36.]
This idea is connected with
Parrington's earlier
comments on something else he found in Voloshinov:
"A related feature of inner
speech that Voloshinov pointed to was that it is more concerned with 'sense'
rather than 'meaning'. In this definition, meaning is the dictionary definition
of a word, for instance cat: 'a furry domestic quadruped'. Sense, on the other
hand, refers to the whole set of psychological events aroused by a word, such as
the personal memories of your own pet and its mannerisms, the feel of its fur
and so on. It contains activities, impressions and personal meanings, not just
accepted social definitions. A word acquires its sense from the context in which
it appears; in different contexts, it changes its sense." [Ibid.,
p.135.]
From this it looks like Parrington is
interpreting, or translating, Voloshinov's word "theme" as "sense".75
[Incidentally, in what follows, since Parrington is using "sense" in a different
way to my use of typographically the same word, in order to prevent confusion I will use
"senseRL"
to distinguish the latter from the former, but only in this section. (My use of
"sense" is explained in Essay Twelve
Part One.) I use the senseRL
here
in the following way: it expresses what we understand to be the case for the
proposition (or
indicative
sentence) in question to be true or what we understand to be the case for the
proposition in question to be false, even if we don't know whether it is
actually true or whether it is actually false, and may never do so, or wish
to do so -- the
comprehension of which allows us to understand that proposition before we know whether
it is true or whether it is false. More on that
here, too.]
Unfortunately, the above passage is rather
unclear. If the "sense" of a linguistic expression relates to aspects of an
individual's personal recollections, intimate feelings and idiosyncratic
associations, which each user brings to language, then how are we to understand
the following?
"A word acquires its sensefrom the
context in which it appears; in different contexts, it changes its sense."
[Ibid., p.135. Bold emphasis added.]
This passage tells us that a word "acquires its
sense from the context in which it appears" (emphasis added), not from
the contingent associations a speaker attaches to it.
Perhaps Parrington meant by
"context" the immediate framework of a speaker's life, her memories,
associations and 'values', as well as the social situation in which she
might find herself -- or even a 'dialectical' combination of these and other
related considerations?76
But, how does any of this relate to the public use of language, which is its
primary function? Private associations may add flavour (or "tone", as certain
Analytic Philosophers
have called it) to some of our words, but they can't affect their
linguistic meaning, as we have already
seen. Or, rather, they can no more do so than, say, a
person's idiosyncratic view of money can affect its public,
economic value.
Even so, it is reasonably clear from what
Parrington does say that for him the linguistic meaning of words is (at least
implicitly) the dominant factor here. For instance, unless the word "cat" meant
(linguistically) what it actually does mean, the correct images,
feelings, associations (etc.) wouldn't be prompted in the 'mind' of the
individual using, or hearing, that word (that is, if any are so prompted). If everyone associated what they liked
(or what their psychological make-up causes in them) with any of their words, and this was the deciding factor influencing
linguistic meaning, then the word "cat" could conjure up a dislike for fish
fingers, fond memories of the last time the individual concerned joined a strike, their hatred of
Norman Tebbit,
or, indeed, anything whatsoever.
Of course, Parrington doesn't deny this; in
fact, he says:
"A related feature of inner speech that Voloshinov pointed to was
that it is more concerned with 'sense' rather than 'meaning'. In this
definition, meaning is the dictionary definition of a word, for instance cat: 'a
furry domestic quadruped'. Sense, on the other hand, refers to the whole set
of psychological events aroused by a word, such as the personal memories of your
own pet and its mannerisms, the feel of its fur and so on. It contains
activities, impressions and personal meanings, not just accepted social
definitions. A word acquires its sense from the context in which it appears;
in different contexts, it changes its sense." [Ibid., p.135. Bold emphasis
added.]77
But, he couldn't have argued this way --
i.e., that the word "cat" conjured up the sorts of associations he mentions -- if
a particular user
failed to employ the word as the rest of us do, that is, to talk
(typically) about cats. If so, the public meaning (use) of any word must be
primary, even for Parrington (and Voloshinov). With that
observation, Parrington's entire case is completely undermined;
if public meaning (use) in fact governs 'outer' and "inner speech" (if,
that is,
the latter exists!), then contingent idiosyncratic associations must drop out of
the picture as far as linguistic and communicative meaning are concerned. The
contingent associations Parrington lists are parasitic -- or
derivative --, at best. Naturally, that is why when someone talks about
cats, for instance, what they say will readily be comprehended by anyone who
knows how to use the word "cat" without having the associations Parrington
mentions, or without ever having owned a cat.
Of course, the sheer ordinariness
of the word "cat" obscures this point. Anyone who remains unconvinced should try
arguing as Parrington does with less common words and phrases -- such as "eggplant", or "oxbow lake" -- or,
indeed, attempt to spell out the "sense" of any
verb, preposition or conjunction in this way (and good luck with that one!).
In fact, and on the contrary, provided that prospective users understand the (linguistic) meaning of
these words (i.e., provided they know how to use them properly), no personal associations would be needed in order
to employ them successfully, or, indeed, grasp what is communicated by
means of them.
Despite this, it isn't difficult to show
that "sense"/"tone" [henceforth, S/T]
can't attach to all words, or even to words in
general -- as they appear in the public domain --, and for this to function as a
primary determinant of meaning in the way that Parrington and Voloshinov seem
to think. Here, for instance, are several words that don't possess an S/T: "and", "if", "but", "was",
"inadvertently", "sense", "tone", "word", "idiosyncratic", "theme", "meaning".
[The list is, of course, endless.]
Perhaps someone might object that
such words do possess an S/T for them; their very
mention conjures up all manner of associations and feelings. Naturally, there is
no way of refuting this contention -- or, indeed, of confirming it. And,
there is no way to determine whether or not the 'same' S/T occurs each time
they are employed by the same user, even when they appear in unusual
sentences, clauses or phrases -- like the one in the last paragraph, namely:
"Here, for instance, are several words that don't possess an S/T: 'and', 'if', 'but',
'was',
'inadvertently', 'sense', 'tone', 'word', 'idiosyncratic', 'theme', 'meaning'".
But, even if each of these words did possess an
S/T for such an
objector, the images, feelings and associations they conjured would be a result
of that objector already having understood them -- and with their usual
import --
otherwise they would fail to prompt the correct images, feelings and
associations. Indeed, if this weren't so, they could in fact induce the wrong
images, feelings and associations (if, that is, any
sense can be made of the use of "wrong" in such a context).
[Anyone
who thinks this misrepresents what Parrington is trying to say should check out
Note 78.]78
Of course, two different words would be
synonymous if they engendered the same associations. If this were possible,
"Marx" and "Hitler" could mean the same! But, would any of this affect who it
was that those two words named? "Socialism" and "fascism" could be
synonymous in the same way, too. Would a single Marxist accept that equation?
Hardly. This shows that the public, linguistic meaning of words isn't affected by the
idiosyncratic associations anyone brings to language. And that is because the contingent feelings or associations
an individual attaches to words depend on
those words being used to identify the alleged object of those feelings correctly, and
they can only do that if
they are employed in the same way that the rest of us use them.78a
Again, this isn't to deny that idiosyncratic
S/Ts might be associated with many (perhaps all of) the above words by
someone, only that this feature of our allegedly 'private' lives can't affect the public meaning of words.
Nevertheless, with respect to the idea that
there might be a 'dialectical' interplay between public meaning and private
S/Ts,
which determines the import of the words we use, consider the following
sentences:
C1: I inadvertently killed your cat.
C2: London is the Capital of
the United Kingdom.
If Parrington and Voloshinov are right, then
whatever images, feelings and associations C1
conjures up, they would clearly be specific to the present circumstances of this
Essay. That is, they would be connected with the reason why C1 was chosen -- which
was, in turn, for it to serve as an illustrative example
criticising this aspect of dialectics! But, that fact doesn't alter C1's
senseRL,
or the meaning of the words it uses. That is why we would all be able to understand C1 before we knew whether or not
it was true (or before anyone knew what the present author was or wasn't seeking to do or
accomplish by means of C1).
Of course, C1 contains several terms whose
reference is indeterminate: Whose cat? Who is the one claiming to have killed
the said cat? Which cat? When? And so on. [Naturally, C2 doesn't face any of
these problems.] Clearly, although C1 itself may well be understood, its
precise import would have to wait on the clarification of indeterminacies like
these. But, one thing it won't have to wait on is the pooled S/Ts of anyone
hearing it or reading it. The components of C1's actual senseRL are clearly unrelated to the pooled
S/Ts of its
constituent words. The S/Ts of individual words drops out of the
picture if C1 is to be understood by both originator and recipient. The senseRL
of C1 depends on the reference or use of the indeterminate terms it contains
-- and the latter are surely independent of anyone's 'feelings', 'associations'
and 'values'. So, despite what anyone feels about cats, which cat
is being referred to in C1 is independent of theirs or anyone else's
feelings. That being so, there doesn't
appear to be a hook here for any sort of 'dialectical' interplay to latch onto.
