Wittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations 9780585069821

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W ittgenstein ’s P hilosophical Investigations

W ittgenstein ’s P hilosophical Investigations A Guide B r e n d a n W il s o n

E d in burg h U

n iversity

P ress

To my parents

© Brendan Wilson, 1998 Transferred to digital print 2005

Edinburgh University Press 22 George Square, Edinburgh Typeset in 11 on 13pt Goudy Old Style by Hewer Text Ltd, Edinburgh.

Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Antony Rowe, Eastbourne

A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN 0 7486 1059 6 The right of Brendan Wilson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Contents

Preface Summarises the main argument of the present book, and explains three unusual features of its method. A Private Language Argues that a private language is one based on inner ostensive definition, and that the concept is important in semantics and in epistemology [Saussure, Lakoff, Russell). The Consequences Argument Discusses PI 268, 270 etc., interpreting them as based not on memory-scepticism, but on an argument by analogy. The Stage-setting Argument Discusses PI 257, 30-2 etc., on the ascending hierarchy from correlating to naming to describing. The Practice Argument Discusses PI 198-202 etc., on Wittgenstein’s claim that a custom or practice is necessary for language use [Blackburn, Malcolm, Johnston, Hacker). The Interpretation Argument Discusses PI 206-7 etc., on the claim that we could not interpret a private language as a language. The Identification Argument Discusses PI 288 etc., on whether it is possible, for us or for the putative private language user (PLU), to err in identifying a sensation [RortyJ.

C ontents The Verificationist Argument Discusses PI 258, 265 etc., arguing 1 that there is no verificationist support in PI for the Practice or Interpretation Arguments; 2 that there is a new argument against a private language which, though based on the possibility of verification, does not commit Wittgenstein to a prescriptive connection between verification and meaning; 3 that there are definite, general connections made in PI between verification and meaning, but that these are not prescriptive and correspondingly do not provide arguments against a private language [Johnston, Blackburn, Ayer].

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The Beetle-in^the-box Argument Discusses PI 293 etc., contrasting two interpretations of Wittgenstein’s parable [Hacker].

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The Use Argument Discusses PI 43, 138, 374 etc., on Wittgenstein’s definition of meaning as use and its corollary, that a sentence without an ordinary use has no genuine meaning [Dummett, Kenny, Rundle, Stern, Feyerabend].

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Interim Results Summarises the preceding sections as arguing, not that a private language is impossible, but that we have no clear concept of what a private language would be.

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The Post'308 Project Argues that the Private Language Argument merely introduces the larger project (which occupies PI 308-693) of showing in detail that we do not understand the picture of the inner on which the concept of a private language is based.

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The Improvement Argument Discusses PI 294, 308 etc., on whether we have any concept of what it would be to know an introspectible entity better.

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The Interruption Argument Discusses PI 328, 633-7, on what it means to interrupt a train of thought.

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations The Speed of Thought Argument Discusses PI 318-21 etc., on Wittgenstein’s claim that a lightninglike* thought is abbreviated, not accelerated. Also examines the role of introspection in PI, concluding that introspective evidence is essential to Wittgenstein’s philosophical method.

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The Pre-existence Argument Discusses PI 334-5, 662 etc., on whether thinking/meaning must precede thoughtful/meaningfiil speech.

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The Co-existence Argument Discusses PI 330-2, 501 etc., on whether thinking/meaning must accompany thoughtful/meaningful speech.

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The Description Argument Discusses PI 577, 582, 585 etc., on what it means to describe a state of mind. This leads into a discussion of avowal and criterionless assertion [Malcolm].

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The Pointing Argument Discusses PI 382, 411, 669-72 etc., on the analogy between pointing and inner ostension.

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The Hypostasis Argument Discusses PI 595-601 etc., on Wittgenstein’s reductio argument against the hypostasis of unconscious inner processes as uncontrollable. Also discusses PI 185-92 as a related argument against hypostasis [Pinker].

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The Connection Argument Falls into three parts, discussing Wittgenstein’s remarks on 1 connections between inner entities/processes and (a) other inner entities/processes, (b) the self; 2 connections between inner entities/processes and action (also examining the concept of a criterion); 3 connections between inner entities/processes and outer objects [Glock, Hacker, the Hintikkas, Sterelny, Davidson, Searle, Fodor].

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The Structure of PI Gives an overview of PI, based on the preceding sections. Conclusion Assesses the success of the post-308 project as explained above, arguing that on the interpretation offered, PI can be seen to be

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C ontents not only unified and accessible, but also sharply relevant to contemporary concerns [Langacker].

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Appendix: The Rule-following Considerations Discusses PI 54, 81-4, 185-219 etc., on following a rule. Argues that Wittgenstein does not attack a private language on the grounds that the PLU could not follow a private rule, because he does not believe that language must be rule-governed to be meaningful. Also offers an alternative explanation of the particular ‘resonance* of the rule-following considerations [Budd].

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Bibliography

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Index

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Preface

W hen someone hears a word and understands it, what happens in the hearer’s mind? Does a mental process occur, perhaps unconsciously, that constitutes the hearer’s understanding, or is essential for it? A nd do the speaker’s words have meaning because o f something that exists or happens in the speaker’s mind? These are the central questions of W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations. O ne set of answers to these questions stems from a classical picture of language that W ittgenstein finds, for example, in Augustine. This picture has three main elements: 1. that naming is the fundamental or essential function of language; 2. that the meaning of a name is the thing it stands for (its bearer); 3. that understanding a name is a matter of mentally associating the name with its bearer. In addition to its common-sense appeal, this picture promised to satisfy the Fregean requirement (which W ittgenstein’s early work had whole-heartedly endorsed) that any proposition that has a meaning must have an exact meaning. If a proposition can be analysed, eventually, into a concatenation of names, each of which means the thing it directly stands for, then the meaning of the proposition as a whole will be absolutely precise. T h e Investigations rejects all this, providing in the process an alternative approach to the questions set out above. W ittgenstein argues against the new Fregean employment for the classical picture, that natural language propositions contain ineliminable areas o f vagueness and, in spite of this, function perfectly well. Against naming as the essence o f language, he argues that language has many functions, and that the urge to reduce these to one is a mistake. There is no single essence of language, just as there is no

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Preface single definition of the word ‘game’. (W ittgenstein’s anti-essentialist argu­ ments also undermine the notion o f analysis, the means by which determinacy of sense was to have been revealed.) Against element (2) a referential theory o f meaning - he concedes that we explain the meaning of the name by pointing to its bearer, but shows that reifying the meaning, and identifying it with the bearer, is absurd. Elem ent (3), however, is more difficult. It can survive the demise of (1) and (2), and is in any case a more adaptable and more deeply rooted error than they were. W ittgenstein accordingly devotes the rest of the Investiga­ tions (from PI 138 on) to this third element. Now it is widely supposed that the centrepiece of W ittgenstein’s case against (3) is the famous Private Language Argument, and my first task is therefore to look in detail at this many-stranded argument (found in the remarks from PI 243-308). T h e Private Language Argument is often interpreted as aimed at establishing the second premiss in an overall structure like this: 1. If meaning and understanding are essentially mental, then it should be possible to have or imagine an entirely private language. 2. But an entirely private language is impossible. 3. So meaning and understanding are not essentially mental. If we carefully unpick the various strands of the Private Language Argum ent, however, three possible objectives can be discerned. These are, first, that we (observers) would not be able to recognise private sign­ making or sign-using as a language. Second, that someone whose putative ‘language’ arose from private mental decisions or acts of thought would not in fact possess certain abilities necessary for language use. A nd third, that the idea o f a mental act or object is radically unclear and so cannot help explain language use. I argue that this third claim is fundamental. T h e ‘decisive movement in the conjuring trick’, the false assumption shared by behaviourist and dualist alike, is that we understand what it means to say that someone has something before his consciousness, or present to her introspection (PI 308). A nd correspondingly, the fundamental failing of the classical picture of understanding as mental association is that we have no concept of mental association clear enough to provide an explanatory account o f understanding (or meaning). But if this is correct, then the real work begins (rather than ending, as is usually thought) around PI 308. T h e Private Language Argument clarifies the objective which the remainder of the Investigations is to pursue. For, if the aim is to show that we do not understand the classical picture in spite of

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations its long history and common-sense appeal, this obviously requires considerable argument. So how could it be shown that we do not really understand something we think we do understand? W ittgenstein’s method is to take the applications o f the picture of inner objects, one by one, and bring us to see that expressions which should according to the picture be meaningful, are in fact impossible to employ in any normal situation. A t PI 328, for example, he asks, ‘Suppose someone takes a measurement in the middle of a train of thought: has he interrupted the thought if he says nothing to himself during the measuring?’ A t PI 330, he writes, ‘Say: “Yes, this pen is blunt. O h well, it’ll do.” First, thinking it; then, without thought; then just think the thought without words.’ If thinking is an inner process, then the question about interruption and the instructions about separating the process of thinking from the process of speaking ought to make sense. But in fact they seem at least puzzling. By means o f these and many other arguments, together constituting what I call the ‘post'308 project’, W ittgenstein attempted to question the intelligibility of the picture of inner objects, and in that way, complete what the Private Language Argument began. A t this point of transition (PI 308) we have the clearest emergence of what seems to me a fundamental idea for an understanding of PI. W ittgenstein talks in PI 308 of the ‘analogy which was to make us understand our thoughts’ and says that en route to the philosophical problem of mental processes and behaviourism, this analogy ‘falls to pieces’. T h e analogy, I take it, is between inner and outer. We model mental states and processes in a vague and opportunistic way - on the physical states and processes we see around us and, using this analogy, understand the inner well enough for all ordinary purposes. T h e analogy serves us well and we are not to think of rejecting it (as the behaviourist does). Unfortunately we are strongly inclined to feel dissatisfied with its vagueness and opportunism, and to try to ‘improve’ on its ordinary function in language. Subjected to this wellmeaning rigour, the analogy falls to pieces, leaving us without even the understanding of the mental with which we began. Thus, for W ittgenstein, the attempt to put mental states and processes to work in a theory of meaning and understanding destroys, and can be shown to destroy, the intelligibility of all ‘improved’ talk about the mental. T h ere are four prim a facie problems for this project. In the first place, it is W ittgenstein’s own view that an inability to answer certain questions or use certain expressions, which should in theory make sense, is perfectly norm al. Even a word like ‘ch air’ does not come with rules for use in every possible situation (PI 80). T h is is one aspect o f the ineliminable vagueness of language m entioned above. Second, W ittgenstein him self emphasises

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Preface the pervasiveness o f the inner objects picture. It suggests itself to us in many ordinary contexts. It has an established base in ordinary and not merely philosophical, usage (see, for example, PI 423). How, then, could it be unintelligible? Third, Wittgenstein admits genuine differences in experience in many cases. He accepts, for example, that there is a difference between thinking before one speaks and merely speaking (see, for example, PI 332, PI II.xi.183). A nd this (I argue) is essential to his philosophical method: introspection, along with ordinary language use, is a crucial source of philosophical evidence for Wittgenstein. But aren’t these admitted ‘differences in experience* the mental acts and decisions that constitute the inner objects picture (PI 358)? Finally, it might be suggested (following Duhem) that the picture could be made meaningful, not by inheriting its meaning from everyday speech, but by playing a certain role in a developed scientific or philosophical theory. Wittgenstein’s arguments seem to neglect this possibility. I argue that these prima facie objections can be met, but I believe they have sufficient force to show that Wittgenstein’s arguments do not rule out explanation by introspectible objects as impossible to understand. Explana­ tions, for example, of experimental reaction times as resulting from introspective consultation of images cannot be dismissed a priori as meaningless. T h e lesson of the Investigations is not that we have or ought to look for a principled or conclusive refutation of such explanations. Wittgenstein’s achievement is rather to have defamiliarised the (improved) picture of inner objects, to the point where that picture will be used in scientific explanations only as a last resort. T h e claim that a private language is impossible (as in premiss 2 above) is dramatic and controversial, and so is the claim that the concept of a private language is impossible to understand. But W ittgenstein’s view o f the nature o f philosophy better suits the more modest and realistic claim that our grasp o f the concept o f a mental act or object has, as a matter of simple fact, given and describable limits (PI 126-8). By reminding us of these limits, in uniquely persuasive and insightful ways, W ittgenstein’s work casts impor­ tant light on language and the mind, light that the dramatic claims can only scatter and diffuse. Three methodological points are in order. T h e first concerns Part II o f the Philosophical Investigations, and particularly section xi. T h e length and importance of this section are such that I find it convenient to number the remarks composing it, in the same way that the remarks in Part I are numbered. It may be helpful to pencil in numbers alongside the remarks of this section. Here are some reference points: I shall call the following figure . . . ‘Now I am seeing this . . .’

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations If I saw the duck-rabbit . . . The very expression which . . . Imagine the duck-rabbit . . . The concept of ‘seeing’ . . . (And yet my impression . . . ‘To me it is an animal . . . ‘Fine shades of behaviour.’ It is only if someone can do . . . The colour of the visual impression . When I pronounce this word . . . But doesn’t the word that occurs . . . If a lion could talk . . . One judges the length . . . ‘The genuineness of an expression . .