Nevertheless, even if it were still
maintained that all the words in C1 possessed their own individual, or idiosyncratic, S/Ts (which contributed 'dialectically' -- perhaps, orchestra-like
--, to give the S/T of the whole) for whomever it is that might be still
be objecting along these lines, this would still be irrelevant to the
content expressed by C1. If each speaker associated a content of their own to
each utterance (and the latter were linked to the S/Ts idiosyncratically
connected with the words used), then it plainly wouldn't be the same content
that was being entertained by their interlocutors (sheer coincidence to one side). Each would have their own set of
S/Ts which would be different from anyone else's. Including their own on
each occasion!
In which case, no shared content could
ever
be conveyed or received, and that would completely undermine the idea that
language is a social phenomenon, acting primarily as a means of communication. The fact that we
do succeed in communicating countless times each day shows that S/Ts have little,
or no, linguistic, communicative role to play.78b
Now, readers of the above words may or may
not disagree with their import, and some may continue to maintain that S/Ts (as
understood by Parrington) are central to their comprehension and use of language.
However, such individuals may do so only after acknowledging that they
will have succeeded in understanding the above contentious thoughts without having a clue what
S/Ts
their author -- RL -- either attributed, or did not attribute, to, or associated with, any or all of them. Upon doing
that, of course, such
erstwhile contrarians
would then be disagreeing with themselves, for then it would be plain
that they had grasped those words -- even while dissenting from their content --
when that act itself could only have succeeded because the meaning of the
author's words isn't
dependent on a single S/T being attributable to any or all of them.
In addition, die hard S/T
fans (if such there be) would also need to explain, for example, what Parrington himself meant by
S/T without access to his emotional state, biography or
predilections.
Of course, no one else would be able to comprehend
even that long overdue explanation
without performing the same miraculously psychic trick on the words of these die-hards contrarians themselves.
Oddly
enough, Parrington and Holborow both quote a
passage from Voloshinov's other work (on Freud) which they seem to think provides an important
insight into the entire nature of language and communication:
"How does verbal discourse in life relate to
the extraverbal situation that has engendered it? Let us analyse this matter,
using an intentionally simplified example for the purpose.
"Two people are sitting in a
room. They are both silent. Then one of them says, 'Well!' The other does not
respond.
"For us outsiders this entire
'conversation' is utterly incomprehensible. Taken in isolation, the utterance…is
empty and unintelligible. Nevertheless, this…colloquy of two persons…does make
perfect sense…." [Voloshinov (1987), p.99; quoted in Holborow (1999), p.29, and
Parrington (1997),
p.127.
Quotation marks altered to conform with the conventions adopted at this site.]79
Parrington then points out that while this communicative episode might be given
an indefinite (potentially infinite?) number of interpretations, Voloshinov was
able to reduce them to manageable
proportions by arguing that:
"…[they] must take place within the
particular space where differences in a word's meaning can be registered, namely
between two speakers in a particular social context." [Parrington (1997),
p.127.]
Undoubtedly, "Well!" could (and probably does) have a different (speaker's)
meaning to users and hearers alike on different occasions of use. But,
Parrington's response won't do. In any
social context, the word "Well!" could mean practically anything. If
we are to zero in on only one of them out of the many, we would already have to
understand our interlocutors, or risk a high probability of guessing wrong.
As we have seen above, it is central to
Voloshinov's theory that "theme" is (radically) different in each
social situation for any given utterance, as is meaning, and hence that they vary
from one
conversational interaction to the next. If we estimate that the entire human population
capable of uttering this word in their own tongues is approximately five
billion, the number of unique pairs of conversationalists selectable from this
set is roughly 1.25x1019.
[This is 125 followed by seventeen zeros!] Hence, in any given
'social situation' comprising just two people, we would have the
potential for at least that number of different meanings as either one of them uttered this word. If we now generalise across
all actual and/or conceivable 'social situations', and expand the scope this
scenario to include the many different audience sizes there are (ranging from
one to many millions) this already huge number would escalate beyond all
comprehension. Finally, if we add to this all the different words that could be
uttered in all languages, in all circumstances, the
resulting numbers would soon become unmanageable.
Unfortunately, the magnitude of even that
astronomical set of diverse 'meanings' would itself become insignificantly small if we re-introduce Voloshinov's
other vague notion (i.e., "theme") -- which is, so we are told, unique to each moment (let
alone each "social context") -- and which, according to him, supposedly determines
meaning (as far as can be ascertained, that is!).
Moreover, if we now assume that the
average conversationalist lives for approximately forty speaking years (averaged
across all populations, reduced to account for sleep, etc.), and that each 'theme-instant' lasts just one
second, then any one utterance of "Well!" by each speaker (and in the ear of
each hearer) could take on approximately 1.3x109
[13 followed by eight zeros] different additional
meanings, if said at any one of those instants. If we now recall that for
Voloshinov the microscopic details surrounding any utterance affect its "theme",
then one second would probably be far too long. Consequently, the number of
'meanings' available to the average speaker in a lifetime, while not infinite,
would be, on this view, excessively large. Naturally, this would mean that the
chances of any speaker accessing the 'correct' meaning of any of their
interlocutors' words would be vanishingly small. Voloshinov's disarming
reassurance that speakers and hearers lock onto each other's meanings isn't at
all convincing, especially since his theory leads one to suppose that no one
would ever manage to do this because of the baleful influence of
Occasionalism and "theme".80
Quite apart from this, the idea
that the consideration of one-word sentences like this warrants
conclusions about the general use of language across an entire population (and
throughout all of human history) is bizarre in the extreme! Indeed, the
fact that the above comrades based their scientific-sounding conclusions on
this one example (which is itself a laughably weak evidential base (i.e.,
it is aone-word sentence!)) is as astounding as it is alarming.80a
Nevertheless, Parrington and Holborow
failed to consider perhaps more revealing scenarios for the use of single-word
sentences, such as the following:
M1: Several comrades are on a picket
line. The Police fire tear gas. A canister is heading toward a group of pickets.
Comrade NN spots it and shouts (for the first time in his life):
"Incoming!"
Are we really expected to believe that
"incoming" is only comprehensible to one or two in this group -- maybe
only those who know the
biography, likes, dislikes and preferences of the one who shouted the warning? Or, that
only those with the requisite 'associations' will dive for cover? Do we really
have to appeal to "private meanings" to explain the subsequent scattering of
these individuals? Do these pickets have to sift through the countless likely social
settings they might or might not have encountered in the past before they hit on the correct reading of this warning, and then
proceed to act?
If the answer to these is "No", as surely it
must be, then it is safe to conclude that just as one militant doesn't make
a movement, one conversation doesn't make a theory.
Indeed, if we were to consider more complex conversations, the
completely bizarre nature of the idea under consideration
here would become even more apparent.
Now, it could be argued that this is
grossly unfair to Parrington and Holborow in that the argument above (i.e., that which depends on those
unmanageably large numbers, etc.) ignores what Parrington himself says:
"…[they] must take place within the
particular space where differences in a word's meaning can be registered, namely
between two speakers in a particular social context." [Ibid.,
p.127.]
Hence, it could be pointed out that an
interlocutor's
knowledge of the social circumstances -- these perhaps including conversational
and situational assumptions or implications about which only those party to this
conversation are aware, or which
form part of the tacit knowledge each speaker brings to any setting --
would reduce the possible interpretations of this word to manageable
proportions.
Admittedly, the fact that people do utter
one-word sentences and succeed in communicating in such circumstances does seem
to support Parrington and Holborow's case. However, since it isn't in
dispute here that acts of communication do indeed take place, this is of little
help. It is how and why conversationalists manage to do this that is
still up for
grabs.
Despite this, it
might be felt that
Voloshinov does in fact narrow down the options when he argues that a close,
even microscopic scrutiny of the word "Well!" won't help us understand this
"conversation". Voloshinov then goes on to say:
"Let us suppose that the
intonation with which this word was pronounced is known to us: indignation and
reproach moderated with a certain amount of humour. This intonation somewhat
fills the semantic void of the adverb well but still does not reveal the
meaning of the whole.
"What is it we lack, then? We
lack the 'extraverbal context' that made the word well a meaningful
locution for the listener. This extraverbal context of the utterance is
comprised of three factors: (1) the common spatial purview of the interlocutors
(the unity of the visible -- in this case, the room, the window, and so on), (2)
the interlocutors' common knowledge and understanding of the situation,
and (3) their common evaluation of that situation.
"At the time the colloquy
took place, both interlocutors looked up at the window and saw
that it had begun to snow; both knew that it was already May and that it
was high time for spring to come; finally, both were sick and tired
of the protracted winter -- they were both looking forward to spring and
both were bitterly disappointed by the late snowfall. On this 'jointly
seen' (snowflakes outside the window), 'jointly known' (the time of the year --
May) and 'unanimously evaluated' (winter wearied of, spring looked forward to)
-- on all this the utterance directly depends, all this is seized in its
actual, living import -- is its very sustenance. And yet all this remains
without verbal specification or articulation. The snowflakes remain outside the
window; the date, on the page of a calendar; the evaluation, in the psyche of
the speaker; and, nevertheless, all this is assumed in the word well."
[Voloshinov (1987), p.99. Italic emphases in the original. Quotation
marks altered to conform with the conventions adopted at this site.]
There are several points in Voloshinov's argument
that are worthy of comment:
(1)
In the above, any words that might have been spoken in the build-up to this
'conversation' were omitted. And yet, it is only on the basis of such shared
words (had he heard them) that Voloshinov would feel confident enough to tell
us that these two conversationalists had over-lapping knowledge, beliefs,
evaluations and
attitudes, as well as a joint appreciation of the surrounding circumstances of this
conversation and knowledge of one another. Now, if these two had been total strangers, the whole scene could, and
probably would have taken on a completely different complexion. Hence, Voloshinov is acting like
the author of a novel; he is supplying the reader with an almost
'god'-like view of the recent biography, thoughts, beliefs and intentions of his characters.
So, all the 'shared background details' are in
fact part of Voloshinov's imputations and assumptions, not those of these two
fictional individuals. No wonder then that he can pack so much into this one
word sentence, and into this one scene; it is his word, his scene, and his
understanding of both that is on show
here, not theirs.
(2) The above scenario was clearly tailored
to fit the purposes Voloshinov intended for it, where two interlocutors
shared much in their current surroundings and background knowledge. But, this
isn't always the case. Many conversations are between total strangers, and yet
communication is, nonetheless, typically successful. Even those that take place
between friends and acquaintances aren't always so well coordinated or tightly
constrained. In that case, very
little of substance can be inferred from this special case.
(3) Even so, given the circumstances depicted
by Voloshinov, this one word might still mean many things. All we have to do is
introduce a few more details, and what might seem to Voloshinov to be the
obvious and clear-cut implications of the use of this one word will soon become
its
opposite. So, let us assume that (a) Speaker A had heard
earlier that morning that her
daughter was going to visit that afternoon, and that (b) Speaker B was
planning on going
to the beach -- both, weather permitting. In that case, "Well!" said by
A could
(speaker's meaning) mean any one of the following: (i) "That's torn it!" My daughter will have to
cancel!", (ii) "Oh dear! I do hope my daughter will be safe driving!", (iii) "Drat!
I was so looking forward to seeing her!", (iv) "The weather forecaster is an
idiot! He predicted sunshine today!" (v) "Darn it! This means I can't do any
gardening this afternoon!", and a host of other things. All the while B could
take it to mean (i) "That's our plans out of the window!", (ii) "She
[i.e., A] means I
can't go to the beach. I'll show her!", (iii) "She wants my opinion, but what do I
know...?", (iv) "She keeps saying that! What the hell does she mean!",
and a host of other things besides.
So, apposite though Voloshinov's comments are
with respect to the surrounding circumstances in which conversationalists can be
imputed to hold some things in common -- in this special case --, this
thought experiment isn't much use in helping us understand meaning in language
in general. Naturally, that is because one word can't on its own tell us much,
whereas full sentences can. And that is partly why Frege's context principle
(introduced earlier -- on that,
see Note 24) is far more fruitful
in this respect than anything Voloshinov committed to paper.
It is also worth pointing out that Voloshinov wrote in sentences, not single
words. So, even he had little faith in his own theory!
Another dubious notion that makes its appearance in
Parrington and Holborow's work (which they both appropriated from
Voloshinov) is that all words are somehow ideologically
coloured, or compromised.81 As
Holborow puts it:
"Voloshinov's starting point is the
ideological nature of all signs, including language. He defines a sign as
that which 'represents depicts or stands for something outside itself'
(Voloshinov 1973:9). This correspondence is an essential feature of all signs….
Sign systems exist side by side with material reality, not independently of it.
"'A sign does not simply
exist as a part of reality -- it reflects and refracts another reality.
Therefore it may distort that reality or be true to it, or it may perceive it
from a special point of view…every sign is subject to the criteria of
ideological evaluation…. The domain of ideology coincides with the domain of
signs. They equate with one another. Wherever a sign is present, ideology is
present too….' (1973:10…)
"The quality of signs to represent, to
'reflect and refract
another reality', to interpret, is what gives them their conceptual potency and
makes words the very stuff of ideology…." [Holborow (1999), p.25; quoting
Voloshinov (1973), pp.9-10.]82
However, when Voloshinov says that:
"A sign does not simply exist
as a part of reality -- it reflects and refracts another reality. Therefore it
may distort that reality or be true to it, or it may perceive it from a special
point of view…", [Voloshinov (1973),
p.10.]
it isn't too clear whether he means that there
are several of these 'realities' which are "reflected or refracted" [henceforth
R/R] -- or only one 'reality' that is R/R-ed in different ways.83
But, if he were right, Voloshinov's own use of
signs could have (must have?) distorted things, too, so what his words have R/R-ed might not
be (can't be?) really real
-- if we must use this unfortunate way of expressing things.
In that case, it would seem that Voloshinov himself might have misrepresented
and/or distorted the subject of his own thesis by the use of
yet more of these inherently unreliable 'signs'. If so, Voloshinov's own words
can't be trusted to tell us the truth!
If exception is taken to this, then how might we decide
whether or not we can trust Voloshinov's words? It seems we can't, since, in
order to do so, we too
will have to use yet more of these dubious 'signs'!
And yet, if there is no way of deciding, what
sense is there to the claim that 'signs' might be misleading? Isn't that
very thought (expressed in 'signs') itself misleading? If it is, then
there is no good reason to accept
it. If it isn't, then Voloshinov is wrong anyway.
Either way, the rational thing
to do is reject this gratuitous slur on innocent 'signs'.
Alternatively, if Voloshinov is saying that
everything (both 'sign' and the things allegedly 'signified') is
capable of distortion, or of causing it, then the conclusion that there is no such thing as reality is
no less suspect, itself,
in view of the fact that we have to use yet more 'signs' to R/R that particular conclusion. But, in that
case, exactly what are our 'signs' R/R-ing? Even worse, how do we even know
there are any 'signs', to begin with? Any attempt to reassure us that
'signs' exist must itself
be expressed in 'signs', and hence must, of necessity, distort things! Indeed,
isn't the inherently unreliable 'sign' "reality" itself entirely bogus when used
in such circumstances? So, given what he says, the contrast Voloshinov wished to
draw between reality and our distorted images of it can't
in fact be drawn, for on his own account Voloshinov had to use several
untrustworthy 'signs' to make that very point. That being so, there is (for him)
no 'reality' against which anyone could compare or contrast even the mildest of
distortions with what 'signs' supposedly R/R -- nor could he truly report on them
even if there were any!
Naturally, this means no distortion can
have taken place -- at which point this theory self-destructs, once more.84
Unfortunately, Parrington and Holborow are silent on this issue. This isn't all
that surprising since any comment they might wished
to have made about
what Voloshinov could have meant (this side of their using some
form of telepathy that doesn't employ 'signs') will have
distorted what he actually had to say -- always assuming, of course, there is
such a thing as "What Voloshinov actually had to say", to begin with!
It could be objected that Voloshinov in fact
said the following:
"A sign does not simply exist
as a part of reality -- it reflects and refracts another reality. Therefore it
may distort that reality or be true to it, or it may perceive it from a special
point of view…." [Voloshinov (1973),
p.10. Bold emphasis added.]
Hence, not all 'signs' distort reality, and
that might still be true of the words, or 'signs', employed by anyone trying to report what
Voloshinov really said. So, the above comments are completely misguided.
But, how are we to tell which signs do the
one and which do the other? Which are distorting and which aren't? It seems we
can't possibly decide, since we are forced to use yet more suspect 'signs'
while trying to exonerate only some of them.
Ignoring whatever else we might think of the
fetishisation of 'signs' explicit in the above
quoted passage
(which seems to suggest that 'signs' are agents that control us!), it is
worth pursuing the above difficulties a little further.