27 35 42 50 63 84 102 116 137 156 187 218 229 248

T h e second m ethodological point concerns the layout o f the present book. W ittgenstein’s insights have of course given rise to a huge am ount of secondary m aterial, which any writer must engage with, not only to acknowledge debts and differing views, but also to define in greater detail his or her reaction to the primary text. O n the other hand, the present book is intended primarily to explain what W ittgenstein said, and some readers may wish to skip some of the more specialised secondary discussion. Rather than use end notes for the secondary discussion, which condem ns the reader to a great deal of wearisome turning back and forth, I have adopted a normal layout for what I have to say about W ittgenstein, with an unusual indented position for discussion of critics and com m entators. T h e third and most important methodological point concerns the reliability of sources. I shall take it that PI represents the later W ittgenstein’s most considered statement and relegate other sources to a purely corroborative role. I shall make it my policy to be rather wary of using them even to ‘throw light’ on W ittgenstein’s intentions in PI. Let me try to be clear about this. I do not for a moment deny that anyone wishing to understand PI must be familiar with the other selections of material now available to us. Peter H acker’s excellent discussion of W ittgenstein’s evolving response to solipsism (in Insight and Illusion) is only one example of the potential value of other sources. There is also no doubt that these other sources - and particularly W ittgenstein’s writings on m athematics and epistemology - deserve independent study. But there are dangers here too. For one thing, we know that W ittgenstein cared very deeply about style, and in particular about paring away anything superfluous, anything not exactly right (see for example Ray M o nk’s T he Duty o f

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Preface Genius, p. 480f.). T h e resulting concentration and purity of his style are in some danger of dilution, it seems to me, from our natural interest in the other material. A nd there is a second, more serious danger, o f taking as W ittgenstein’s considered view, lines of thought that he pursued in a more or less exploratory spirit. Som e very radical ideas about causality, for example, appear in the collection published as Zettel (see 608f.). It is the editors’ opinion that W ittgenstein was probably ‘fairly satisfied* with these remarks and that he ‘intended to weave [them] into finished work if places for them should appear*. There is a difficult question, therefore, about the extent to which our interpretation of PI should incorporate these relevant and striking remarks. In fact, I think these and other remarks on causality do help us to see a certain cluster of ideas in PI (discussed below as the Plasticity o f Thought). But it also seems to me important that W ittgenstein chose to om it these radical ideas about causality from PI (PI 158, for example, is much more moderate). He might have eventually included them in a reworked and expanded version o f what is now Part II, but the fact is that they were available for inclusion before he ended work on Part II and they were not included (see David Stern ’s article ‘T h e Availability of W ittgenstein’s Philosophy’ for more on these uncertainties, and for a different view of the primacy of PI). Lacking any indication to the contra­ ry, I think our safest course in an exegesis o f PI is to regard these remarks as exploratory and nothing more. T h e third danger of an over-enthusiastic use of external evidence is that we shall, unwittingly, create the impression that the later W ittgenstein left only a morass of notes, open to endless re-interpretation. I hope to show (on the basis of internal evidence alone) that, on the contrary, he left us a masterpiece, albeit one that is still seriously misunderstood. I am indebted to Hide Ishiguro and Akiko Tsukam oto for helpful comments on a late draft, to C olin Lyas for a perceptive reader’s report, and to Yoshiki Nishimura for his tenacious defence of cognitive linguistics. e-mail: brendan@ boz.c.u-tokyo.ac.jp

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A Private Language

W hat is a private language and why is it important? A private language is one whose words become meaningful as a result of an inner definition or inner association of sign and concept. O ne plausible example would be our language for sensations. A t PI 258, W ittgenstein asks how we might give ourselves an ostensive definition of a sensation-word. O f course a person cannot point to a sensation in the ordinary sense. But perhaps *1 speak, or write the sign down, and at the same time I concentrate my attention on the sensation - and so, as it were, point to it inwardly*. A t PI 262, he says that ‘if you have given yourself a private definition of a word, then you must inwardly undertake to use the word in such-and-such a way*. It is this inward pointing or inward undertaking that is essential to a private language. A t PI 243, W ittgenstein introduces the idea o f a private language as one that refers to an individual’s immediate private sensations. A nd at PI 256, he refines this by stipulating that the sensations referred to should be ones that have no natural expressions (to rule out the possibility that the private language really becomes meaningful by means of these natural expressions). But it is important to realise that the sub-language referring to sensations is offered only as one possible example of a private language. In fact, any part of language that becomes meaningful as a result of an inner act of ostension or an inner definition, counts as private (because no one else can directly check this meaning-conferring act or definition PI 272). If, for example, all my furniture-terms were to become meaningful for me as a result of an inner act of association between sounds or written signs (as I perceive them) and concepts or mental images, then ‘table* and ‘chair* would be just as private to me as ‘tickle* or ‘twinge* might be. T h e case of sensations that lack any natural expression merely sharpens the general issue, because inward pointing as a way o f giving meaning is at its most plausible there. W hy is this idea of a private language important? Primarily, because it forms a very appealing theory of meaning and understanding. In fact, once

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A Private Language we begin to ask questions like, ‘W hat is involved in a person learning the meaning of a word?1, ‘W hat happens when someone understands some' thing?*, ‘How does a speaker mean a particular person by a name that several people share?*, it seems almost no more than com m on sense to return answers that depend on the idea of a private language. Som eone knows the meaning of a word, we are very tempted to suppose, when he or she knows which idea ‘goes with* that word. Lacking the right idea, the hearer or reader does not understand, ‘has no idea*. We are able to mean a particular person by the name ‘Mary*, for example, because we have an idea of that particular Mary in mind: we associate the sound or written sign ‘Mary* with an idea of that particular person. A nd so on. This kind of theory not only seems like common sense, it also promises to help solve some more specific problems. A proper name is often associated with a unique individual, for example ‘Bucephalus* with a particular horse. A nd we may be prepared to accept it as a basic fact about human beings that they have the ability to associate signs with individual things. But many words, to be used meaningfully or understood, must be associated with indefinitely many things. T h e word ‘horse*, for example, cannot be used properly or understood if it is associated in a learner’s mind with only one thing (a kind of mistake sometimes made by small children). How, then, do we move from the primitive ability to associate signs with specific things, to the ability, which it seems we must have, to associate signs with indefinitely many things, most of which we have never seen or heard of? John Locke’s answer was that we create and employ a special kind of idea, which has all the unique identifying characteristics of particular individuals left out. By associating the sound ‘horse* with this de-particularised or abstract general idea, we are able to use and understand the word ‘horse* in the way we do. Locke’s account essentially follows that o f Peter Abelard, over 500 years earlier, and W ittgenstein traces the underlying outlook a further 700 years back, to Augustine (PI 1). Far from being of merely historical interest, however, its appeal continues undimmed into the present. Ferdinand de Saussure is widely regarded as the father of modern linguistics. His distinctions between synchronic and diachronic studies, between langue and parole, between signification and value have profoundly influenced developments in twentieth-century linguistics. T o what extent, then, did he subscribe to a Lockean ideational theory of meaning? In essence, I think it is fair to say that he accepted such a theory. In the Course in G eneral Linguistics we find, ‘T h e linguistic sign unites, not a thing and a name, but a concept and a sound-image* (p. 66). A nd Saussure’s model of com m unication is exactly as one would expect: when A commu­ nicates with B, the process o f communication begins in A :

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations where mental facts (concepts) are associated with representations of the linguistic sounds (sound-images) that are used for their expression. A given concept unlocks a corresponding sound-image in the brain; this purely psychological phenomenon is followed in turn by a physiological process: the brain transmits an impulse corresponding to the image to the organs used in producing sounds. Then the sound waves travel from the mouth of A to the ear of B: a purely physical process. Next, the circuit continues in B, but the order is reversed . . . (pp. 11-12). Saussure seems to have been aware, however, o f the lurking difficulties of this apparently common-sense model. He writes (or is reported as saying): ‘If I state simply that a word signifies something when I have in mind the associating o f a sound-image with a concept, I am making a statement that may suggest what actually happens, but by no means am I expressing the linguistic fact in its essence and fullness’ (p. 117). A nd in three main ways, Saussure tried to qualify the basic Lockean model. First, he resists the claim that we have concepts prior to language, awaiting linguistic expression. He says, ‘Psychologically our thought - apart from its expression in words - is only a shapeless and indistinct mass . . . There are no pre-existing ideas, and nothing is distinct before the appear­ ance of language’ (pp. 111-12). Second, he regards the association between a word and a concept as less important in determining the word’s meaning than the word’s place in a system o f related words which, as it were, act together to parcel out the available semantic space. T h e value of a word ‘is not fixed so long as one simply states that it can be ‘exchanged’ for a given concept, i.e. that it has this or that signification: one must also compare it with similar values, with other words that stand in opposition to it’ (p. 115). T h e same thing applies to concepts. ‘Concepts are purely differential and defined not by their positive content but negatively by their relations with the other terms o f the system. Their most precise characteristic is in being what the others are n o t’ (p. 117). Thus: to consider a term as simply the union of a certain sound with a certain concept is grossly misleading . . . it would mean assuming that one can start from the terms and construct the system by adding them together when, on the contrary, it is from the interdependent whole that one must start and through analysis obtain its elements (p. 113). This is a clear statement of holism avant la lettre. Third (and in a striking anticipation o f the W ittgensteinian arguments we shall be looking at), Saussure insists on the social nature of language. He

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A Private Language says, ‘the social fact alone can create a linguistic system. T h e community is necessary if values that owe their existence solely to usage and general acceptance are to be set up; by himself the individual is incapable of fixing a single value* (p. 113). Saussure, then, is by no means an unthinking adherent of the Lockean approach, but an adherent he is nevertheless. Let’s move forward some eighty years and consider a more up-to-date manifestation of the same approach. There are o f course various conflicting trends and schools within contemporary linguistics, but one whose star appears to be currently on the rise is cognitive linguistics. A representative example is George LakofPs 1987 book about categorisation, W om en, Fire and Dangerous Things. LakofPs book documents various types of categorisation, using evidence from different languages, and his main goal is to develop theories capable of accounting for this variety. This is a far more detailed project than anything Locke attempted regarding general terms, but if we examine the basic ideas o f these theories, we find a form of explanation that would have been entirely congenial to Locke. LakofPs theories involve things he calls ‘cognitive models’. He sees predecessors for this notion in M arvin M insky’s ‘frames* and Hilary Putnam ’s ‘stereotypes’, which he characterises as ‘idealized mental representation[s] of a normal case*. He writes, ‘W hat was right about the PutnamMinsky approaches was that they used cognitive models. Their problem was that their concept of a cognitive model was too restricted . . . 1 believe that a general notion of cognitive model of the sort characterized in this book will be able to account for categorization phenomena in general’ (pp. 116-17). Lakoff defines a cognitive model as a complex concept that structures a mental space, formed from basic-level and image-schematic concepts (see p. 281). Defining these in turn, he tells us that mental spaces ‘are conceptual in nature. They have no ontological status outside of the m ind’ (p. 282). Basic-level concepts are such concepts as cat and mat, and Lakoff explains sentence understanding in terms of them. He writes: It is possible to have a direct understanding of the proverbial The cat is on the maty since cat and mat are basic-level concepts (presumably with associated mental images) and on is composed of three kinesthetic image schemas: above , contact , and support ’ (p. 293). Basic-level concepts are also implicated in perception and recognition according to Lakoff: ‘T h e mental image associated with your basic-level concept o f cat can accord with your perception o f the overall shape o f a cat’ (p. 293), enabling you to recognise it as a cat.

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations This leaves image schemas, and mental images. ‘Image schemas are relatively simple structures that constantly recur in our everyday bodily experience: containers, paths, links, forces, balance and in various orientations and relations: up- down, front- back, part- whole, centerperiphery etc.* (p. 267). Image schemas ‘are kinesthetic in nature, that is, they have to do with the sense o f spatial locations, movement, shape etc, independent of any particular sensory modality* (p. 445). In the same way, a mental image is not necessarily visual: ‘We also have auditory images, olfactory images, and images of how forces act on us* (p. 444). These images ‘are not nearly as detailed as perceptions’, and may or may not represent particular individuals. A n image of a cup, for example, ‘may or may not be of a specific cup*. Lakoff believes that ‘Most people are capable o f forming non-specific images’ (p. 446). He also holds that such images ‘are used to understand even the simplest, most straightforward sentences’ such as ‘Joh n hit a ball’ (p. 453), because the phrase ‘hit a ball’ has ‘an associated conventional image that characterizes the normal case, and with no further modification we assume that the normal case holds* (p. 453). So images are more abstract than perceptions, and image schemas are more abstract again: they ‘cannot be directly visualized in the way a rich image can be . . .In this respect, they are much like Kant*s ‘schema* for a triangle, which Kant conceived of as fitting equilateral, isosceles, acute and obtuse triangles without being rich enough in detail to be visualizable as any particular one* (p. 453). In precisely the same respect, they seem to be very direct descendants of Locke*s abstract general ideas. Locke wrote (in a famous passage seized on by Berkeley), general ideas are fictions and contrivances of the mind that carry difficulty with them, and do not so easily offer themselves as we are apt to imagine. For example, does it not require some pains and skill to form the general idea of a triangle (which is yet none of the most abstract, comprehensive and difficult); for it must be neither oblique nor rectangle, neither equilateral, equicrural, nor scalenon; but all and none of these at once. (Essay on Human Under­ standing IV.vii.9. For Berkeley’s attack on abstract general ideas, see his Treatise Concerning the Principles o f Human Knowledge sections 6-20.) This has been a very brisk sketch o f Lakoff s long and detailed book, intended only to bring out its explanatory strategy. We categorise in the ways we do, according to Lakoff, because we individually possess certain cognitive models. These models show considerable agreement from person to person. There are people who say they don’t have any image for the idiom spill the beans, for example, but they probably ‘have an unconscious image* (p. 449). It is this ‘remarkable* degree o f mental uniformity that

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A Private Language allows members of the same language group to understand sentences in the same way. Lakoff says that T h e ideas about cognitive models that we will be making use of have developed within cognitive linguistics* and gives a number o f wellknown sources for them (p. 68), so we may take these Lockean ideas to be characteristic o f at least one important strand within contemporary linguis­ tics. (In what follows, I shall use the term ‘Lockean* as a catch-all for the kind of view W ittgenstein wants to attack. I do not mean to imply that the historical Joh n Locke explicitly held all the views I shall describe as Lockean). So the idea of a private language is important because of its continuing popularity in theories of meaning and understanding. For Lakoff, categoryterms become meaningful because language-users individually associate them with entities that are mental, that have no existence outside the language-user’s mind. But if, as W ittgenstein argues, there is something fundamentally wrong with this mental conferring o f meaning, we shall have to re-think either the questions that gave rise to it, or the answers that made use o f it. It is important, however, for another, epistemological, reason too. Descartes thought it good scientific method to doubt whatever could be doubted and proceed to build up knowledge on the basis of those certainties that remained. In recommending this method, however, he raised a sceptical demon that has since proved rather harder to exorcise than Descartes himself hoped. Descartes held that it is possible to doubt the existence o f the external world and other people. He thought it also possible to doubt even the existence o f his own body, because all experience might be a dream. It was not possible, however, to doubt that he was thinking, while doing so. Even the thought, ‘Perhaps I am not really thinking now*, is a thought, and so the very doubt shows itself to be false. Building on this indubitable basis, Descartes argued that if there is a thought, there must be a thinking thing. He claimed that this thing can be assured that G od exists (from its own existence, from the immediately perceived fact that it is not the source o f its own existence, and from the a priori principle that whatever exists must have some source o f its existence). A nd if G od exists, the thinking thing can be assured that most of its natural beliefs are true, or at least rectifiable with the means at its disposal (because G od could not be a deceiver). But all these reconstructive steps can plausibly be challenged, and what remains, it seems, is a scepticism from which there is no rational escape. N otice, however, that Descartes* initial, radical doubt depends on the idea o f a private language. Even if no one else existed, even if the external world and my own body did not exist, still, Descartes assumes, it would be possible to use language meaningfully. I could still say ‘Cogito ergo sum*

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations inwardly, to myself. Thus, if there is something ill-conceived or impossible in the notion of a private language, we should resist Descartes’ invitation to radical doubt. D oubt as radical as that would not be a useful antidote to superstition, as Descartes believed, but in itself a kind of philosophical superstition. For a twentieth-century example o f the epistemological relevance of the idea of a private language, we can look to the ambitious phenomenalist program set out in Russell’s 1914 essay ‘T h e Relation of Sense-Data to Physics’. Russell there envisaged an explanation of the common-sense notion of a thing, and of the scientific notion of matter, which would reveal them to be logical constructions, ideally out o f the actual sense-data of a solitary individual. This reductionist program would yield an ontology without physical objects or matter, and therefore with the twin epistemological advantages o f economy and resistance to scepticism. Its basic entities would be sense-data, and, in the course of explaining what these are, Russell argued that the sense-data perceived by different people are often closely similar, ‘so similar that the same words can be used to denote them, without which communication with others concerning sensible objects would be impossible. But, in spite of this similarity, it would seem that some difference always arises from difference in the point o f view. Thus each person, so far as his sense-data are concerned, lives in a private world.’ Russell’s phenomenalism, then, brings with it the concept of language as something made meaningful by a correlation between words and sense-data, and therefore made publicly usable by an assumed similarity between the sense-data o f different speakers. If this idea of language is untenable, Russell’s project (even if successful) would seem only to exchange a scepticism about the external world for a more fundamental scepticism about our ability to use language meaningfully. In PI, Wittgenstein concentrates on the first set of issues (of meaning and understanding), deliberately avoiding the issues of knowledge and scepticism, and I shall naturally do the same. It is important to realise that the Private Language Argument has a potential relevance beyond the problems of meaning and understanding, but it is also important to deal with the epistemological issues separately. Let’s turn, then, to Wittgenstein’s arguments against a private language. W hat’s wrong with the idea of conferring or grasping meaning as a result of inner ostensions, or inner decisions? I believe there are eight main arguments in PI attacking the idea of a private language. This number is a little arbitrary, because, as will emerge, the arguments overlap, and are given very different degrees of prominence. I propose to begin with those least prominent and least interwoven with the rest.