It isn't entirely clear
what it means to suggest that every use of 'signs' is ideological -- if
this is what Voloshinov indeed meant (and our attempt to depict what he said
doesn't
thereby distort the "reality" he sought to depict about ideology
itself!).84a
Once more, if every use of 'signs' is potentially distorting, it is
difficult to see how any 'signs' could be employed to R/R reality -- or,
indeed, what the word "reality" itself could possibly mean --
or, worse, how it would be possible even to report this 'fact' accurately. If words --
operating as 'signs' -- are irredeemably ideological, then how might they be used
correctly to refer to anything at all? Presumably, this would only happen if some uses of
'signs' weren't ideological; that is, if in some
circumstances they did indeed truly R/R reality -- as opposed to merely
expressing ideological or class interests -- so that we might give some sort of
content to the supposition that on other occasions they do in fact
distort reality. But, if every use of words is ideological, then,
naturally, we can't appeal to this contrast (as already noted) -- and neither
could we trust even that assertion, for it, too, would be ideological, and
hence of suspect import (and so on).
Of course, it could be argued that ideology
doesn't distort reality, it merely inverts it. However, Voloshinov's own
metaphor (i.e., R/R itself) implies distortion, whatever else Marx meant by his
use of this word. [However, on that see Note 83
and Note 84.]
Moreover, Voloshinov himself declared that signs can distort "reality":
"A sign does not simply exist
as a part of reality -- it reflects and refracts another reality. Therefore it
may distort that reality or be true to it, or it may perceive it from a special
point of view…." [Voloshinov (1973),
p.10. Bold emphasis added.]
Finally, the idea that words are
'signs' is itself rather odd. Certainly, words can appear in signs
(for example, on a placard or badge saying "Victory to the Miners!"), and in
certain circumstances they can feature as signs themselves (as when the word
"red" might be coloured red to make a point in, say, a psychological
experiment), but words can't be signs. The
reasons for saying this are rather complex, and are outlined in Note 85.85
In addition to the above, it is also worth pointing out that language
itself can't be ideological. As I argued in Essay Four
Part One(see also
Essay Three Part Two):
Admittedly, ordinary
language may be used to express patent of falsehoods, as well as offensive,
reactionary and regressive of ideas, but it can't itself be affected by "false
consciousness" (and that isn't just because the latter notion was
foreign to Marx; on that see
here), nor can it be
"ideological".
Without doubt, everyday
sentences can express all manner of backward, racist, sexist and
ideologically-compromised notions, but this isn't
the fault of the medium in which these are expressed, any more than it is the
fault of, say, a computer if it is used to post racist bile on a web page.
Ideologically-contaminated ideas expressed in ordinary language result either
from its misuse or from the employment of specialised vocabularies borrowed from
religious dogma, sexist beliefs, reactionary ideology, homophobic bigotry, racist theories
or
superstitious ideas. This isn't to suggest that ordinary humans don't,
or can't, speak in such backward ways; but this is dependent on the latter
being expressed in ordinary language, while it isn't dependent on that language as
such. That particular claim might sound paradoxical, so I will attempt to
clarify what is meant by it.
First of all, this defence of
ordinary language isn't being advanced dogmatically. Every user of the
vernacular knows it to be true since they know that for each and every sexist,
racist and ideologically-compromised sentence expressible in ordinary language
there exists its negation.
This is why socialists can
assert such things as: "Blacks aren't inferior"; "Human
beings aren't selfish"; "Wages
aren't fair", "Women aren't sex objects",
"Belief in the after-life is baseless", "LGBTQ individuals aren't
perverts" -- and still be understood,
even by those still in thrall to these ideas but who might hold the
opposite view. If ordinary language were identical with 'commonsense' --
and if it were ideological (per se) in the way that some imagine -- you
just couldn't say such things. We all know this to be true -- certainly,
socialists should know this --, because in our practice we manage to deny such things every day.
So, as noted above, while
ordinary language might be used to express patent of falsehoods, as well as
offensive, reactionary and regressive of ideas -- and, in order to express such
ideas, reactionary, racist, sexist or homophobic individuals might depend on
ordinary language in order to give voice to their vile, or their anti-socialist,
opinions, the fact that socialist can reject all such ideas, using the very
same medium, means that the vernacular as such can't itself be associated with those
ideas.
In which case, it is odd that
socialists don't advance the opposite claim: because we can with
relative ease explain socialist ideas in the vernacular -- just as we can
challenge the regressive ideas mentioned above -- ordinary language is
inherently progressive. Now, I'm not promoting that idea myself,
merely asking why socialists are quite so quick to malign, or depreciate, the language of the
working class, and assume that because there are regressive ideas expressible in
the vernacular that this automatically condemns it, while at the same time they
ignore their own use of the vernacular to propagandise and agitate the working
class. [On this, see
Grant (n.d).]
In this regard, it is as
ironic as it is inexcusable that there are revolutionaries who, while they are
only too ready to regale us with the alleged limitations of ordinary language --
on the grounds that it reflects "commodity fetishism", "false consciousness" or
"formal/static thinking" --, are quite happy to accept (in whole or in part)
impenetrably obscure ideas lifted from the work of a card-carrying, ruling-class
hack like Hegel. Not only are
his theories based on alienated thought-forms (i.e., mystical Christianity and
Hermeticism),
his Absolute Idealism was a direct result of the systematic fetishisation of language -- indeed,
as Marx noted:
"Feuerbach's
great achievement is.... The proof that philosophy is nothing else but
religion rendered into thought and expounded by thought, i.e., another form
and manner of existence of the estrangement [alienation -- RL] of the essence of man; hence equally
to be condemned...." [Marx
(1975b), p.381. I have used the on-line version, here. Bold emphases
and link added.]
Finally, despite
what Voloshinov says about those who "ignore
theme", they are probably well advised to continue doing just that -- that
is, should we
ever be told what wtf "theme" actually is!
If the (linguistic) meanings of words were in general
dependent upon their intended sentential use we wouldn't be able to
comprehend the use of ostensibly familiar words in new surroundings,
until, that is, we had first apprehended the intentions of those who uttered
them, or the use to which they wanted to put that sentence. A recent and rather
comical example might help illustrate this point. A few months ago, The
Sex-Pest-In-Chief, Donald Trump,
had this to say on Twitter:
Despite the constant negative covfefe
This
nearly broke Twitter and the Internet as hundreds of thousands of
individuals tried to figure out what "covfefe" meant, as well as providing
ample ammunition for countless
Internet wags to poke fun at this easy target.
Here are just a few:
Figures Two, Three, Four,
And Five: Covfefe Fun
Figures Six, Seven, Eight
And Nine: More Covfefe Fun
Thousands of people tried to work out what
Trumplestiltskin meant, but all of them concentrated on what he might have
intended to type in place of "covfefe", the most likely candidate being
"coverage". No one to my knowledge argued that once they had worked out The
Liar-in-Chief's intentions, "covfefe" could be counted as a genuine word in
the language. If intentions decided meaning, they would surely have argued this.
No, they suggested an everyday substitute word that would have allowed The
Racist-in-Chief to express his intentions, and that guess was based on the
orthographic similarities between "coverage" and "covfefe",
as well as the fact that
"coverage" fitted the drift of the sentence itself and the things this
Coiffured Carpetbagger had tweeted before:
Despite the constant negative coverage
Since
The Minority President tweets at night, and he is now clearly well in his dotage, he obviously fell asleep in
mid sentence.
What speakers say (coupled perhaps with their overt behaviour) is often our best guide to what they intend
to say, not the other way round. Naturally, their intentions can affect the way
we then try to make sense of why they might have said what they did
(i.e., their speaker's meaning), but they can't in general alter what the words
they employ mean in the language. This doesn't of course
imply that the intentions of speakers are unrelated to their choice of words, or
how they use them (manifestly, their aims and intentions will largely govern
why they chose the
words they did, and what they wanted to achieve by using them, etc.). It does
mean, however, that the sense of any sentences they utter and the meaning of the
words they employ aren't in general so dependent. In fact, far from intention
determining (linguistic) meaning, or even sentential sense, the reverse is if anything the case; the latter
shapes the former not the other way round. We can only form the intentions we do because of our
socialisation and our facility with language. This can be seen by the way we
actually use language to speak about intentions (etc.). [On this see Anscombe
(2000), Hursthouse (2000), Kenny (1973a, 1975, 1992, 2003), and Teichmann (2008).]