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T he C onsequences A rgument

T h e C on sequ en ces A rgum ent W ittgenstein comments at PI 268 that my right hand cannot give my left hand money, because ‘the further practical consequences would not be those of a gift*. He goes on to draw an analogy with a private definition o f a word, (explained, again, as someone saying the word to himself and at the same time directing his attention to, or concentrating on, a sensation). T his private definition is not a real definition, presumably, because it does not have the further practical consequences of a definition. But why is it impossible for a private definition to have practical consequences? Wittgenstein argues at PI 270 that the m ark ‘S* (which someone writes in a diary to record the occurrence of a certain sensation), even allowing for the sake of argument that it could really be meaningful, could not have a genuine, practical use. PI 270 begins by trying to imagine a use for this private sign ‘S ’. For example, ‘I discover that whenever I have a particular sensation a manometer shews that my blood-pressure rises. So I shall be able to say that my bloodpressure is rising without using any apparatus. This is a useful result.1 W ittgenstein here allows that I can correlate the sensation and the manometer reading. T h e next sentences of PI 270 seem to take this back, however. W ittgenstein writes, ‘A nd now it seems quite indifferent whether I have recognized the sensation right or not. Let us suppose I regularly identify it wrong, it does not matter in the least. A nd that alone shews that the hypothesis that I make a mistake is mere show.* But why does it not matter if I identify the sensation wrong? W ouldn’t misidentifying the sensation lead me to make mistakes about my bloodpressure - mistakes which I could discover and correct by using the mano­ meter? I think to myself, ‘There’s S again. . . my blood-pressure must be high’. I decide to check with the manometer and find that my blood-pressure is normal. ‘So it can’t have been S after all,’ I decide. Misidentifying a different sensation as S has led me to make a mistake which I then correct. Som e commentators think that W ittgenstein’s point in this difficult section is that an individual’s memory, unsupported by public confirm ation deriving from the natural expressions of sensations, would not be reliable enough to allow regular reidentification of any sensation. O n this view, a private definition could not have practical consequences because the giver of the definition could not subsequently be sure that he or she remembered it correctly. Thus, at PI 271, we are invited to imagine ‘a person whose memory could not retain what the word “pain” m eant’. But it seems that this memory-doubt would apply as powerfully to the correlation between sensations and manometer-readings (which Wittgenstein

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations seemed prepared to accept as possible), as to the correlation between sensations and utterances of ‘S ’. T he memory-doubt would not be limited to private definition but would apply to any correlation involving sensations that do not have natural expressions. And this seems implausible. T h e taste of mint has no natural expressions (unlike the taste o f lemon, for example). But couldn’t a solitary island-dweller correlate that taste with leaves of a certain size, shape and colour, so that he or she would know what taste to expect on later occasions? Would the taste of a banana be a complete surprise every time? It seems to me that an alternative reading of PI 270 is possible. Identifying the sensation right does not m atter, as a guide to the state of my blood-pressure, because the manometer-reading always, or almost always, takes precedence. As above, if the m anom eter reads norm al, my reaction will be to withdraw the claim that the sensation I experienced was S. Identifying the sensation correctly does not m atter in the sense that I have a m uch better m ethod o f finding out when my blood-pressure is high. T h e apparent usefulness of the correlation between the sensation and my blood-pressure really depends entirely on the genuine correlation between the m anometer-readings and my blood-pressure. W e might say that the sensation/blood-pressure correlation has no practical conse­ quences o f its own. A nd the parallel would be that a private definition (correlating the sensation and the sign ‘S ’) could have no practical consequences that did not depend on some better, and public, m ethod of determining the meaning of ‘S ’. In this way, the private definition would be an unreal gift: it would not give meaning to the sign. It would be entirely parasitic on the meaning the sign acquires in other ways. Interpreted in this way, PI 270 is an (extremely compressed) argument by analogy. There is an analogy, it is claimed, between the sensation/bloodpressure correlation and the sensation/sign correlation. Just as the state of my blood-pressure needs some other, primary test (the manometer), so the meaning of the sign needs to be determined in some other, primary way. But, as with any argument from analogy, it is always possible for the intended victim of the argument simply to deny the analogy. T h e state of my blood-pressure, it might be said, is a publicly observable fact, regarding which I have no special authority. But what I mean when I say or write ‘S ’, a Lockean might contend, is not a publicly observable fact. O n the contrary, it’s something that only I know, unless I choose to explain it to others. Thus the state of my blood-pressure is properly determined by a public test, but the meaning of my sign is determined entirely from within. It might also be argued that, even in the public case, W ittgenstein underestimates the potential contribution of the sensation/blood-pressure correlation. If I am confident that it really was S I just experienced, couldn’t

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T he Stage-setting A rgument I at least sometimes doubt the manometer-reading? It may be true that if I correctly claim that manometer #1 is faulty (on the basis of my confidence that it was S I experienced), the correctness o f my claim is demonstrated by reference, eventually, to other manometers. But even so, claims based on my recognising my sensation correctly can at least occasionally override claims based on manometer-readings. This makes W ittgenstein’s claim that it is ‘quite indifferent’ whether I have recognised the sensation correctly look overstated. Even if we grant the analogy, then, it seems that a claim (about the meaning of a sign) based on a private definition might occasionally override claims based on such public facts as natural expres­ sions o f sensation. A nd that would seem to be sufficient to qualify as a ‘practical consequence* o f the private definition. W e have spent rather a long time on PI 270 and our conclusion is that it does not give us compelling reasons to suppose that a private definition could not have the practical consequences o f a genuine definition. W itt­ genstein presents many other reasons for regarding the idea o f a private definition with suspicion, and we shall examine them in due course. But the direct claim that a private definition would not do the practical work o f a definition has not so far been made out.

T h e Stage*setting A rgum ent We dealt in the last section with a privately established correlation between a sensation and utterances o f a sign. Let’s now suppose that such a correlation could indeed be made, would it be a genuinely linguistic phenomenon? Would it really confer meaning on the sign? Wouldn’t it simply be a disconnected piece of knowledge, to the effect that this always goes with that? In the Stage-setting Argument, Wittgenstein explores the idea that there is a gap between knowing a correlation and possessing a definition. A t PI 257 he says that ‘a great deal o f stage-setting in the language is presupposed if the mere act of naming is to make sense*. ‘Naming* here means something more than merely correlating a thing and a sign (because that kind o f correlation seems possible without language). Merely to make a connection between a sensation and a sign would not yet be to understand that sign as a name. O n the other hand, naming and ostensively defining are themselves only preliminary moves in a language-game, not fully fledged language activities like describing (see the end of PI 49). So there is a kind of ascending linguistic hierarchy - merely correlating, then naming and defining, then describing etc.

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T he Stage-setting A rgument I at least sometimes doubt the manometer-reading? It may be true that if I correctly claim that manometer #1 is faulty (on the basis of my confidence that it was S I experienced), the correctness o f my claim is demonstrated by reference, eventually, to other manometers. But even so, claims based on my recognising my sensation correctly can at least occasionally override claims based on manometer-readings. This makes W ittgenstein’s claim that it is ‘quite indifferent’ whether I have recognised the sensation correctly look overstated. Even if we grant the analogy, then, it seems that a claim (about the meaning of a sign) based on a private definition might occasionally override claims based on such public facts as natural expres­ sions o f sensation. A nd that would seem to be sufficient to qualify as a ‘practical consequence* o f the private definition. W e have spent rather a long time on PI 270 and our conclusion is that it does not give us compelling reasons to suppose that a private definition could not have the practical consequences o f a genuine definition. W itt­ genstein presents many other reasons for regarding the idea o f a private definition with suspicion, and we shall examine them in due course. But the direct claim that a private definition would not do the practical work o f a definition has not so far been made out.

T h e Stage*setting A rgum ent We dealt in the last section with a privately established correlation between a sensation and utterances o f a sign. Let’s now suppose that such a correlation could indeed be made, would it be a genuinely linguistic phenomenon? Would it really confer meaning on the sign? Wouldn’t it simply be a disconnected piece of knowledge, to the effect that this always goes with that? In the Stage-setting Argument, Wittgenstein explores the idea that there is a gap between knowing a correlation and possessing a definition. A t PI 257 he says that ‘a great deal o f stage-setting in the language is presupposed if the mere act of naming is to make sense*. ‘Naming* here means something more than merely correlating a thing and a sign (because that kind o f correlation seems possible without language). Merely to make a connection between a sensation and a sign would not yet be to understand that sign as a name. O n the other hand, naming and ostensively defining are themselves only preliminary moves in a language-game, not fully fledged language activities like describing (see the end of PI 49). So there is a kind of ascending linguistic hierarchy - merely correlating, then naming and defining, then describing etc.

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations PI 3 0 -2 help to explain what W ittgenstein means by the ‘stage-setting’ necessary for naming. He says there th at ‘an ostensive definition explains the use - the m eaning - of the word when the overall role o f the word in language is clear’. T h is seems to suggest that a private language user (PLU) could not define ‘S ’ or use ‘S* as a name, unless he or she already had a language and a clear role in it for ‘S ’. Privately established correlations could not be the basis o f a language, because they could count as definitions only for someone who already has a language. These distinctions provide an argument against a private language, how­ ever, only if it is in some way especially difficult for the PLU to acquire the necessary stage-setting, to make the step up from correlating to defining. A t PI 262, however, Wittgenstein himself canvasses the possibility that the PLU might invent the technique o f using the word, or find it ready-made, and given more recent developments, we would have to consider the possibility that the syntax and even the semantics of the word might be innate. These seem to be ways in which the PLU could in theory acquire the stage-setting necessary to move from merely correlating to genuinely naming and defining. A nother problem for the Stage-setting Argument is that the cross-over between merely correlating and really naming is hard to define in the ordinary acquisition of language too. T h e young child seems first merely to correlate (for example, a toy car with the sound ‘car’), then gradually to use the correlated sign in simple language-games such as requesting, then explicitly to ask for and give names. W hy should the PLU not begin in the same way with privately established correlations, gradually using them, for example, as aides-memoire (as Hobbes and Locke thought) or to express decisions, and eventually in explicit (inner) definitions? If the young child progresses gradually and seamlessly from correlation to definition (as seems to be the case), why should the PLU not do the same? T h e next argument we shall look at is regarded by many commentators as crucial, because it seems to highlight this difference between normal language acquisition within a language group, and the isolated situation of the PLU.

T h e P ractice A rgum ent W ittgenstein says (PI 199) that a person could not obey a rule only once. It is not possible that there should have been only one occasion on which someone obeyed a rule. It is not possible that there should have been only one occasion on which a report was made, an order given or understood; and

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations PI 3 0 -2 help to explain what W ittgenstein means by the ‘stage-setting’ necessary for naming. He says there th at ‘an ostensive definition explains the use - the m eaning - of the word when the overall role o f the word in language is clear’. T h is seems to suggest that a private language user (PLU) could not define ‘S ’ or use ‘S* as a name, unless he or she already had a language and a clear role in it for ‘S ’. Privately established correlations could not be the basis o f a language, because they could count as definitions only for someone who already has a language. These distinctions provide an argument against a private language, how­ ever, only if it is in some way especially difficult for the PLU to acquire the necessary stage-setting, to make the step up from correlating to defining. A t PI 262, however, Wittgenstein himself canvasses the possibility that the PLU might invent the technique o f using the word, or find it ready-made, and given more recent developments, we would have to consider the possibility that the syntax and even the semantics of the word might be innate. These seem to be ways in which the PLU could in theory acquire the stage-setting necessary to move from merely correlating to genuinely naming and defining. A nother problem for the Stage-setting Argument is that the cross-over between merely correlating and really naming is hard to define in the ordinary acquisition of language too. T h e young child seems first merely to correlate (for example, a toy car with the sound ‘car’), then gradually to use the correlated sign in simple language-games such as requesting, then explicitly to ask for and give names. W hy should the PLU not begin in the same way with privately established correlations, gradually using them, for example, as aides-memoire (as Hobbes and Locke thought) or to express decisions, and eventually in explicit (inner) definitions? If the young child progresses gradually and seamlessly from correlation to definition (as seems to be the case), why should the PLU not do the same? T h e next argument we shall look at is regarded by many commentators as crucial, because it seems to highlight this difference between normal language acquisition within a language group, and the isolated situation of the PLU.