Indeed, if intentions
could affect sense and meaning in general, then, in such circumstances,
a speaker's words would in fact be unrelated to his/her past use of 'similar' words,
or even to their accepted meanings (except fortuitously). A new extra-linguistic
context would thus define a new 'meaning'. In that case, any words at all
would suffice (and we would all use 'words' like "covfefe"). If context, intention and the use of sentences (and only
these) determined meaning, then a 'word' could be given any (linguistic) meaning whatsoever
by an intention to so use it on just that occasion. But, in such circumstances
even the meaning of the word "word" would begin to lose its grip. Naturally, this would rule out all
communication between speakers, since there would be nothing in the past use of
a word (or sentence) that a hearer could latch on to, to assist in the
comprehension of what was being said on this new occasion. Interlocutors
would confront each other like speakers of foreign languages -- only in this
case, they would be employing similar sounding words that now possessed
unknown meanings. [Except that, in this case, we couldn't even say this much!]
Moreover, if the use of whole sentences
determined the meaning of their constituent words, then the inner structure of sentences would be irrelevant; word order and grammar would be unnecessary.
Furthermore, inferences drawn between sentences would become problematic -- unless,
that is, the unit of meaning was extended to sets of sentences. But even
then, this would only compound the problem.
In addition, the concept we now have of the
misuse of a word would be undermined, since on this basis no one could
misuse a word if there was an intention of some sort underlying its actual
employment (and that in turn would compromise one of Wittgenstein's major criticisms of
Metaphysics). There would then be no such thins as a
malapropism or even a
Spoonerism.
In fact, it is impossible
even to spell-out the
details of this idea (i.e., that sentence use and intention can affect the
meaning of words). The reasons for asserting this are pretty clear. Suppose someone
were to say:
C1: "The leaflets advertising
the meeting have arrived."
But, 'intended' to mean:
C2: "I think you should start
handing them out."
If this were a general feature of
the use of language, then, as noted
above, the intended 'meaning' itself (i.e., C2) would also be
impossible to state, for it too would 'mean' something else. On the other
hand, if it
didn't 'mean' something else, this theory would fall at the first hurdle,
since there would be at least one sentence whose meaning wasn't sensitive to the intentions of its
user, namely C2. Naturally, this wouldn't be difficult to generalise across all
such sentences, which,
once done,
would mean that if, per impossible, this theory were true, it wouldn't
be possible to say what it implied -- since the linguistic expression of any
supposed intention would be subject to the very same equivocation. [I am, of
course, blurring the distinction between the sense of indicative
sentences/propositions and the meaning of words, here. That is because those
who adopt the Occasionalist view of language blur it, too. As do many other
Analytic Philosophers! In fact, many reject
this distinction out-of-hand. This adds further complications to their theory that I won't enter
into here.]
Conversely, if in general the words found in C2 meant exactly what they say
(and they did so without the need for any further paraphrase, translation or
consideration of the supposed intentions involved) there would be no good reason
why the same couldn't be true of C1.
Compare that with the following:
C3: "The arrived have
leaflets the for meeting advertised."
If the 'intended meaning' of C3 was still:
C2: "I think you should start
handing them out",
then C3 could just as well be uttered instead
of C1, and no one would be puzzled or would scratch their heads.
And, if we are fully consistent, there is no
reason why C3 itself couldn't be seen as 'intending' the following
jumbled up sentence:
C4: "I out think handing you
them start should."
Or, indeed, anything whatsoever.
If sentence structure were susceptible to the sort of radical reconstructive
surgery we see in C3 (because of the
doctrine that intentions determine meaning, which would obviate the need for any
sort of syntax or grammar), then this would also apply to
intentions themselves -- or at least to their linguistic expression -- as illustrated in C4.
If intentions were sufficient to determine meaning, who needs a settled grammar
or syntax? On the other hand, if grammar and syntax are integral to our use of
language, what space is there left for intentions to decide on anything other
than speaker's
meaning?
Of
course, where people utter odd sentences (or, the language in question isn't
their first language and they are struggling to make themselves understood), an
educated guess concerning the intentions of the speaker (what those are or might be) will assist in making sense of what they are
trying to say. But, even here, intentions won't affect what any of the
words they use actually mean.
The situation is even worse if word misuse is now thrown in:
C5: The boy stood between the
lamppost (sic).
C6: It square-rooted each
other's onion slippers (sic).
C7: Many years ago, my cat
is flying off-side in tennis tomorrow (sic).
Putting to one side whether or not these
could be
coded messages of some sort, it isn't easy to connect the radical misuse of words these sentences
exhibit with any
set of conceivable intentions (except, perhaps, those displayed by individuals
who might want to create confusion,
surprise or consternation, etc.) -- the linguistic expression of which
intentions couldn't itself contain an equally bizarre use of words (like those found in
C4). On the contrary, the linguistic expression of an intention would have to be
impeccable in all respects if we were to grasp, or even express, that intention --
unlike C4. And, if that is so, why can't it be true of C1?
C4: "I out think handing you
them start should."
C1: "The leaflets advertising
the meeting have arrived."
Coded messages to one side again, in order to
see this more clearly the reader is invited to try to use any one of C5-C7 above
to 'intend' to mean either or both of the following:
C8: The strike begins on
Monday week.
C9: Orange is darker than
black but not as sweet as vinegar.
[C5: The boy stood between the
lamppost (sic).
C6: It square-rooted each
other's onion slippers (sic).
C7: Many years ago, my cat
is flying off-side in tennis tomorrow (sic).]
As will readily be apparent, this isn't
possible. That alone shows intentions take their lead from our
(rule-governed) use of language, not the other way round.
Indeed, if language were in general dependent
on such bizarre 'translations', words like "intention", "occasion", "meaning"
and "word" would begin to lose their grip -- again, as noted above --
which is just another reason why this theory can't consistently be stated.
The obvious objection here would be to point
out that no one would use such odd sentences. But why not? What constraints are
there on the sorts of intentions we can form if not those already dictated to us by our
socialisation and the rule-governed use of language, by means of which this is
accomplished?
To be sure, deliberate errors over
syntax and grammar -- in addition to the innovative use of vocabulary and sentence structure
-- can extend a language. Manifestly, this often happens
in literature and in the course of the social evolution of discourse, etc. --
in fact, Voloshinov himself gives a rather good example of this on pp.55-56 of
his book. But, this can only take place if it is based on currently shared
word use, and on a locally universal syntax/grammar. This must be so if total
incomprehension is to be avoided. That is partly why my use of "BBB XXX ZZZ QQQ TTT" (in V7,
from
earlier) didn't
amount to a literary event of any great moment -- whatever intentions
lay behind it.
This point can be illustrated by considering
an example of the idiosyncratic use of language that occurs annually in a
school where a supporter of this site teaches, which I am sure happens
elsewhere. There are regular charitable events all year; one of these involves
the pupils each paying £1 so that they may attend school casually dressed --
i.e., without their uniforms for that day, but in clothes of their own
choosing (this sort of thing is called 'Dress-Down/Casual
Friday' in the USA). The staff can also pay whatever they feel is
appropriate so that they, too, can wear whatever clothes they want on the same
day. A collection box in the staff room has a notice on it that reads: "Put your
own clothes money in here", which on the face of it doesn't
seem to make much sense. Whether you pay or not you are presumably going to wear
your own clothes! And no one is going to put the money they have already used to
buy those clothes or which they intend to use to buy clothes in the future (i.e., the money they used weeks or months ago,
or might use next week, to purchase their "own clothes") in the box --
"their own clothes money".
Plainly, the
circumstances surrounding the use of this sentence changes the meaning (or
interpretation) of some or all of the words it contains. Here: "own clothes" is short
for something like: "your own choice of clothes" (but even this is misleading,
since whatever is selected will represent a choice of clothes by the wearer),
or, perhaps, "clothes not required by your contract of employment or code of
conduct" (etc.). Now, this is a clear case of the use of a sentence in
particular surroundings where the ordinary meaning of some of the words it
contains isn't ascertainable
solely from their past employment. Having said that, the novel use of a
sentence like this is stillrelated to the established meaning of
its constituent terms -- otherwise the notice on the box could have read "Place
a dead kipper on the computer's maiden aunt" (with the meaning of each of these
words having no connection with their past use, either!), while supposedly
'meaning' the 'same' as the actual sentence used -- or even "Covfefe your
clothes money!".
Consider another example: in football/soccer games, commentators will often say things like "Saved by the woodwork"
when a ball hits a goal post or cross bar, and bounces out. But, they can't mean this, since if
there had been no post or cross bar in the way of the ball, there couldn't have been a goal (or a game),
to begin with! What these commentators clearly mean is something like "That was
a near miss!", or "What a stroke of luck!" So here, the usual
meaning of these words coupled with the rules of football/soccer aren't a sure
guide to what was intended. However, having said that, these commentators
plainly wouldn't say in these circumstances "Sliced into the rough,
again!" or even "Who put that post there!?" The irony of "Saved by the
woodwork!" is understood by all who know football/soccer, which is why these
words seem so apposite. This is despite the fact thatthe speaker's intended meaning
fails to align with what his/her words actually say, and yet, no one supposes
that this odd use of language changes what words like "woodwork" and "saved" in fact mean
-- otherwise they wouldn't have been used.