T h e P ractice A rgum ent W ittgenstein says (PI 199) that a person could not obey a rule only once. It is not possible that there should have been only one occasion on which someone obeyed a rule. It is not possible that there should have been only one occasion on which a report was made, an order given or understood; and

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T he Practice A rgument so on. - To obey a rule, to make a report, to give an order, to play a game of chess, are customs (uses, institutions). In the same way (PI 198), ‘a person goes by a sign-post only in so far as there exists a regular use of sign-posts, a custom*. Suppose a traveller came to a crossroads, noticed an arrow shape burned into a tree (burned accidentally by lightning, let’s suppose, there being no institution o f arrows or road-signs in this society) and took the road that happened to be in the direction indicated by the ‘arrow*. W e can also suppose that whatever might go through our minds when we follow a roadsign also goes through the traveller’s mind. Is the traveller guided by the arrow? W ittgenstein’s answer is no. If we were to see this little episode (not knowing that the traveller’s society is so different from ours), we would say he was guided by it. But because there is no custom of following arrowshaped signs in the traveller’s society, we would be wrong (see PI 200). W ittgenstein’s point is that ‘the appropriate mental accompaniments’ (a phrase from PI 200), plus the appropriate behaviour (narrowly construed), do not constitute following a rule, making a chess move, being guided by a sign-post. There must also be a practice in each case, to which the behaviour in question conforms or belongs. G ranting for the time being that a sign can be meaningful only in the context of a practice of using it, how does it follow that a private language is impossible? If there has to be a practice, why should it not be my practice? W hy does it have to be a social practice? A t this point, W ittgenstein seems to depend on the argument that a language user cannot be the only arbiter o f the correctness of his own usage. PI 202 reads, And hence also ‘obeying a rule* is a practice. And to think one is obeying a rule is not to obey a rule. Hence it is not possible to obey a rule ‘privately*: otherwise thinking one was obeying a rule would be the same thing as obeying it. In other words, it must be possible to describe a situation in which the putative follower of a rule says, ‘Well, I thought I was following the rule correctly, but now I see I wasn’t ,’ and W ittgenstein believes that for the PLU , no such situation can be described. W hy not? I shall try to answer this question in the section on the Verificationist Argument, but for the m oment, let’s see what some commentators on W ittgenstein say about the connection between practices and a social setting. Simon Blackburn (in his book Spreading the Word) describes the Practice Argument as ‘the heart of the famous anti-private language argument* (pp. 83-4), though he eventually finds it inconclusive.

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations Blackburn takes Dummett’s example of the born Robinson Crusoe who ‘evolves a technique for solving a Rubik’s cube washed onto his island’ to show that a solitary individual could have a practice or technique and could follow rules. He considers Kripke’s compromise (that we can indeed regard a born Crusoe as having a practice, but that we can do so only by ‘taking him into our community*). Blackburn says, ‘it is not clear what this means, nor whether it gives the community any particular prominence in the creation of meaning . . . The problem Crusoe poses is that he does have a practice (follows a rule) regardless of how we or anybody else think of him. O f course, Kripke is right that when we say this we apply our own criteria for rule-following to him; it is our judgment that he is following a rule. But this does not bring our community or any community far enough into the picture. It would be our judgment that an island has a tree on it. But whether an island has a tree on it is quite independent of how we or any community describe it, or even of whether any community exists to describe it* (pp. 84-5). Blackburn concludes, ‘The problem with Crusoe shows that we must not fall into the common trap of simply equating practice with public practice, if the notion is to give us the heartland of meaning. It will need arguing that, contrary to appearance, the practice of isolated individuals cannot count* (p. 85). This seems to me perfectly and importantly correct. It takes us, as I suggested in the main text, towards the claim that an individual cannot be the only arbiter of the correctness of his or her own usage. But consider Norman Malcolm’s view of the ‘trap* of equating practice with social practice. Malcolm cites Colin McGinn’s claim that ‘Wittgenstein does use ‘custom* and ‘practice* to suggest the idea of a multiplicity, but it is a multiplicity of instances of rulefollowing not of persons who follow the rules* (p. 171 of Malcolm’s book Wittgenstein: Nothing is Hidden). McGinn believes that it would be ‘clearly wrong* to hold that a multiplicity of persons is required for there to be rule-following, and that it is a mistake to attribute this thesis to Wittgenstein (as Kripke does, at least in the sense that we have to take the putative rule-follower ‘into our community*, whatever that means exactly). Malcolm says, ‘I agree with Kripke’s “social” interpretation. McGinn’s “individualistic” interpretation would do away with much of what is novel and important in Wittgenstein’s postTractatus thinking*. In fact, Malcolm goes further than Kripke, holding that Wittgenstein’s claim is that the actual presence of a multiplicity of persons is necessary if a person is to have thoughts, devise a system of signs, set down rules of action for his own guidance and so on. Malcolm concedes that this may seem

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T he Practice A rgument surprising, may outrage philosophers* intuitions, but he argues that it is Wittgenstein’s view (pp. 172-5), and that it is correct (pp. 175-8). Malcolm makes a persuasive case for some sort of close connection in PI between the pre-existence of a community and abilities to intend or to follow a rule or to calculate or to use language. Wittgenstein often does say that we could not have these abilities without pre-existing customs and institutions. For example, (cited by Malcolm), he says at PI 337, ‘If the technique of the game of chess did not exist, I could not intend to play a game of chess’, and it seems clear that he regards the actual community of chess-players as necessary for the existence of the technique. But there are two steps here: the existence of the community is necessary for the existence of the technique, which is in turn necessary for the existence of the intention. I suppose the latter step expresses a logical necessity (I logically cannot intend to play a specific game which has not yet been invented). But the former necessity is the important one, and the question is whether it is conceptual or merely empirical for Wittgenstein. If it is merely empirical, then there could conceivably be a practice or institution pursued by a solitary individual (upon which concepts, intentions and thoughts could then be built). Mal­ colm naturally moves to argue that for Wittgenstein the necessity is conceptual. He quotes PI 226, as follows, ‘Does it make sense to say that people generally agree in their judgements of colour? What would it be like for them not to? - One man would say a flower was red which another called blue, and so on. - But what right should we have to call these people’s words “red” and “blue” our colour words?’ Malcolm continues, ‘Thus, it can be misleading to say that people ‘generally agree’ in their applications of colour-words - for that makes it look as if they could widely disagree. But overwhelming agreement is internal to the concept of employing names of colours: so much so that without it the words could not be called ‘names of colours* (p. 174). Malcolm’s claim is that without agreement (and again it is fairly clear that Wittgenstein has agreement between a multiplicity of persons in mind), there could be no such thing as naming a colour. This conflates the two steps, however. If there was no agreement and no institution of naming colours, then an individual could not name colours. But first, even if there was no institution of naming colours, a person could (logically) do something that would even­ tually give rise to that institution (as a person could play a game that eventually was recognisable as an ancestor of chess). Otherwise no institution could ever get off the ground. Secondly, it is not clear from the passage quoted that, for Wittgenstein, general agreement is ‘internal* to the existence of the institution. On the contrary, the

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations passage seems to question our right to talk meaningfully about general agreement and a fortiori, our right to regard it as internal to anything (see also PI 227). Furthermore, the claim that colour terms which were subject to considerable disagreement would not be our colour terms would at best imply that a private language is not a public language. And finally, the quotation (PI II.xi.237) continues by emphasising that there are ‘differences of degree' here. Judgments of colour would become gradually less recognisable to us as they became more subject to disagreement. PI II.xi.238 repeats the point for mathematics: increasing disagreement among mathematicians would lead to a form of mathematics increasingly ‘different from ours'. This gradualist point about increasing disagreement does not seem to support the kind of strong implication Malcolm wants, from the absence of both agreement and disagreement to the impossi­ bility of anything we could recognise as a practice. In his later article ‘Wittgenstein on Language and Rules’, Mal­ colm cites evidence from outside of PI which supports his view more clearly than the passage just discussed (see, for example, Remarks on the Foundations o f Mathematics 342). Further evidence is assembled by John Cook (in his book Wittgenstein's Metaphysics, pp. 297-309), from notes written for, or taken during, lectures in the mid-1930s. It seems to me, however, at best unsafe and at worst unfair to place reliance on these early, indirect and exploratory sources. Remarks on the Foundations of Mathematics ID.67 clearly draws back from Malcolm's claim, and Wittgenstein's mature and considered state­ ments in PI do not support it. Many of our practices have of course arisen from our social existence, and it is obvious that Wittgenstein regards this as an important fact (PI 240-2, PI II.xi.232). It also seems plausible to suppose that some of our practices, such as gift-giving, are essentially social (PI 268). But that is not to say that for Wittgenstein, a pre­ existing social fabric is essential to any practice, such as eating mushrooms for lunch or solving a Rubik cube, or even to any genuinely linguistic practice. Then is Malcolm's argument that any practice must be public convincing in its own right? He claims that a mere regularity in behaviour (a dog howling only when there is a full moon for example), is not in itself rule-following, and that McGinn's Romu­ lus, who makes a mark in the sand and thereafter regularly goes in one direction along the beach rather than the other, exhibits only a regularity in behaviour. McGinn's description of this scenario as ‘making an arrow', ‘undertaking to follow it in one direction rather than another', ‘intending that it should guide his actions in the future', ‘following his rule' and so on, illegitimately reads rule-

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T he Practice A rgument following into mere regularity. Malcolm concludes, ‘In real life we have criteria for saying of someone that he is following a rule, or that he thinks he is following a rule. This is because the idea of a rule is embedded in an environment of teaching, testing, correcting within a community where there is an agreement in acting in the way that is called “following the rule”. To withdraw that environ­ ment is to withdraw the concept of following a rule* (p. 178). The trouble with this argument is that in real life the difference between mere regularity and genuine rule-following is not at all easy to define. One crucial factor in making the distinction is clearly some kind of richness and apt variation of response, and there is no doubt that this richness and variation emerge, in the ordinary case, most clearly in interaction with others. Another factor is explicitly normative behaviour from the putative rule-follower. But do we have an argument to show that a sufficient degree of richness and variation, or sufficiently explicit normative behaviour, could not possibly emerge without interaction with others? I don’t think so. In the article mentioned above, Malcolm supports his claim that there can be no practice without other people by reference to two other claims. He says, first, that for Wittgenstein, ‘following a rule is fundamental to language’ (p. 169). And second, he claims that ‘there must be a use of a sign that is independent of what an individual speaker does with it’ (p. 171). I discuss these ideas below, the first in the Appendix, the second in the section on the Verificationist Argument (eventually rejecting both). (For a quite different line of argument leading to the conclusion that actual interaction with others is necessary if an individual is to use language meaningfully, see Donald Davidson’s article ‘The Second Person*.) My conclusion in the main text was that the Practice Argument at most shows only that something describable as a practice is necessary for meaningful use of language. It remains to show that this practice must be public. I think that Wittgenstein’s attempts to show this led into the other arguments we shall consider, and so, like Blackburn, I regard the Practice Argument taken by itself as inconclusive. Paul Johnston’s discussion (in his book Rethinking the Inner) shows clearly how the Practice Argument leads into the Verificationist Argument. He writes, ‘the first stage of Wittgenstein’s argument is to stress that an ostensive definition only makes sense where there are rules for using the sample it introduces and hence where there is a practice of using that sample. In the case of the private linguist, however, there are neither rules nor a practice . . . The real problem, however, is not simply that [the private linguist] fails

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations to lay down rules but that in principle she could not do so. This is because the concept of a rule only makes sense where there is a practice of following the rule and a practice is necessarily public, something which more than one person might in principle engage in. Contingently there may be only one person in the practice and its rules may be known to her alone [denied above by Malcolm] but unless others can in principle learn the rules, there is no basis for saying that the individual is following a rule rather than just doing what seems right to her at the time. The point is that, without publicly checkable procedures, she cannot distinguish between following the rule and merely thinking she is following the rule. Since this is so, all her supposed private rule-following can amount to is doing whatever seems right to her at the time. By contrast, where we can properly speak of rule-following, there are established ways of determining whether or nor something is in accordance with the rule . . . As Wittgenstein puts it in his lectures, “Nothing I can do in myself can make it a rule. Perhaps if I concentrated my attention, Pd sooner learn some sort of rule. But if it were a private rule it would have to be public. Being a rule means being an instrument that is checkable, and by an agreed technique” (WLPP, p. 247)’ (pp. 19-20). Johnston’s central claim is that we cannot call a regularity in behaviour a practice unless it is something we might ourselves participate in, at least ‘in principle’. This means that the procedures for determining whether a given piece of behaviour is in accordance with the practice have to be accessible to us, at least in principle. But a practice that was based on inner ostensive definition would not satisfy this minimum condition: we could not in principle have access to the sample on which the ‘definition* was supposed to be based. And so it would be in principle impossible for us to say whether a given inscription of ‘S ’, for example, conformed with the ‘practice’. If an awkward customer now simply asserts, first, that there can be a practice which is not based oi> procedures for determining correctness (which a person pursues, as Wittgenstein says, blindly, PI 219), and second, that even if we would not recognise it as a practice it might still be one, the dependence of this argument on some form of verificationism becomes clear. But we shall take up these questions again in the section on the Verificationist Argu­ ment and in the Appendix. For the time being, our conclusion is Peter Hacker’s, that ‘Wittgenstein’s discussion of following rules. . . was designed to show that it only makes sense to talk of following a rule in the context of a practice - a behavioural regularity informed by normative activities (e.g. using the formulation of a

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T he Interpretation A rgument rule as the standard of correctness, rectifying mistakes, justifying action by reference to a rule). Such practices, with us, are typically shared, although they need not always be . . . as Wittgenstein’s numerous discussions of Robinson Crusoe, solitary cavemen, etc. demonstrate, there is no conceptual incoherence in imagining a person following a rule in an asocial context’ (in Wittgenstein: Meaning and Mind, Vol. 3, Part 1, p. 4).

T h e In terp retation A rgum ent A t PI 206, W ittgenstein says: Suppose you came as an explorer into an unknown country with a language quite strange to you. In what circumstances would you say that the people there gave orders, understood them, obeyed them, rebelled against them, and so on? The common behaviour of mankind is the system of reference by means of which we interpret an unknown language. It follows (PI 207) that, without a degree of regularity, of correlation between utterance and action, there is nothing in the situation we can call a language. T h e re is not enough regularity for us to call it “language”.* But in the case of someone who occasionally writes ‘S ’ in a diary, no such regularity would be discoverable, and therefore a private language would not be a language. W ittgenstein takes the argument further: we can interpret utterance as language only if we can recognise the putative speaker’s overall behaviour, only if we can assimilate it to kinds of behaviour with which we are familiar. Thus (PI 250), we would not recognise any of a dog’s behaviour as simulating pain because ‘the surroundings which are necessary for this behaviour to be real simulation are missing’. W ittgenstein goes so far as to say that we could recognise behaviour as seeing, hearing, taking notice, observing, being awake and so on, only in human beings and in things that resemble them (PI 281). W hen he says (PI 283), ‘Only o f what behaves like a hum an being can one say that it has pains’, the point is that the first step in attributing a mental life or a language to some system is a seeing o f its behaviour as the kind of behaviour with which we are familiar. A fly might behave similarly enough for us to ascribe pain to it (PI 284), but even a higher animal, W ittgenstein believes, does not behave similarly enough for us to ascribe language to it. Thus, ‘We do not say that possibly a dog talks to itself (PI 357), and famously, ‘If a lion could talk, we could not understand him ’ (PI II.xi.218).

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T he Interpretation A rgument rule as the standard of correctness, rectifying mistakes, justifying action by reference to a rule). Such practices, with us, are typically shared, although they need not always be . . . as Wittgenstein’s numerous discussions of Robinson Crusoe, solitary cavemen, etc. demonstrate, there is no conceptual incoherence in imagining a person following a rule in an asocial context’ (in Wittgenstein: Meaning and Mind, Vol. 3, Part 1, p. 4).

T h e In terp retation A rgum ent A t PI 206, W ittgenstein says: Suppose you came as an explorer into an unknown country with a language quite strange to you. In what circumstances would you say that the people there gave orders, understood them, obeyed them, rebelled against them, and so on? The common behaviour of mankind is the system of reference by means of which we interpret an unknown language. It follows (PI 207) that, without a degree of regularity, of correlation between utterance and action, there is nothing in the situation we can call a language. T h e re is not enough regularity for us to call it “language”.* But in the case of someone who occasionally writes ‘S ’ in a diary, no such regularity would be discoverable, and therefore a private language would not be a language. W ittgenstein takes the argument further: we can interpret utterance as language only if we can recognise the putative speaker’s overall behaviour, only if we can assimilate it to kinds of behaviour with which we are familiar. Thus (PI 250), we would not recognise any of a dog’s behaviour as simulating pain because ‘the surroundings which are necessary for this behaviour to be real simulation are missing’. W ittgenstein goes so far as to say that we could recognise behaviour as seeing, hearing, taking notice, observing, being awake and so on, only in human beings and in things that resemble them (PI 281). W hen he says (PI 283), ‘Only o f what behaves like a hum an being can one say that it has pains’, the point is that the first step in attributing a mental life or a language to some system is a seeing o f its behaviour as the kind of behaviour with which we are familiar. A fly might behave similarly enough for us to ascribe pain to it (PI 284), but even a higher animal, W ittgenstein believes, does not behave similarly enough for us to ascribe language to it. Thus, ‘We do not say that possibly a dog talks to itself (PI 357), and famously, ‘If a lion could talk, we could not understand him ’ (PI II.xi.218).

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations This argument raises two questions about the PLU: would there be sufficient correlation between utterance and surrounding behaviour, and would that behaviour be sufficiently hum an, for us to ascribe a language to him or her or it? T h e situation is complicated by the fact that, if the private language model is to be interesting, we are all private language users, displaying exactly the right degree of correlation between utterance and behaviour, along with paradigmatically human behaviour. W e should ask, therefore, whether, in that area of language use which is supposed to be private, positive answers to the two questions above can be given. If we imagine this area as discrete and isolable, as, for example, a matter of making certain entries in a diary, it seems plausible to return a negative answer at least to the first question. T h e P LU ’s utterance (writing the sign ‘S ’, for example) does not seem to correlate with anything in behaviour, as far as we can tell. T h e requirement of sufficient humanity is more holistic, a matter of overall form of life, and it therefore seems guaranteed. But if we imagine the area o f allegedly private language use to underlie our use of public language, rather than existing separately from it, it becomes much less clear that sufficient correlation would be absent. If a piece o f private language use underlies every piece of public language use (and this is after all the essential interest of the idea), and if the latter is sufficiently correlated with behaviour, (as guaranteed by the fact that we do use language), it seems that private language use would correlate equally well. There is a more general problem with the Interpretation Argument. T h e most it could show is that, if there were a private language, we could not recognise or interpret it as a language in the way that we recognise and interpret public languages. But why should this be the only way to recognise and interpret something as a language? Fodor’s claim (in T he Language o f Thought) is that Mentalese is a necessary hypothesis at a much higher level of explanation than that envisaged in PI 206, and that it can be interpreted through the public utterances it gives meaning to. It deserves to be called a language, in spite o f these disanalogies with public language, because o f the fundamental semantic analogies of reference and aptness for truth. A nd there is the still more general problem that, even if the conditions that apply to the recognition and interpretation of public language (in the ‘radical translation’ context described in PI 206) could be shown to apply to any recognition and interpretation o f language, it would only follow th at if there were a private language, we could not recognise or interpret it. T o reach the further conclusion th at there could be no such thing as a private language seems, again, to require some fairly strong verificationist premiss.

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T he Identification A rgument

T h e Id en tifica tio n A rgum ent Wittgenstein says that in a private language, a criterion of identity for my sensation would be needed. A t PI 288 we have, ‘if I assume the abrogation of the normal language-game with the expression o f a sensation, I need a criterion of identity for the sensation; and then the possibility of error also exists*. Perhaps Wittgenstein’s reasoning here is that the use of a sign in a private language must be based on inner ostensive definition, which, like any other ostensive definition, can always be variously interpreted (PI 28 and elsewhere). If the use of a sign in a private language is controlled by an ostensive definition, one part of the definition must provide a sample (‘sensations like this*), and this sample functions as a criterion of type-identity for future sensations. But, if I use a sample to make a judgment about which sensation I am experiencing, a possibility of misidentification must exist. Against this, Wittgenstein wants to emphasise how little our actual talk about sensations depends on using criteria. A t PI 377, he says that I have no criterion for the sameness of two of my images, or for the redness of an image. A t PI 290, he says I do not identify my sensation by criteria, which means that in a sense, I use the word for that sensation without justification (PI 289). Perhaps this is why Wittgenstein advises us to ‘get rid of the idea of the private object in this way: assume it constantly changes, but that you do not notice the change because your memory constantly deceives you* (PI Il.xi. 106). T he point is that we have no place for this hypothesis in our ordinary talk about sensations, but that if the private object model of sensation language were correct, we would have. And further that it is in some way an empty or pointless hypothesis, or perhaps, like the inverted spectrum hypothesis mentioned at PI 272, ‘unverifiable*. But the kind of double, constant, error mentioned here introduces distracting and unnecessary connotations of scepticism. Let us concentrate on the simpler case of a single error of misidentification: if the private language model distinctively makes this possible, it will, at the limit, make the sceptical scenario possible too. So, I experience a certain sensation. I believe it to be a sensation of a certain type. A nd I am wrong. There now seem to be two parts to the Identification Argument: first, that this case, (entailed as possible by the private language model of sensation language), is not in fact a possibility we allow in actual sensation language, and second, that we are right not to allow it, because it is a wheel that turns nothing else (PI 271), that is, because it makes no difference to anything else we want to do with sensation language. W ell, is it true that there is no possibility of identification error in normal sensation language?

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations It is certainly possible for us to mistake the causal provenance o f a sensation, and this sometimes bears closely on the question o f what type of sensation it is. I might, if blindfolded and led to expect a sensation o f heat, mistake a sensation of cold for one of heat. I might mistake a sensation of hunger, if I am fasting for example, for a sensation of inflow o f grace. I might mistake a thrill o f triumph for a twinge of sympathy. So is there some more purely phenomenological, ‘narrow’ way of specifying the type of sensation I have, such that at this purer level of description, I cannot be mistaken? Suppose I say that I have a sensation as if of heat. If it turns out that the sensation was produced by something cold, I do not have to withdraw my description as mistaken. But my description still depends on a belief which could be mistaken - the belief that sensations o f this kind are generally produced by heat. Suppose that, as a novice wine-taster, I have been introduced to a few examples of wines made from C abernet grapes. I am given a new wine to taste, and, hoping to protect myself from error, I say that it tastes as if it is a C abernet wine. But suppose the C abernet wines I have tasted so far have been atypical, so that my idea of the ‘C abernet taste’ is quite wrong. As I begin to discover this, I will want to withdraw my ‘as if’ description. A nd if I try to protect my description even further, by saying that the sample I was given to taste, tasted as if it was what I take to be a C abernet wine, this is uninformative to exactly the degree that it is safe from error. If what I take to be a C abernet taste bears no relation to what really is a C abernet taste, my description tells other wine-tasters nothing. O f course, the sensation produced by heat seems so strongly confirmed that it is easy to overlook that there is a real possibility of error here. But suppose doctors discovered tomorrow that I had a rare nervous condition involving various distinctive symptoms such as progressive loss of visual or aural discrimination. Fortunately there is a simple cure - wonder drug D which supplies some chemical normally produced by the body but absent in my case. D , however, changes my perception o f heat. Heat now seems to me to include a prickly feeling. T h e doctors tell me my previous sensations of heat were affected by the same kind o f dulling that became obvious in my other senses. In such a case, I u/ill want to withdraw previous descriptions in which I said a sensation was as if of heat. It conveys the information I want to convey only on the assumption that my sensation o f heat is the same as my listener’s. If I have reason to believe that my sensation is abnormal, I have to take back the attempts to explain which were based on assumed similarity. But are there not forms of description that do not depend on even very general beliefs about causal provenance? If I describe a pain as dull, perhaps that gets its sense from terms like ‘sharp’ or ‘stabbing*, which obviously depend on causal provenance. If I describe a wine as rough, or a perfume as

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T he Identification A rgument overpowering, or a painting as striking, or a melody as sweet, these too are all descriptions based on causal provenance. So suppose I simply say my sensation is a pain. Is this not a case of pure type-identification, and is it not infallible? Tickles and itches have the same immediacy of natural expression and the same apparent infallibility. If I say I have a sensation that makes me want to wince and get away, or laugh and wriggle, or scratch, that seems to type the sensation and to admit no possibility o f error. O ne problem with this is that a private language deals with sensations that have no natural expression (PI 256). Is there any way to type such sensations narrowly enough to produce the same apparent infallibility? Would type-identification by intrinsic qualities allow error in the case of a private, but not in the case of normal public language? Suppose I identify a pain as varying regularly in intensity. This can surely become a criterion that I might apply on future occasions, for example if a doctor asks me if this is the same pain I had yesterday. A nd it seems that I can in normal usage make a mistake. I might say it’s the same pain as before, then experience another pain which seems to me more like yesterday’s. I might say, ‘N o wait a minute . . . th at’s yesterday’s again now . . . the one I had a moment ago is d ifferen t. . . its troughs are practically painless, whereas yesterday’s kind of pain had a kind of bearable discomfort as its minimum*. W e have considered three methods of identifying sensations: by causal provenance, by natural expression, and by intrinsic qualities. T h e first and third allow scope for error in the normal case. Only the second seems a candidate for the Identification Argument (that the private language model of sensation language would create scope for error where none in fact exists). But if the private language of sensations applies only to sensations which have no natural expressions, then it begins to look as if the Identification Argument simply rules out identification by natural expression, in the definition of a private language, then blames the private language model for lacking it. A n answer to this complaint is that the exclusion of sensations with natural expressions is, as 1 suggested above, only a useful heuristic device. It is not part of the definition of a private language. W hat makes a language private is the fact that it is based on an inner ostensive definition, or an inner resolution. So the Identification Argument essentially claims that this inner definition or resolution adds a criterion for the judgment ‘I have sensation S ’ which is not in fact applied in that kind of judgment. T h at is, the PLU is someone who inwardly resolves to use the word ‘pain* for sensations like this (a sample that he or she keeps in memory). W hen in future the PLU is considering whether to say ‘I have a pain’, he or she must first answer the question ‘Is what I have now sufficiently like what I had then?* Wittgenstein’s argument, by contrast, is that no such question normally applies before we say ‘I have a pain*.

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations So far, we have accepted that identification based on natural expressions is infallible. If I say 1 have the kind of sensation that makes me want to scratch, it’s the fact that I can’t be wrong about wanting to scratch that makes my identification error-proof. But can’t I make a mistake about what kind of sensation it is that makes me want to scratch? Suppose 1 have, unknown to myself, some kind of nervous disease that makes me feel as if my skin is itchy at the least irritation. Suppose someone pricks my hand with a pin, without my seeing. I say I have an itch in my hand. If the circumstances were now revealed to me, would I want to withdraw the description? I don’t think there is any clear answer to this question: I might insist, ‘Well it was an itch - after all it made me feel like scratching’, or I might say, ‘It made me feel like scratching only because o f this disease - it wasn’t really an itch after all*. T h e more im portant it is to me to avoid misunderstanding, to communicate, the more likely I would be to take this second line. A nd what is m eant by saying that I can’t be wrong about wanting to scratch? T h a t I feel an inclination to scratch and I cannot be mistaken about my inclinations? If feeling an inclination is a matter of my awareness o f some kind of sensation that has in the past led to scratching, then it is as liable to error as identification by causal provenance (because it is identification by causal outcome). If it is merely a conviction that, if I do not inhibit the action, I shall now spontaneously scratch, then of course I could be wrong about that too. It might turn out that I do not scratch. If it is a feeling of dissatisfaction that I am not now scratching, well, is it really impossible to mistake the reason for my dissatisfaction? A nd is it really impossible to mistake a feeling of unfocused irritation or boredom for a feeling of dissatisfaction? We are entering here on questions too large to deal with in the present context. I do not claim to have shown that error is possible even in the case of identifying a sensation by its natural expressions. But I do think it is fair to say that the converse has not been demonstrated either. Indeed, if identification by natural expressions is ruled out (to maintain parity with the private language model, where it has been ruled out for heuristic purposes), the prospects for demonstrating the impossibility o f error look poor. T h e Identification Argument in its present form depends on the impossi­ bility of error. But it is not at all easy to establish that misidentification error really is impossible in the normal case. It might be interesting to develop a form of the Identification Argument which does not use the impossibility of error to show that no criterion (of type-identity) is used when I say what kind of sensation I have. But in PI, Wittgenstein depends on the impossibility of error, and this makes the Identification Argument in its present form uncompelling. W ittgenstein’s claim that I cannot be said to know I am in pain also depends on the impossibility of error, which can be grammatically re-described as the

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T he V erificationist A rgument ‘senselessness of doubt* (PI 246-7, 679; Il.xi. 198—202, 206, 219-20, 224). This senselessness-of-doubt doctrine is a major influence on W ittgenstein’s later philosophy, and we shall return to it. For the time being, my claim is that it has not been shown to apply to normal sensation language, so that the Identifica­ tion Argument fails. Richard Rorty, in his article ‘Wittgenstein, Privileged Access and Incommunicability, writes, ‘It is not too much to say that certain interpreters of Wittgenstein have argued as follows: “We can make mistakes when we identify, but not when we express feelings. There are no mistaken pain-reports. Therefore pain-reports are expressions of feeling, rather than identifications of particulars.” So put, the argument is to say the least of it, an obvious petitio. To get a good argument we need to argue that no analysis of “identifying a particular” which [permits infallible identification] will be adequate. But I do not think that any interpreter of Wittgenstein has offered such an argument.* Rorty later argues in the same vein that no good reason has been given to show that knowledge could not be infallible too - it is simply assumed that what we cannot be said to doubt, we cannot be said to know. This being so, it is open to us, Rorty argues, to regard pains and so on as objects of knowledge, infallibly identified by the sufferer, and avoid any philosophically unwelcome consequences by holding that pains are private only in the sense of being unsharable and accessible in a unique way to the sufferer, not in the sense of being unknowable to anyone else or incommunicable. This is to suggest that I can know I am in pain and so can someone else, but that my knowledge is ‘incorrigible* whereas the other person’s knowledge is not, because I have a method of access to my pain that prevents mistakes. This approach, too, would tend to undermine the Identification Argument because, if the impossibility of error stems from a special directness of access, there seems no reason why the PLU should not enjoy its advantages too. But as will be clear from the main text, I think it is wrong to accept the ‘incorrigibility* of the sufferer’s knowledge of his or her own pain. In the same article, Rorty also accuses Wittgenstein o f ‘confusing the kernel of truth in a verificationist theory of meaningfulness with a stronger, false, theory about meaning* (p. 30In). And this is the topic of our next section.