Update 07/04/2020: During the ongoing
Coronavirus pandemic we have begun to hear things like this (about cancelled
football/soccer games, for example):
"No ball has been kicked in anger in the
football-mad country since March 9 because of an outbreak that bore down on
Italy from China last month." [Quoted from
here; accessed 07/04/2020.]
No
one understands this literally, either -- i.e., that football can only be
played, or is normally engaged in by footballers who are fuming or who are resentful.
Plainly, the above individual meant that no ball had been kicked in a
competitive game for a month. Again, having said that, no one at all would
understand this odd use of language if, instead of the above, we had read the
following (assuming the intentions of the individual concerned were the same and
no coded messages were implied):
"No
narwhal has
been filtered in vinegar in this crocus-mad bottle of beer...."
But,
if intentions determined meaning the individual who came out with the first of
above could just as well have used the second, and we would all know what he was
trying to say.
Finally, sometimes we will hear one individual say to another "You know where
the door is", and we all know what they mean -- i.e., "Please leave!" No one
takes this to be an attempt to find out if the second individual does in fact
know where that door is (even though that presumed fact can be inferred from the use of
this
sentence, otherwise it wouldn't have been uttered. The first person assumes the
second isn't new to the building). If that were the case (i.e., if this were an
enquiry into the second person's knowledge of the whereabouts of the said door),
the sentence would have been a question "You know where the door is?", signalled
by a slight raise in the voice at the end of uttering it (called "uptalk").
But, it is the use of just these words (in what is now a clichéd
sentence) that allows us to infer the first speaker's intentions, not the
other way round -- otherwise she could have said "You know where my cat is",
instead.86
While Voloshinov's book is ostensively about
the Philosophy of Language, its main aim seems to be to advance the Science of Linguistics.87 However, by pitching his work in both
camps, Voloshinov managed to replicate many of the metaphysical confusions that
have crippled 'Materialist Dialectics' -- chief among which is the complete absence of any
evidence substantiating his many bold claims. Indeed, Voloshinov's book has
little else in it other than a priori assertions and dogmatic theories about meaning,
understanding, evaluative import, "theme", "consciousness", and so on.87a
Hence, far from resembling a work of science, Voloshinov's book reads more like
Traditional
Philosophical Dogma. For instance, there are none of the following (which one
would expect
to find in a scientific report, book or paper): experimental detail coupled with graphs, tables, diagrams, photographs, charts,
spread sheets, primary data, mathematical analysis, etc., etc.
Naturally, this means that Voloshinov's work
succeeds in doing what Traditional Philosophy has always done -- that is, it
confuses
a priori thesis-mongering with science itself.
[I examine some of the 'evidence' others have offered
in support of Voloshinov's theory, below.]
On a related topic, despite the fact that
most of what Parrington and Holborow say undermines the role that
language plays in communication -- reinforcing the view that language serves to 'represent' things
to us in our heads (even if this process is filtered through our own
idiosyncrasies, attitudes, social situation, prevailing ideologies, etc., etc.) --, they
appear to believe that human beings developed language because of a "need to
communicate". This is how Holborow puts it:
"The genesis of language is in human labour….
Communication is not therefore just one of the functions of language; on the
contrary, language presupposes both logically and de facto the
interaction among people. Language only arises from the need to communicate with
other humans. It is quintessentially social." [Holborow (1999), p.20.]
Parrington concurs:
"Crucially labour...developed within a co-operative and social
context. It was this that led, through the need to communicate while engaging in
co-operative labour, to the rise of the second specifically human attribute --
language." [Parrington (1997),
p.122.]88
As far as I am
aware, this was an idea first explored by Rousseau:
"As soon as one man was recognised by
another as a sentient, thinking being similar to himself, the desire or
need to communicate his sentiments and thoughts made him seek the means to do so.
These means can only be drawn from the senses, the only instruments by which one
man can act upon another. Hence the institution of sensible signs to express
thought. The inventors of language did not make this argument, but instinct
suggested its conclusion to them." [Rousseau, Essay On The Origin Of
Languages, quoted in
Knight (2010a). Bold emphasis added. Readers will no doubt note that
Rousseau clearly thinks that human beings could think before they could talk.]
While
I don't wish to question the role that co-operative labour
has played in the development of language and thought (quite the
opposite, in fact), several aspects of these two quotations seem highly dubious, especially the idea that human beings
invented language because of a "need to communicate". To be sure, we use
language to communicate, but the claim that it arose because of a
specific need to communicate is highly questionable -- that is, except forLamarckians.
Of
course, the word "need" is ambiguous itself. We use it in a variety of different
ways. Consider just a few:
N1: That cake needs more sugar.
N2: This strike needs to be widened.
N3: You need to put
oil in your engine.
N4: We need a pay rise.
N5: The giraffe needs a long neck
to browse tall trees.
N6: That drunk needs to go home.
N7: Plants need water.
N8: The state needs to
be smashed and the ruling-class needs overthrowing.
N9: Tony Blair and
George W Bush need
prosecuting as war criminals.
N10: Comrades need to shout louder
on paper sales.89
Precisely which of the above senses of "need"
these two comrades intended is unclear -- several of them relate to what can only be called felt needs, or conscious needs (e.g.,
N4, and possibly N2), expressed perhaps as part of an agent's aims, goals and
intentions. Others refer to the causal concomitants or prerequisites of a
flourishing organism, successful revolution, strike, comeuppance for Bush and Blair,
a paper sale, or a well-run engine -- all of which are largely, if not totally,
unfelt. Some, of course, can't be felt.
Nevertheless, it is patently obvious that
human beings couldn't have invented language as a result of a felt
"need to communicate" (unless, that is, we assume they could think before they developed language -- which
idea would naturally imply that thought
isn't a
social phenomenon, dependent on collective labour), since such a need would presuppose the very thing it
was
aimed at explaining. The idea that this type of necessity mothered
that sort of invention would imply that the first human beings to talk had
earlier formed the thought: "I/We need to communicate" (or something
equivalent in their
assumed
proto-language). Clearly, such a felt need to
communicate could only be expressed if language already existed. On the
other hand, if the thought (or its equivalent) that supposedly
motivated the "need to communicate" wasn't in fact linguistic, then little
content can be given to the notion
that human beings once possessed such a need without being able to give voice to it.
Indeed, how would it be possible to form the thought "We need to communicate" if
the individual, or individuals, concerned had no idea (as yet) what communication
was. That would be like arguing that we can (now) form the thought "We need to
schommunicate" when none of has a clue what "schommunicate" means. In fact, it is
worse than this, since we are already sophisticated language users and can
not only conceive of certain possibilities we can give expression to them.
They weren't.
It could be objected that
such a need might be a biological one (analogous to that which is expressed in,
say, N5). There are two problems with this response. First, reference to
the biological needs of organisms to explain the origin of adaptation is Lamarckian,
not Darwinian. Secondly, and far worse, this alternative completely
undermines the view that language is a social phenomenon.89a
In reply to this it could be argued that
revolutionaries have in fact given a Darwinian (but not Lamarckian)
explanation of the origin of language. A relatively recent article written by
Chris Harman, for
example,
demonstrated that such an account of human development -- augmented with ideas
drawn from Engels's work -- provides Marxists with an adequate, materialist
theory of the origin of language and culture, and one that was founded on a
"need to communicate".89b
Unfortunately, there are serious
problems
with Harman's explanation of the origins of speech. For example, after outlining
the increasing dependence that our human ancestors had on social organisation
and the use of tools, he argued as follows:
"Natural selection would bring about…evolution
in the direction of ever larger, denser and more complex neural networks,
capable of directing and learning from intricate motor functions of the hand and
of using minute changes in gesture or voice to communicate….
"A cumulative process would soon have been
underway in which survival depended on culture, and the ability to partake in
culture [based?] upon a genetic endowment that encouraged the combination of
sociability, communication, dexterity and reasoning power….
"The development of labour and the
development of communication thus, necessarily, go hand in hand. And as they
both develop, they both encourage the selection of those new genes
which made people more adept at both: the more agile the hand, the larger
the brain, the [larger the] larynx that made a wider range of sounds.
"Such developments do not involve just
quantitative changes. As the growth of labour, the growth of sociability and
the growth of language reinforced each other, encouraging the
selection of a whole range of new genes, new networks of nerve cells would
emerge in the brain, making possible whole new ranges of interaction
between people and the world around them….