T h e V erification ist A rgum ent In this section, I want to do three things. First, to ask whether we can find in PI any verificationist support for the arguments we have already considered.

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T he V erificationist A rgument ‘senselessness of doubt* (PI 246-7, 679; Il.xi. 198—202, 206, 219-20, 224). This senselessness-of-doubt doctrine is a major influence on W ittgenstein’s later philosophy, and we shall return to it. For the time being, my claim is that it has not been shown to apply to normal sensation language, so that the Identifica­ tion Argument fails. Richard Rorty, in his article ‘Wittgenstein, Privileged Access and Incommunicability, writes, ‘It is not too much to say that certain interpreters of Wittgenstein have argued as follows: “We can make mistakes when we identify, but not when we express feelings. There are no mistaken pain-reports. Therefore pain-reports are expressions of feeling, rather than identifications of particulars.” So put, the argument is to say the least of it, an obvious petitio. To get a good argument we need to argue that no analysis of “identifying a particular” which [permits infallible identification] will be adequate. But I do not think that any interpreter of Wittgenstein has offered such an argument.* Rorty later argues in the same vein that no good reason has been given to show that knowledge could not be infallible too - it is simply assumed that what we cannot be said to doubt, we cannot be said to know. This being so, it is open to us, Rorty argues, to regard pains and so on as objects of knowledge, infallibly identified by the sufferer, and avoid any philosophically unwelcome consequences by holding that pains are private only in the sense of being unsharable and accessible in a unique way to the sufferer, not in the sense of being unknowable to anyone else or incommunicable. This is to suggest that I can know I am in pain and so can someone else, but that my knowledge is ‘incorrigible* whereas the other person’s knowledge is not, because I have a method of access to my pain that prevents mistakes. This approach, too, would tend to undermine the Identification Argument because, if the impossibility of error stems from a special directness of access, there seems no reason why the PLU should not enjoy its advantages too. But as will be clear from the main text, I think it is wrong to accept the ‘incorrigibility* of the sufferer’s knowledge of his or her own pain. In the same article, Rorty also accuses Wittgenstein o f ‘confusing the kernel of truth in a verificationist theory of meaningfulness with a stronger, false, theory about meaning* (p. 30In). And this is the topic of our next section.

T h e V erification ist A rgum ent In this section, I want to do three things. First, to ask whether we can find in PI any verificationist support for the arguments we have already considered.

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations Second, to consider whether there is any new verificationist argument against a private language. A nd third, to try to determine the extent to which verificationism in general is important in PI. We have seen two points in the arguments so far at which a verificationist premiss of some sort would be useful. First, in the Practice Argum ent, it would allow us to show that a practice could not be unique to a single individual. T h e verificationist premiss we would need here would assert that, if a particular action cannot be verified as conforming with a rule, definition or decision, then there is no sense to the claim that it does in fact conform. T h e premiss would also specify whether the verifying test would have to be possible for other people to perform in fact or in principle, or indeed whether it would actually have to be performed, at least occasionally. Second, in the Interpretation Argument, a similar verificationist premiss would allow us to argue that behaviour which we could not interpret or recognise as linguistic, could not intelligibly be supposed to be linguistic. So, does W ittgenstein in PI accept any premiss of this kind? A t PI 258, W ittgenstein rejects the claim that a PLU (private language user) could establish a connection between a sign and a sensation, (by a concentrating of the attention), because in the private language case, there will be no test o f the user’s impression that a certain sign is the correct one for a given sensation. He says, ‘in the present case I have no criterion of correctness. O ne would like to say: whatever is going to seem right to me is right. A nd that only means that here we can’t talk about right’ (contrast Remarks on the Foundations o f M athematics V I.47). A t PI 265, he argues that one memory impression (such as a memory image of a time-table) could not confirm another unless it could itself be tested for correctness by appeal to ‘something independent*. He says that the process of checking ‘has got to produce a memory which is actually correct. If the mental image o f the time-table could not itself be tested for correctness, how could it confirm the correctness of the first memory?’ So far, W ittgenstein has not said that lack of an independent test makes a statement meaningless, only that it disqualifies the statement from being right or wrong. A nd this is just as well, because W ittgenstein himself holds that we can talk meaningfully without justification. A t PI 289 he says, T o use a word without a justification does not mean to use it without right’ (see also, for example, PI 377 on criterionless self-ascription). So what makes the difference between the PLU ’s lack of justification and our normal, unjustified self-ascription of sensations? T h e PLU has an impression that a certain sensation is S , which W ittgenstein seems to attack as impossible to check for correctness. But at PI 3 7 7 ,1 recognise that an image is the same as another, without using any criterion.

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T he V erificationist A rgument If W ittgenstein’s point is only that where there is no justification there is no question o f right and wrong, then there is no conflict here because, in the normal case of criterionless self-ascription, there is no question o f right and wrong (W ittgenstein believes). If I say, ‘I have a pain’, other people cannot normally say ‘Y ou ’re wrong’ (or ‘Y ou ’re right’). I myself cannot wonder ‘A m I wrong?* or ‘Am I right?’ (according to W ittgenstein’s senselessness-of-doubt doctrine). But if his point is the stronger, verificationist point that where there is no justification, there is no meaning, then there is a prim a facie contradiction. If a distinction between ‘seems to m e’ and ‘really is* is essential for meaningful language use in the private case, how does it apply in the case o f normal self-ascription? T h e answer to this question which is best supported in the text, turns on the difference in the learning situation. In the normal case, we learned to use sensation language in a social context. O ur early uses were corrected and approved by others. We gradually established ourselves in their eyes as com petent users of sensation language. ‘How do I know that this colour is red? - It would be an answer to say: “I have learnt English” (PI 381). I have proved my competence with ‘red’, or ‘looks the same’ as part of the process of learning a language. T h e PLU , however, has not proved and cannot prove his competence in the use of ‘S ’. But if this difference in learning histories is advanced as showing how the PLU ’s utterances are meaningless while our normal self-ascriptions are mean­ ingful, the claim made against the PLU would have to be, not that verification would be impossible in any specific case, but that the P LU ’s whole history and form of life would be such as to make it impossible for us to ascribe language to him or her. But this is the Interpretation Argument. T h e verificationist premiss, far from supporting the Interpretation Argument, reduces to it. There is also the fact that Wittgenstein’s challenges to the PLU (in PI 258 and PI 265) do seem to turn on the possibility of testing specific utterances for correctness. This suggests that Wittgenstein did not intend to connect testing and justification in any prescriptive way with meaning, but only with objectiv­ ity. In other words, when he says (in PI 258) that the absence of a criterion of correctness, or of a distinction between seeming right to me and being right, ‘only means that here we can’t talk about “right”, perhaps that is exactly what he means. T h e absence of the criterion or distinction only implies that we can’t talk about right and wrong: it doesn’t mean we can’t meaningfully talk. Let me try to sum up the argument so far: a prescriptive connection between testing and meaning would strengthen the Practice and the Interpretation Arguments. A nd W ittgenstein certainly does claim that the PLU could not perform certain kinds of test. But he also holds that our self-ascriptions of sensations are not normally based on tests. If testing

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations connects primarily with objectivity (as I suggest) then there is no problem here, but if testing connects in a prescriptive way with meaning, then we need to avoid the consequence that our normal self-ascriptions are mean­ ingless. T h e most natural way to avoid this consequence is to present the normal language user as radically different from the PLTJ in terms of learning history and general language competence. But this is in effect to reiterate the Interpretation Argument not strengthen it. Nor does it do much to strengthen the Practice Argument, because an argument is now needed to show that a born Crusoe’s learning history and form of life are so different from the norm as to constitute no justification of current use. But this is exactly the question we had before, whether ‘practice’ requires a multiplicity of people or a multiplicity of instances only. A nd there is another problem for our initial idea of supporting the Practice and the Interpretation Arguments. T h e verificationist premiss they require concerns others’ ability to verify that the PLU ’s utterance conforms to a practice or belongs to a language. But the problems W ittgenstein raises in PI 258 and PI 265 concern the P L U ’s own ability to verify this. How should we explain this discrepancy? W hy is it important to W ittgenstein to show that the PLU could not verify later utterances as conforming to an inner definition or resolution? T h e point is, I suggest, not to produce a verificationist supplement to the Practice and Interpretation Arguments, but to bring forward a separate Verificationist Argum ent. Th e basic idea under attack in the Private Language Argument is that language becomes meaningful by means of inner definitions or resolutions. If this idea were correct, then for the PLU to know that a given word ‘S ’ means the same now as it m eant yesterday, it would be necessary to be able to check any present utterance against the original definition or resolution. If the PLU could not make this check, he or she could not know what ‘S ’ now means. This Verificationist Argument need not claim that, if the PLU cannot verify that a present utterance o f ‘S ’ conforms to the original inner definition or resolution, then he or she cannot attach any sense to the claim that it does or does not conform. T h at is, it is not verificationist in the sense o f rigidly connecting testing and meaning. It merely says that if knowing the meaning of ‘S ’ is a matter of knowing the original definition, then not knowing whether a present utterance of ‘S ’ conforms to the original definition is not knowing the meaning o f ‘S ’. T h e claim that ‘S ’ does conform is intelligible (for all this argument says to the contrary), but the PLU can’t determine whether it’s true. W hy can ’t the PLU determine that a present utterance o f ‘S ’ conforms to the original inner definition or resolution? Surely he or she can just

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T he V erificationist A rgument rem em ber that original meaning-giving act. But when do we say that someone has remembered something? A t the minimum, when he or she has a certain impression or belief and when things really were as the impression or belief asserts. T o say that someone has remembered, we seem to need some kind of correspondence between belief and reality. But if the ‘reality* in question is an inner definition or resolution, this idea o f correspondence seems to be in danger o f evaporating. L et’s take an example. Suppose I try to remember a person’s face. I call up a m ental image. A nd I may be quite confident that I have remembered the face successfully. Still, what it means to say that I have used an image to remember is, at least in part, that if I now saw the person in the flesh, or a photograph or realistic drawing, I would feel that there was some kind o f fit or correspon­ dence between my image and the reality. But now suppose that on a later occasion I try to remember that image. O n Monday I see N ; on Wednesday I call up a mental image of N ’s face; on Friday I try to remember, not N ’s face, but the image I had o f it on Wednesday. I think it is possible to remember certain things about the image, for example, that it was as if seen from the left and above, or that in my image the face had a certain expression. But it also seems true to say that comparing Friday’s image of Wednesday’s image with W ednesday’s image is in some way more tenuous or marginal than comparing Wednesday’s image with M onday’s reality. A nd now suppose that all our comparisons, in some field, are between mental images. Suppose we never have a real thing, photograph or drawing to serve as a paradigm. Would we apply the concept of remembering to that field? For the PLU , all meaning would be based on inner definitions and resolutions. There would be no external, objective reality to serve as a paradigm in remembering the meaning o f a word. Perhaps it is not so clear, then, that the PLU could ‘just remember’ the original meaning­ giving act. T h e problem is neither that the P LU ’s memory is not reliable, nor that the claim that a present utterance of ‘S ’ conforms to the inner definition is unverifiable and therefore meaningless, though both these interpretations have been widely canvassed. T h e problem is that certain empirical conditions necessary for the applicability o f the concept of remembering might be absent. Tw o general points need to be made about this argument: first, that as an interpretation o f PI 258 and PI 265, it is distinctly adventurous. It is, in my opinion, the best argument derivable from those sections (and see also PI 56). Second, the argument is at best suggestive. A great deal of work would need to be done to show in any strict way that a PLU could not be said to remember the inner definitions and resolutions which confer meaning. W ittgenstein does not attempt this in PI, and I shall not attempt it here.

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations It will be obvious that, in all this, I have been trying to show that what W ittgenstein says can be plausibly interpreted without committing him to a rigid or prescriptive connection between testing and meaning. Specifically, I have wanted to avoid committing him to the claim that any statement which cannot be tested cannot be meaningful. There are three reasons for preferring this line o f interpretation. T h e first is that W ittgenstein holds that selfascription of sensations is meaningful and not typically subject to testing. T h e second is that a rigid or prescriptive connection seems to lead to behaviourism, and I don’t think PI is behaviourist. T h e third is that W ittgenstein wanted to stress in PI the variety of language-games and resist the temptation to fit them all into one Procrustean bed (see, for example, PI II.xi.226). This explains why I avoid the second of the two ‘widely canvassed’ interpretations mentioned above. Why should we avoid the first? I argued above (p. 14) that Wittgenstein accepts the common sense view that we can correlate a sensation which has no natural expression with something public (for example, the taste of mint with a leaf of a certain shape, size and colour). Making the correlation involves remembering its terms (within the normal limits of human memory) and so Wittgenstein’s argument cannot turn on any special weakness of, or scepticism about, memory. It would also be inappropri­ ate, and less effective polemically, for the argument to depend on an empirical hypothesis about how many memory errors we would make in a given situation (see, for example, PI 232 and PI 251 on the grammatical/empirical distinction). A nd finally, the invitation to imagine a person whose memory could not retain what the word ‘pain’ means (which seems to support the memory-sceptical interpretation) is issued by an interlocutor and immediately criticised by Wittgenstein as empty, if the person’s use o f the word is unaffected (PI 271). Rejecting these widely canvassed alternatives, then, let’s pursue the Verificationist Argum ent a little further. T h e concept o f memory is applicable in the taste-of-mint case because, if I happen to forget the taste of that kind of leaf, I can simply eat another one and, as we say, ‘refresh my memory’. If the PLU forgets his or her sign-sensation correlation, by contrast, no comparable refreshment seems to be possible, and so the concept of memory (in this sphere) withers. This concedes that if a causal connection could be set up between the P L U ’s signs and sensations - by conditioned reflexes for example - then the concept of memory would apply after all. T o refresh his or her memory of the sensation correlated with a given sign, the PLU would simply say or write the word, and because of the conditioned reflex, the sensation would occur. As far as the Verificationist Argument goes, therefore, a conditioned private language (or, as in Fodor’s T h e Language o f Thought, ch. 2, one which is innately specified) would be possible, because the sign-sensation