"So there has to be a recognition of how
quantity turns into quality, of how through successive changes animal life
gave birth to that new form of life we call 'human', which has a dynamic of its
own, shaped by its labour and its culture not by its genes…." [Harman (1994),
pp.100-02. Bold emphases added.]
There are several highly dubious things Harman says
here about which I will comment later, but for present purposes I will simply draw
attention to his use of DM to defend,
or buttress, his argument. It is abundantly clear that Harman relies heavily on Engels's first 'Law' (i.e., Q«Q)
to plug a gap he thinks he has spotted in standard Neo-Darwinian theory in this
area.89c This allows him to
smuggle into his own account an inappropriate but revealing teleological
slant (indicated by most of the words and phrases highlighted in bold in the
above passage). Of course, it could be argued in his defence that these
supposedly "teleological" expressions are metaphorical, or they are merely rhetorical flourishes;
but if that is the case, and they are replaced by more 'neutral' terms, Harman's
account
falls apart alarmingly quickly. Why that is so will now be explained.
The problem with the highlighted parts of the
above passage is that they suggest that evolution has a goal, one that has
already been decidedupon by the operation of Engels's first 'Law'
-- i.e., when
the latter has been coupled with natural selection. In order to see this, compare it with a similar
but far less complicated example: the formation of ice or steam. Just as
a sufficient quantity of heat will change water into steam, Harman's use of this 'Law' suggests that the
accumulation of small quantitative changes (in the genetic code, the
development of the CNS,
social organisation, etc., etc.) would
automatically produce 'consciousness' and culture.90
Given Q«Q,
and the water/steam analogy, the outcome of evolution appears to have been written
into the fabric of the universe from the very beginning (that is, it was stitched into the laws
that apparently govern everything -- laws which clearly
include Engels's Q«Q).
That is why Harman's account makes it seem as if this 'Law' -- which also
'determines' the inevitability of water boiling when heated sufficiently -- must have 'determined' the ineluctable development of language and thought.
Apparently, so this story seems to go, gradual increases in the complexity of the
CNS (etc.), linked to,
and emergent from, the development of
collective labour, guaranteed that 'thought' would 'emerge' at some point
in the life of our ancestors, as quantitative changes in their biological
makeup and social organisation "passed over" into qualitative changes in their 'minds' (etc.). This is
the only explanation there can be for Harman's cavalier use of words like: "natural selection
would bring about", and "they both encourage", which clearly suggest agency
in nature. Otherwise, why use such terms?91
It could be objected to this that: (i) DM-theorists
don't claim that such developments were/are "determined", or that there
is anything inevitable about the whole process, and that (ii) DM-theorists
insist there is a dialectical interplay
between an evolving organism (or population of organisms) and its environment --
leading, in this particular case, to the development of 'consciousness' and language.
The second of these volunteered responses
(i.e., (ii)) is by now
well-worn, even threadbare. When faced with what others see as a genuine problem in their
theory, dialecticians almost invariably refer us to the "dialectical interplay"
between this or that object or process, neglecting to give the details. Naturally, this works for
them as a handy 'get-out-of-a-theoretical-hole-free' card, in ways reminiscent
of the use of the word "miracle" in 'Creation
Science', which is no less dishonest for all that.92
In support of
(i) above it could be
argued that the development of
language was in fact dependent on countless contingent events, so it
can't have been inevitable, contrary to an earlier allegation. Now, this would have been an effective response had Harman himself not already holed it well below the waterline with the
following comment:
"…[I]n fact, everything is not
'contingent'.
In certain conditions, both in the biological world and in history, certain
things are likely to happen…." [Harman
(1994), p188, n.73.]
With the best will in the world, it isn't
easy to see how Harman's rejection of universal contingency could in any way
be supported by his claim that some events "are likely to
happen", since part of what we mean when we use the word "contingent" is
that the events so described are "likely to happen" (or otherwise, as
circumstances dictate), not that
they must occur and are hence "inevitable".
Contingent events are those that are neither necessary nor impossible; so
they range from the highly unlikely to the highly likely. In that case, anything that
is "likely to happen" already counts as contingent! Exactly how the
above words substantiate Harman's
rejection
of contingency is, therefore, something of a mystery. If so, his use of terms
that are practically synonymous with "contingency" doesn't in any way help the reader
understand how his
dismissal of contingency can succeed. Indeed, if "everything is not
contingent", then some things must be necessary, and therefore 'determined'!92a
In fact, Harman needs a "must happen" here to
counterpose his rejection of contingency -- i.e., something like the
following:
"...[E]verything is not 'contingent'. In
certain conditions, both in the biological world and in history, certain things
must happen." [Harman (1994), p.188, n.73, deliberately misquoted!]
Admittedly, the inclusion of that particular
phrase comes with a price tag attached: the use of "must" would expose the teleological
nature of the whole argument. This modal qualifier ("must") clearly implies the operation
of some sort of will, direction, intelligence, logical consequence, necessity or purpose in nature. Hence, the
open presence of this sort of claim:
C1: Natural selection must in
the long run bring about language and consciousness,
would be a dead give-away. Even though Harman
evidently requires (and clearly assumes) the truth of C1, it is obvious that he
couldn't risk using a "must" here for fear of undermining Darwinism -- which,
by the way, many still
think removed teleology from nature, or at least from our depiction of it,
when the opposite is the case.93 In the end, what
Harman actually opts for is much stronger
than a mere "will happen". However, the problem is that since he has
already denied contingency in the above passage, he, for one, can't assert that language developed as
the
result of a series of contingent events, without contradicting himself.
In fact, as was asserted above, Harman's
rejection of contingency harmonises almost seamlessly with the necessitating force
underlying Engels's first 'Law' (i.e., Q«Q). So, just as water
has no 'choice' but to turn into
steam at 100oC (this
change is entirely 'determined' by antecedent events, or so the story goes),
similar concomitants must have necessitated the origin of language (even if they are more 'dialectically' complex, in this case). Harman might not like to use such words
himself, but they are nonetheless an apt summary of his position.94
In order to confirm the accuracy of this
'revisionary' interpretation of Harman's reasoning, we need look no further than
several other things
he
says. Near the beginning of his article, we find this dismissal of the
many "just so"
stories that supposedly litter Neo-Darwinian writings (an epithet Harman clearly
borrowed from
Stephen Jay Gould):
"The sparsity of reliable information
makes it very easy for people to make elaborate, unsubstantiated conjectures
about what might have happened, with no facts to confirm or deny them -- the
modern version of the 'Just so' stories
Rudyard Kipling
wrote for children
nearly a century ago. All sorts of writers on human evolution make hypotheses of
the form, 'And, so, perhaps, we can explain the descent of certain apes from the
trees by their need to do X'. Within a couple of paragraphs, the 'perhaps' has
gone, and X becomes the origin of humanity.
"This method is the special hallmark of
sociobiologists…. It is a
method Marxists have to reject." [Harman (1994), p.87.]95
But, unless there has been a misprint here, Harman's rejection of
these "likely stories" (which were, and often still are, triggered by an appeal
to what researchers perceive to be the needs
of organisms, even if that is hidden beneath several layers of inappropriate
metaphor and analogy; more on this below)
-- his rejection must also count as a repudiation of Engels's appeal to the "need to
communicate". In a pre-linguistic group, the assertion that there was a felt
"need to communicate", which led to the development of language, would itself be
just another "just so story", but with added DM-spin. On the other
hand, if the said need weren't a felt need, it would represent a damaging concession to
Lamarckism.96
However, even if this weren't the
case, Harman is fooling himself if he thinks that sophisticated
Neo-Darwinians
and sociobiologists attempt to explain the development of life in such crude
quasi-Lamarckian terms. Little wonder then that he quoted so few references in support of this allegation.97
If Marxists are to confront successfully the
arguments of knowledgeable
Sociobiologists and
Evolutionary Psychologists,
something far less
insubstantial than Engels's first 'Law' will need to be wheeled out of the Dialectical
Dungeon. Unfortunately, this 'Law' seems to be the only
solid argument that Harman has to hand to prevent his own account sliding back
into (at leas) this area of the crude sociobiologist camp (with its own "just so" tales
--
Gottlieb (2012)) -- the idea that distinctly human behaviour traits somehow
"emerged" against a background of increasing material complexity, but which can't be reduced to it,
being one such. [More on this in Essay Three Parts Three and Five (not yet published).]
Ironically then, because Harman buttressed
his account of human origins with his own "just-as-Hegel-and-Engels-say-so-story", he
ended up tail-ending the fabulous tales concocted by sociobiologists, which he
also rightly castigated. To
compound matters, Harman pointedly failed to substantiate this part of
his story with any evidence of note (nor did he address the fatal weaknesses
that afflict Engels's shaky Q«Q
'Law' -- detailed in Essay Seven
Part One).
We can see this more clearly if we examine
how Harman justified the following 'leap' in his argument:
"Only if you see things in this way
can you explain why our species was already endowed with the capacities 35,000
years ago to develop a whole new range of technologies." [Harman (1994),
p.100.
Bold emphasis added.]
Apart from a dire warning that the
consequence of not seeing "things in this way" risks slipping Marxist
theory back into an idealist, "postmodernist", mechanical-materialist
and/or
sociobiological
swamp, this is all Harman
had to offer in support of his own distinct DM-ideas.
Now, while the
Dennetts,
Cronins,
Pinkers, and
Dawkins
of this world mightn't object to much of the secondary evidence Harman
marshalled in support of his account of human origins, they would
surely take exception to the use to which he puts it. This evidence
is in fact consistent with much of what those theorists would argue anyway (particularly all
that material about genes). However, Harman presents us with no new facts from
Psychology, Anthropology, Anatomy, Physiology, Linguistics, or any other branch
of science, for that matter, to substantiate his own "just so story"
--
that 'consciousness' is an "emergent property" of matter.97a Or, indeed, that there
is such a thing as 'consciousness' to begin with (so that it is capable
of "emerging" from anywhere -- on that, see Note 65). Or, that there are
such things as "emergent properties" (that aren't themselves dependent on a quirky misuse of language, or,
which are based on speculative forms of science fiction). Or, that language itself is genetically-based.
Or, that Darwinian change can account for it. Or even that DM has
anything useful to add to our knowledge in this area -- or, indeed, anywhere else,
for that matter.
So, if Harman is to be believed, the only
thing that dialecticians can offer in order to counter theories that are
inimical to Dialectical Marxism (in this respect, at least) is a way of "seeing things" -- albeit augmented
by the convenient ability DM-fans have of being able to "grasp" a-contradiction-a-day
(mentioned earlier),
"emergent" no doubt from the quantitative repetition of Engels's rather
shaky first 'Law'.
Now, any response to the above that
is itself based on a
further appeal to Engels's first 'Law' would be to no avail. That 'Law'
can't bear the weight constantly put upon it by DM-theorists; it is certainly
incapable of countering the detailed arguments that sophisticated sociobiologists have
constructed in support their own ideas. Waving
it
about as some sort of talisman does Marxism no favours -- especially when we
discover that this 'Law' is fundamentally
flawed, to begin with.
The harsh words Harman reserved for
Chris Knight (a reference to whose work provided the only support
for his contention that sociobiologists depend on "just so stories") --
whether deserved or not -- might well now be flipped over and directed back at his own account: by
resting the whole credibility of this area of Marxism on such
wafer-thin foundations, he invites not just disbelief, but easy refutation.
If you are going to take on sophisticated
anti-Marxist theories with little more than an appeal to Engels's first 'Law',
and a hope others will "see things" your way, all the while lambasting
them for their reliance on myth, story and fable, excoriating them for their lack of
corroborating evidence, deprecating the supposed reactionary consequences of
their ideas, speculating about how they simply reflect the "mood of the times",
it isn't a good idea to do so with an account that is contradiction-friendly
itself, overtly Lamarckian, supported by little or no evidence, remarkably badly-stated and
reliant on a few fairy-tales of its own.
The wise course of action here would be
to admit that we just do not know how language developed, and neither does anyone
else -- and we will probably never know. But, that doesn't
mean we have to accept
Adaptationist or
Nativist
accounts of its origin just because the majority of theorists apparently
do, and neither should we make the slightest concession to their ideas.
In fact, it is disconcerting to
see how many of the latter Harman is prepared to take on board, adapting to
other reactionary Neo-Darwinian ideas in this area along the way.98
This is despite the fact that such theories have little to recommend them beyond
an excessive of
metaphor, tailor-made and ideologically-biased mathematical models, convoluted teleological
language, and wild extrapolations from an impoverished evidential base.99
"The genesis of language is in human labour….
Communication is not therefore just one of the functions of language; on the
contrary, language presupposes both logically and de facto the
interaction among people. Language only arises from the need to communicate with
other humans. It is quintessentially social." [Holborow (1999), p.20.]
"Crucially labour…developed within a
co-operative and social context. It was this that led, through the need to
communicate while engaging in co-operative labour, to the rise of the second
specifically human attribute -- language." [Parrington (1997),
p.122.]
Earlier, we saw that Parrington and Holborow
had simply reproduced Engels's comment about the origin of language, that it arose as a result of a
"need to communicate". Oddly enough, these two failed to quote the following words of
Engels's -- a
quirky passage that is often overlooked by those who regard him as a great
philosopher, or even a profound theorist of science:
"Comparison with animals proves that this
explanation of the origin of language from and in the labour process is the only
correct one. The little that even the most highly-developed animals need to
communicate to each other does not require articulate speech. In a state of
nature, no animal feels handicapped by its inability to speak or to understand
human speech. It is quite different when it has been tamed by man. The dog and
the horse, by association with man, have developed such a good ear for
articulate speech that they easily understand any language within their range of
concept (sic)…. Anyone who has had much to do with such animals will hardly be
able to escape the conviction that in many cases they now feel their
inability to speak as a defect…. Let no one object that the parrot does not
understand what it says…. [W]ithin the limits of its range of concepts it can
also learn to understand what it is saying. Teach a parrot swear words in such a
way that it gets an idea of their meaning…; tease it and you will soon discover
that it knows how to use its swear words just as correctly as a Berlin
costermonger. The same is true of begging for titbits." [Engels (1876),
pp.356-57.]
Contrary to what Engels asserts, we shouldn't want to concede that animals understand our use of language (or,
indeed, that they grasp the import of swear words, for instance) simply
because parrots, for example, can make certain sounds -- or, just because some humans
are a tad too sentimental and believe that their pet dog can "understand
every word they say". If understanding were attributable to animals solely
on the basis of vocalisation, then we might have to admit that, for example, the
ability most of us have of repeating foreign words upon hearing them means that
we too understand the language from whence they came, when quite often we don't. For example, although I can read both Hebrew and Greek, I actually
understand very few words of either language.
But, even
when we repeat foreign words we don't understand we would still
be viewing them from our standpoint as sophisticated users of our own
language, which means that the dice have already been heavily loaded (so to speak) in our
favour. Because of this, we often make an educated guess concerning the meaning
of any new (foreign) words we might encounter, based on knowledge of our own
language. Moreover, we do this against a background of shared behaviour and a common
culture that links us -- directly or indirectly, closely or remotely -- with all
other human beings. The same can't be said of parrots,
dogs and horses.
We should, I think, only want to count
someone (or something) as having understood what is said if it possessed a sufficiently detailed verbal and behavioural repertoire,
at the very least. If, for example, such a 'proto-linguist' couldn't form
new sentences from their 'vocabulary', if they were incapable of forming the
negation of any of their sentences (for example replying "No, it isn't raining"
when told it is raining), or couldn't cope with word-order change, if they
were unable to refer to anything proximate to, or remote from, their
immediate surroundings, if they couldn't identify or specify any of the
implications of what they had said, or of what was said to them, if they were
incapable of reasoning (hypothetically) both with truths and
falsehoods (in the latter case, for example, with an "If that's true, I'm a
monkey's uncle!"), failed to appreciate stories or fiction, if they couldn't
respond to humour, or engage in self-criticism, if they were regularly perplexed
by new sentences they had never encountered before (even those that contained
'words' drawn from their own repertoire), if they couldn't follow or give instructions, and so on, then I
think most of us would have serious doubts about their
capacity to understand the target language.100
On the other hand, had Engels said the
following to one of his parrots: "Swearing isn't allowed here because it
represents the language of oppression" (to paraphrase Trotsky) -- and the
parrot had stopped swearing as a result, or, maybe, had deliberately sworn even
more as a result! -- we might
be a little more
impressed with his claims.
Despite this, Engels's ideas don't seem to
hang together even on their own terms. If language and understanding
are the products of social development (augmented by co-operative
labour), then they most certainly do not hang together. Indeed, Engels even says:
"Comparison with animals
proves that this explanation of the origin of language from and in the labour
process is the only correct one.... First labour, after it and then with
it speech -- these were the two most essential stimuli under the influence of
which the brain of the ape gradually changed into that of man...."
[Engels (1876),
pp.356-57. Paragraphs merged.]
If so,at a minimum, how could an
animal comprehend our speech without also having gone through t