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T he V erificationist A rgument correlation would in these cases be as objective as the leaf-taste correlation. In fact, if W ittgenstein does accept that we could correlate a sensation which lacks natural expressions, not only with its cause (such as a leaf) but with its effects (such as manometer readings, see PI 270), then a causal connection from sensation to sign would be sufficient for language. A nd it is a weakness of the argument, correspondingly, that we do not have any clear distinction between these causal connections and the kind o f vocabulary-learning children ordinarily perform. Let me now move away from the specific Verificationist Argum ent outlined above, and try to explain the more general role o f verificationism in PI. In what follows, I shall distinguish three different varieties of verificationism, say how far W ittgenstein is committed to each, and consider whether any o f these more general verificationist tendencies provides an argument proving the impossibility o f a private language. Classical empiricism, from Hobbes to Russell, agreed on one thing: that whatever cannot, by definition, have been learned when a concept was learned, cannot be part of the content or legitimate meaning o f that concept. Empiricists who agreed on nothing else, agreed that only what we could have learned could belong to the content of a given concept. This is why the rejection of innate ideas was so important to empiricism - the empiricist’s fundamental method of determining the legitimacy o f a concept requires the assumption that the legitimate content o f a concept is fixed by the possibilities of the learning experience. T h e same doctrine set many of the central problems of empiricism: in case after case, we seem to operate with more content than we could possibly have learned. W ittgenstein belongs very firmly to this tradition. A t PI 77, he advises, ‘In such a difficulty [as that of trying to understand a concept] always ask yourself: How did we learn the meaning o f this word (‘good’ for instance)? From what sort of examples? in what language-games?’ A s this quotation also indicates, the very concept of a language-game is connected in W ittgenstein’s mind with a situation in which some language is being learned. A language-game is ‘one of those games by means of which children learn their native language* (PI 7). A t PI 179, we find, ‘T h in k how we learn to use the expressions “Now I know how to go on ”, “Now I can go on ” and others; in what family of language-games we learn their use.’ O r at PI II.x .l, ‘How did we ever come to use such an expression as “I believe . . .”? Did we at some time become aware o f a phenom enon (of belief)? Did we observe ourselves and other people and so discover belief?’ T h e application of this method o f con ­ ceptual clarification to our talk about sensations occurs explicitly, for example at PI 244:

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations don’t we talk about sensations every day, and give them names? But how is the connexion between the name and the thing named set up? This question is the same as: how does a human being learn the meaning of the names of sensations? - of the word ‘pain’ for example? (W ittgenstein’s answer to this question - that talk about sensations must replace some natural expression o f the sensation, a conclusion reiterated at PI 256 - will be considered later; see p. 76f.) Now does this view - enshrined in the dictum that the meaning o f a word is what is explained by the explanation of the meaning (PI 560) - provide an argument against the concept of a private language? PI 2 5 7 -8 build on the idea that the meaning is what is explained in explanations of the meaning, arguing that the PLU could not explain the meaning of his words to anyone else, and that he could not define them for anyone else. No one else could learn this language’, the argument seems to be, and therefore it has no meaning, (because meaning is what we learn when we learn what a word means). This argument seems too easy a victory. T h e ‘we* in ‘we learn’ simply begs the question if it assumes that meaning is what we learn from one another, as social creatures. W ittgenstein’s emphasis on the conceptual importance of the learning situation clearly tends to locate meaning in something public, in the social teaching of language or the playing of communal language-games. Here is another example: What is it like to say something to oneself; what happens here? - How am I to explain it? Well, only as you might teach someone the meaning of the expression ‘to say something to oneself. And certainly we learn the meaning of that as children. - Only no one is going to say that the person who teaches it to us tells us ‘what takes place* (PI 361). Thus, what is learned when we learn how to use this expression, is not which inner experience makes the claim true. As an argument, however, this is weak. T h e Lockean can concede that my teacher does not point out which inner experience makes the claim true. But that is because he or she cannot point at what is private to me. Nevertheless, I learn the meaning of the expression (the Lockean may insist) by identifying within myself that inner experience which, as it were, my teacher u/ould point at if it were possible (PI 362). It may seem that turning to the situation in which a concept is learned as a method of understanding the concept is, in itself, hardly worth calling verificationist. But the implication is clear that, in many cases, one main com ponent in learning the meaning of a sentence will be learning how to

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T he V erificationist A rgument verify and falsify it. Thus, at PI II.xi.229, W ittgenstein says, ‘W hat “determining the length” means is not learned by learning what length and determining are; the meaning o f the word “length” is learnt by learning, among other things, what it is to determine length*. A person knows what ‘This is 20 cm long* means if, among other things, he or she knows (has learned) how to find out if it really is 20 cm long. This brings us to the second general verificationist tendency in PI. W ittgenstein claimed, as we have just seen, that someone who under' stands the concept ‘length*, must be in possession of a procedure for determining lengths. Understanding is powerfully connected, for W ittgenstein, with possession o f a method o f verification. A t PI 1, for example, W ittgenstein points out that the important thing for the success of the shopping-by-paper-slip game is the shopkeeper’s possession o f procedures for applying ‘five* and ‘red* and ‘apples*. He has to know how to find out which things are apples, which among them are red, how many of them make five. Lacking appropriate procedures, the shopkeeper is not merely debarred from talking about right and wrong: he does not understand. T h e meaning o f the message on the slip o f paper is lost on him. In this case, knowing how to test a statement (such as ‘Here are five apples’) is an essential part of understanding its meaning. It does not follow, however, that for each and every term, a person must have a procedure, or group o f procedures, for finding out if particular uses are correct. N or does it follow that all cases which do involve a procedure must involve the same kind of procedure. T h e procedure involved in judging a motive, for example, may be very different from that involved in determining a length (deliberately juxtaposed by W ittgenstein at PI II.xi.228, and see PI II.xi.242f. on ‘imponderable evidence*). W ittgenstein stresses the importance of the learning situation for con­ ceptual content, and connects understanding with procedures for deter­ mining correctness, and in these two senses PI might be described as verificationist. But the term ‘procedure* is to be understood so flexibly that it does not amount to a prescriptive connection between testing or justification and meaning. W e are never to lose sight of ‘the prodigious diversity* of language-games (PI II.xi.226). In some cases, knowing how to test a hypothesis will be essential to an understanding o f it, and the m ethod of testing will be one way to reveal its meaning. This is verificationist. But we cannot therefore demand or expect that every claim or hypothesis should be testable according to some predetermined formula or model. In this sense PI is not verificationist. We cannot demand, for example, that the procedure used for determining the correctness of application must always be some­ thing independent, something applicable by others.

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations Here I take issue with Paul Johnston, whose interpretation of the Private Language Argument turns on the demand for an indepen­ dent test of correctness. He writes (Rethinking the Inner, p. 4), ‘Lacking an independent standard, the individual’s self-assess­ ment is an empty charade. Since she has no means of distinguishing what seems right to her from what is right, the notion of accuracy, and hence that of translation [of thoughts into words] cannot get a grip. But if this is so, why doesn’t this problem arise whenever anyone translates anything? The answer is that the existence of a public practice provides a context within which seeming right and being right are distinguished. Within the practice, there are rules of translation and procedures for checking whether or not these rules have been correctly applied. It is the existence of these rules and procedures which allows a distinction between accurate and in­ accurate translation and so justifies our claim to be translating as opposed to simply setting down whatever feels right at the time. The thrust of this argument is to refute the idea that the individual’s expression of her thoughts is the translation or repre­ sentation of a private process inside her. It also undermines the very notion of private inner events. The reason for this is that, if the individual’s statements cannot be seen as reports, the only possible means of access to the supposed inner events has been ruled out. Since neither we nor she can distinguish between her believing a certain event took place and that event actually taking place, the notion of these events as independently existing occurrences is undermined. In fact, the only thing that plays a role in the languagegame, and hence the only thing that can matter to us, is what the individual says or is inclined to say.’ For Johnston, an independent check is one confirmable by some­ one else. But in this case, it is a straightforward matter of definition that there cannot be an independent check on inner events, and behaviourism (so long as we persist with a distinction between ‘inner’ and ‘outer’) is the inevitable consequence: ‘the only thing that can matter to us is what the individual says or is inclined to say’. Johnston claims that his Wittgenstein is not a behaviourist, and it is true that he is not an analytical behaviourist. Johnston’s Wittgenstein does not believe that any limited or specifiable repertoire of behaviour could exhaust the meaning of a psychological term. But it seems to me that, on Johnston’s view, Wittgenstein is committed to a kind of behaviourism. Basically, the reason is that if we can speak meaningfully only about what others can check, then the meaning of our present psychological talk must be cashed out in terms of overt behaviour. When I say ‘He is in pain’ I must mean ‘He is inclined to speak and behave in such-and-such

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T he V erificationist A rgument ways* (where ‘such-and-such* is understood widely, to include his entire form of life). I shall argue later (from various directions; see below, pp. 50f., 65f., 10 If.) that PI is not behaviourist, even in this wider sense. But if that is correct and if the demand that every meaningful utterance should be confirmable by others leads to behaviourism, then we had better not ascribe that degree of verificationism to Wittgenstein. This also implies that the corresponding verificationist supplement to the Practice Argument is not available. We cannot argue that if an action con­ forms to a practice it must be independently verifiable as doing so. This is Simon Blackburn’s conclusion too. He writes, ‘If Wittgen­ stein is allowed to use the verification principle, he is well placed to attack the idea that there is a distinction [between genuinely following a rule and being under the illusion that one is following it]. For anything the subject does or experiences at a moment, or himself says, is compatible with each hypothesis. And the public is in no position to tell which is true either. No third person can tell whether the later sensations are really like the first, or really different. . . What is much more doubtful is whether Wittgenstein can reach this conclusion without relying on a verificationist step. Many writers suppose he can [Blackburn cites Kenny and Peacocke as examples]. They think that the challenge to say what makes the difference, in the private case, has its own force. It is not just a question of how we might tell which one is true, but of whether we have any conception of what would make one of them true. The challenge is to state this, and it is alleged that the would-be private linguist has no answer* (p. 98). The trouble is, Blackburn says, that this same challenge (to say what makes it true that someone is following a rule) is as difficult to meet in the case of public language. He concludes that although ‘the anti-private language argument is inconclusive, it does a tremen­ dous service in the theory of knowledge. It entirely subverts the idea that our knowledge of our own meanings, derived from the acquaintances we have with our own mental lives, is a privi­ leged, immediate, knowledge, beyond which lies only scepticridden insecurity* (p. 103). On my view, the challenge to say what makes the difference requires more clarity about what sort of procedure will be accepted. Wittgenstein does not specify any kind of canonical procedure, or require it universally, and for these reasons the challenge has no force. As he says at PI 353, ‘Asking whether and how a proposition can be verified is only a particular way of asking “How d*you mean?** * It*s only one possible route into some difficult concept, not a standard every concept has to meet.

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations T h e point to bear in mind, to repeat it, is that for Wittgenstein there are meaningful utterances which are not necessarily associated with any inde­ pendent procedure specific to that utterance. Normal self-ascription of sensations provides a kind of legitimising analogue of the PLU ’s judgments about meaning. Now, it might be possible to argue that the analogy is not genuinely legitimising, perhaps by showing that criterionless uses are in some way parasitic on criterial ones. Johnston’s discussion above suggests this, holding that the existence of a public practice establishes a distinction between seeming right and being right, which can then be applied to criterionless selfascription. T o pursue this in detail would take us too far from PI, but the general problem for this strategy is to show that a distinction which is merely available from the criterial contexts is genuinely applicable in the criterionless context. T h e mere fact that we use the same sound ‘pain’ in ‘He is in pain’ and ‘I am in pain* is no guarantee that whatever makes it meaningful in the first case will carry over into the second. It also seems to me mistaken (exegetically) to apply the ‘seems right to me/is right’ distinction to criterionless self-ascription. W ittgenstein does not hold that that distinction must apply in any meaningful use o f language. We have seen that it is often, but not invariably, true for W ittgenstein, that a person who knows the meaning of a word must possess some sort of procedure for determining the correctness of particular uses of it. T h e words in italics limit the influence of what we might call procedural verificationism in PI (and rule out any argument from procedural verificationism to the impossibility of a private language). Turning now to its third and strongest, phenomenalistic form, verificationism is in fact a crucial target in PI. For W ittgenstein, it is never true that the meaning of a word is the experiential result o f applying test procedures. It may be, for example, that I do not understand the word ‘red’ if I do not know that an appropriate procedure for determining whether something is red is ‘look and see’. But it is definitely not W ittgenstein’s view that the meaning of the word ‘red’ is the visual impression I receive when I employ this procedure. A. J. Ayer’s book Ludwig Wittgenstein maintains an unrepentant phenomenalism about meaning. He writes, ‘I decline to take what [Wittgenstein] repeatedly indicates as the all-important first step, the rejection of the idea of the private ostensive definition. As I hinted earlier on when I tried to rebut Wittgenstein’s general argument against the possibility of a private language, I think that he is misled by his use of the word “private”. An object like a tea-cup is said to be public because there is sufficient agreement in the reports of different observers on a series of occasions to give us a motive for saying that they perceive the same tea-cup. In the case of a headache this motive is

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T he Beetle - in-the - box A rgument lacking, and therefore we say that headaches are private. Nevertheless, in both cases, the meaning which any one of us attaches to the word is “cashed”, to echo William James, in terms of his own experience*. Ayer correctly remarks, ‘This last point is repeatedly contested throughout the Investigations, either directly or by implication* (p. 80). But his conclusion is robust: ‘In view of the overall failure of Wittgenstein’s campaign against private languages, I think that the advantage rests with the sense-datum theorist* (p. 86). I have been trying to explain how far Wittgenstein wanted to go along the path from the learning-situation verificationism of classical empiricism to the phenomenalism o f the 1930s, and to assess what force verificationism in PI might have against a private language. M y conclusion has been that Wittgenstein strongly identifies with the classical emphasis on the learning situation as a guide to conceptual content, that he accepts the general importance of procedures for determining correctness of use (while resisting the temptation to devise a canonical procedure and apply it to all cases), and that he rejects and indeed takes as his target the phenomenalism o f the 1930s. Interpreting the learning situation in the social way Wittgenstein does is certainly incompatible with the private language model o f learning and understanding, but it does not in itself provide arguments against the latter. Stressing the general importance of procedures for determining correctness might suggest that a language entirely lacking in such procedures would be impossible, but there is no worked-out argument in PI to this effect. I return therefore to the Verificationist Argument presented above (turning on the applicability of the concept of remembering) as, in my view, the best of various possible ‘verificationist* arguments. If the concept of memory would really not be applicable (in the absence o f any external paradigm), then two things follow. First, if knowing the meaning of a term depends on remembering the original inner act of definition (as the private language model asserts), then the PLU would not know the meaning of any of his or her terms. A nd second, the PLU would lack the conceptual resources to say T thought I was following the rule correctly but now I see I wasn’t’, providing roundabout support after all for the Practice Argument (see p. 18 above).

T h e B eetleA n -the-box A rgum ent O n the private language model of meaning, we each know from our own experience o f pain what ‘pain’ means, because it is our experience which makes the word meaningful. A t PI 293, W ittgenstein argues that it would

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T he Beetle - in-the - box A rgument lacking, and therefore we say that headaches are private. Nevertheless, in both cases, the meaning which any one of us attaches to the word is “cashed”, to echo William James, in terms of his own experience*. Ayer correctly remarks, ‘This last point is repeatedly contested throughout the Investigations, either directly or by implication* (p. 80). But his conclusion is robust: ‘In view of the overall failure of Wittgenstein’s campaign against private languages, I think that the advantage rests with the sense-datum theorist* (p. 86). I have been trying to explain how far Wittgenstein wanted to go along the path from the learning-situation verificationism of classical empiricism to the phenomenalism o f the 1930s, and to assess what force verificationism in PI might have against a private language. M y conclusion has been that Wittgenstein strongly identifies with the classical emphasis on the learning situation as a guide to conceptual content, that he accepts the general importance of procedures for determining correctness of use (while resisting the temptation to devise a canonical procedure and apply it to all cases), and that he rejects and indeed takes as his target the phenomenalism o f the 1930s. Interpreting the learning situation in the social way Wittgenstein does is certainly incompatible with the private language model o f learning and understanding, but it does not in itself provide arguments against the latter. Stressing the general importance of procedures for determining correctness might suggest that a language entirely lacking in such procedures would be impossible, but there is no worked-out argument in PI to this effect. I return therefore to the Verificationist Argument presented above (turning on the applicability of the concept of remembering) as, in my view, the best of various possible ‘verificationist* arguments. If the concept of memory would really not be applicable (in the absence o f any external paradigm), then two things follow. First, if knowing the meaning of a term depends on remembering the original inner act of definition (as the private language model asserts), then the PLU would not know the meaning of any of his or her terms. A nd second, the PLU would lack the conceptual resources to say T thought I was following the rule correctly but now I see I wasn’t’, providing roundabout support after all for the Practice Argument (see p. 18 above).

T h e B eetleA n -the-box A rgum ent O n the private language model of meaning, we each know from our own experience o f pain what ‘pain’ means, because it is our experience which makes the word meaningful. A t PI 293, W ittgenstein argues that it would

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations then be possible for the experience everyone calls pain to be quite different. T h e individual’s experience would be like a beetle hidden in a box that no one else could open: different people’s beetles might be quite different. Similarly, at PI 272 he says, T h e assumption would thus be possible though unverifiable - that one section of mankind had one sensation of red and another section another’. Wittgenstein does not say that the hypothesis of inner variation is meaningless. He says that, assuming the sign in question had a use in a public language, it ‘would not be used as a name of a thing’ (PI 293). This supports the view that Wittgenstein connects independent testing with objectivity not meaning. Lacking a procedure independent of the speaker’s impression for telling whether his or her use of a term is correct on a particular occasion, I would regard it, not as meaningless, but as an utterance to which I cannot apply ‘right’ and ‘wrong’. I could not, therefore, construe it as a name of a thing because, where something has been named, the question must arise whether the object in question really is one of the things so named. Thus, even if the term ‘beetle’ has a meaning for the people in PI 293, it nevertheless does not function as a name, and it is not the thing in the box which makes the term meaningful. Thus, on the present interpretation of the Beetle-in-the-box Argument, it would follow from the private language model that our actual sensation language could not be construed on the model of object and designation (though this of course is exactly how the private language model does construe it). T h e private language model turns out to be self-defeating. T his interpretation of PI 293 reads rather a lot between the lines. In the text, W ittgenstein moves directly from the possibility o f inner variation which he says could even occur within a single individual over time - to the impossibility o f using the term as a name. A simpler way o f reaching this conclusion (giving rise to an alternative interpretation of PI 293) would be a premiss to the effect that we cannot use a term as a name if we cannot know whether the object ‘named’ is present. T h e familiar Lockean reply to this is that an individual can know, for example, that others are feeling pain. I know it on the basis of an analogy between their outward behaviour and my own outward behaviour when I feel pain. A nd it is true that at the beginning of PI 293 W ittgenstein tries to pre-empt this style o f argu­ m ent, asking, ‘how can I generalise the one case so irresponsibly?’ But this solitary question hardly constitutes a refutation of an argument which many people do in fact find attractive. W hy did W ittgenstein not say more against it? I surmise that W ittgenstein’s intention is to avoid discussing the argument from analogy, because the argument and the implied objection (‘You can ’t generalise to others’ inner experiences on the single basis of your own*) already embody the mistake which is W ittgenstein’s real target.

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T he Beetle - in-the - box A rgument If the simpler interpretation places too much reliance on an unargued rejection o f the argument from analogy, however, the more speculative interpretation relies on the claim that there could be no possibility o f misnaming a sensation. But the Lockean has a reply to this too: that the speaker could mis-name his or her sensation, but we’d never know (unless the speaker realised and told us). T he only answer to this seems to be a stronger connection between testing and meaning than I think Wittgenstein would accept. Peter Hacker cites the interesting case of a stage mnemonist whose method was to place the various objects called out to him by the audience at different points along an imaginary street. He would then imagine himself walking along the street and recite the objects in the order in which he ‘saw* them. He explained an omission in one performance as having arisen because he had placed a milk bottle (one of the objects called out by the audience) against an imaginary door which happened to be painted white, so that when he imagined himself walking along the street again, he failed to notice the white milk bottle against the white door. Hacker says, ‘This makes no sense. (What would be the criteria for its being there, even though he did not “notice” it?)* Meaning and Mind, Vol. 3, Part 1 p. 192n. My sympathies here are with the mnemonist. I think his story does make sense (because, even if it is an excuse, it would be a poor one if it were senseless). Hacker has, I think, slipped over into legislating for ordinary use rather than describing it (PI 124) because he accepts that a statement like ‘There was a milk bottle in front of the white door* can be meaningful only if there is some independent procedure for confirming it. In fact, we often accept the speaker’s later sincere assertion as a sufficient criterion of an earlier mistake, even when the topic is something inner. In Muriel Spark’s A Far Cry from Kensingtont the main character, Mrs Hawkins, has a practice/follows a rule of repeating the angelus to herself every day at midday. Now in an outward repetition of the prayer someone might make a mistake, fail to notice at the time, notice a few minutes later and self-correct. Why should this sequence of events become impossible if the repetition is inward? But if it is possible, then we have a situation in which Mrs Hawkins might say, ‘Well, I thought I was following the rule correctly, but now I realise I wasn’t’, even though her mistake is not one that could be independently verified, at least in any ‘direct’ way. She is the only arbiter of the correctness of her practice in a sense analogous to the sense in which the only observer of an event is the only arbiter of what happened, that is, in a sense which retains a distinction between its seeming right and being right.

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W ittgenstein ’s P hilosophical Investigations

T h e U se A rgum ent W ittgenstein, as we have seen, accepts that possessing a procedure for determining correctness is often an important part of knowing how to use a word. W e also saw W ittgenstein’s suggestion that questions about meaning can (in most cases) be rephrased as questions about use. A t PI 1, he said that in the shopping-by-paper-slip language-game, we are not naturally inclined to ask about the meaning o f the sign ‘five’. W hat is at issue is how the sign is used. W ittgenstein generalises this point at PI 43: T o r a large class of cases though not for all - in which we employ the word “m eaning” it can be defined thus: the meaning of a word is its use in the language.’ W e must now ask whether this concept o f meaning provides an argument against its rival, the private language view of meaning, and as a necessary preliminary, we have to discover what exactly is meant by defining meaning as use. There is no mistaking the importance Wittgenstein attaches to the perspective shift from meanings to uses. It is the major theme of the early parts of PI (see below p. 120), and in fact, the immediate cause of the whole concern with the ‘inner’ (the remote cause being the Augustinian notion of mental grasp, see PI 1, PI 6). A t PI 138, Wittgenstein considers a number of objections to the account he has been developing of meaning as use, objections which turn on what appear to be the inner experiences of understanding meaning. But can’t the meaning of a word that I understand fit the sense of a sentence that I understand? Or the meaning of one word fit the meaning of another? O f course, if the meaning is the use we make of the word, it makes no sense to speak of such ‘fitting*. But we understand the meaning of a word when we hear or say it; we grasp it in a flash, and what we grasp in this way is surely something different from the ‘use’ which is extended in time! Up to this point, Wittgenstein has been advancing the Use theory as preferable to various rival accounts o f meaning. From this point on, the question is whether it can be reconciled with the things we feel we want to say about our experience of using language. Following PI 138, it becomes necessary for Wittgenstein to show that meaning and understanding do not consist in any experience of ‘fitness’ or mental act of ‘grasping’, in short, to reach the conclusion asserted at PI 454, ‘Th e arrow points, [and in general, a sign “comes to life”, PI 432], only in the application that a living being makes of it. This pointing is not a hocus-pocus which can be performed only by the soul.’ I have been making free with the phrase ‘the Use theory of m eaning’, and anyone who has read PI will, very properly, object to the term ‘theory*.

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T he U se A rgument W hat W ittgenstein says about meaning as use is not intended as a theory in any constructive sense but as a corrective, specifically, a corrective to referential and mentalistic theories. We need to be reminded that it is use we look to in order to decide whether someone knows the meaning o f a word or sentence, because we are so strongly tempted to erect grand theories of meaning and understanding, on the basis o f a limited diet o f referencefavouring or mentalism-favouring examples. Michael Dummett takes a very different view of the Use theory (in his article ‘What Does the Appeal to Use Do for the Theory of Meaning?*), as follows . . . ‘Our language contains many sentences for which we know no procedure, even in principle, which will put us in a position to assert or deny that sentence, at least with full justification. Indeed, for many such sentences, we have no ground for supposing that there necessarily exists any means whereby we could recognize the sentence as true or as false, even means of which we have no effective method of availing ourselves. Hence a notion of truth for such a sentence, taken as subject to the principle of bivalence, cannot be equated with the existence of a means of justifying an assertion of i t . . . More importantly, a speaker’s knowledge of the condition which must, in general, hold for the sentence to be true cannot be taken to consist in his ability to recognize it as true whenever those conditions obtain under which it may be so recognized, and as false when it may be recognized as false, since, by hypothesis, it may be true even in the absence of any such conditions, and he must know the condition for it to be true in those cases also. Therefore, if meaning is use, that is, if the knowledge in which a speaker’s understanding of a sentence consists must be capable of being fully manifested by his linguistic practice, it appears that a model of meaning in terms of a knowledge of truth-conditions is possible only if we construe truth in such a way that the principle of bivalence fails; and this means, in effect, some notion of truth under which the truth of a sentence implies the possibility, in principle, of our recognizing its truth. It is hard to swallow such a conclusion, because it has profound metaphysical repercussions: it means that we cannot operate, in general, with a picture of our language as bearing a sense that enables us to talk about a determinate, objective reality which renders what we say determinately true or false independently of whether we have the means to recognize its truth or falsity. On the other hand, if the identification of meaning with use does not impose on a theory of meaning the constraints I have suggested, I for one find it difficult to see how it can impose any constraints whatever.*

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations Dummett’s argument runs . . . many sentences must be either true or false (granting bivalence) which are neither clearly assertible nor clearly deniable, either in theory or in practice. Knowing what would make a sentence true cannot, therefore, be explained in general as an ability to recognise it as true in practice (because we can have the former without the latter). Now the account of meaning as use implies that what we know when we understand a sentence can be fully manifested in practice. But if this knowledge (in which our understanding of a sentence consists) is entirely or principally a knowledge of what would make the sentence true, then to be fully manifestable in practice, ‘true* must be taken in a sense that does not reach beyond our real ability to recognise sentences as true in practice. One result is that the principle of bivalence must be rejected, and there are other ‘profound metaphysical repercussions’ (the whole anti-realist program). If, on the other hand, the identi­ fication of meaning with use doesn’t imply this, it has no positive relevance at all for the theory of meaning. I think the correct response to this complex and interesting argument is that the appeal to use has no positive relevance for a theory of meaning - it really is a corrective. Dummett charac­ terises the theory of meaning as expressing ‘not only what a speaker must know in order to know the language, but in what his having that knowledge consists, that is, what constitutes a manifestation of it’ (p. 148). On this view, there is a special body of knowledge, which constitutes a speaker’s understanding of a sentence and which can be ‘manifested* in linguistic practice (see PI 146-54). This body of knowledge is sufficiently mysterious to provoke the attentions of theorists of meaning, who set them­ selves to explain its contents and its ways of revealing itself. Understanding a sentence consists, on this view, in possession of a special body of knowledge that can be made manifest in actual use of the sentence or, for example, in the theorists’ theories. Now this is not an identification of meaning with use, as Dummett claimed: it’s an identification of meaning with special knowledge which, on particular occasions, gives rise to use. And let’s ask what form this special knowledge might take. Suppose it is knowledge of pairings of sentences and situations, for example, knowledge that the sentence ‘The cat is sitting on the mat* pairs with a certain kind of situation. If this knowledge is to constitute understanding the meaning of ‘The cat is sitting on the mat* it cannot take that understanding for granted. At some basic level of analysis it must consist of pairings of sounds with things. But not real sounds or things of course, concepts or representations of sounds with concepts or representations of things. Now, where is

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T he U se A rgument this slide towards Saussurean pairings of concepts and sound' images, in fact, towards inner ostensive definition, to be halted? Another point is that Dummett, like Chomsky, accepts that the task is to explain knowing'how in terms of knowing-that (cashing out ability to use in terms of knowledge of truth' or assertibilityconditions). This seems to me a profoundly anti'Wittgensteinian assumption, and it is therefore surprising to find Anthony Kenny seeming to concede it without demur. In his book The Legacy of Wittgensteint he writes that he ‘has no quarrel with the idea that in using language we display [Chomskyan] tacit knowledge, operating rules and principles that cannot in the normal way be brought to conscious formulation* (p. 137). Kenny insists that ‘knowing a language is an ability*, but if he concedes that this ability (or group of abilities) depends in turn on unconscious rule-following, then it is at least misleading to say that ‘to know a language just is to have the ability* (p. 138), insofar as the word ‘just* suggests that we can rest content at this level of explanation. Kenny*s argument (against Chomsky) that one could not be said to know a language without having the ability to use it seems to me marginalised if that ability in turn consists in tacit knowledge. Kenny later suggests, however, that possessing tacit knowledge is in fact a case of possessing abilities: ‘When we ask what rules or principles we employ in performing these [language processing] tasks, we are asking what sub'abilities we are exercising when we exercise the ability to use language* (p. 146). This may indeed restore knowing'how to a more basic position than knowing'that, but it is difficult to be confident that a hypostasis of sub-abilities would be more acceptable to Wittgenstein than the hypostasis of tacit knowledge (see below, p. 83f., and the Appendix for more on Wittgenstein’s attitude to the unconscious). W hat does it mean to describe the Use theory as a corrective (pace Dummett) rather than a theory proper? W ittgenstein’s Use theory of meaning is a corrective rather than a theory, first, because it is not supposed to be universally applicable, and second, because it is not supposed to explain meaning. It is supposed to pre-empt the absurd theories we invent in our search for an explanation which is universally applicable. This also means, I think, that we do not have to worry about the kinds of counter-examples canvassed by Bede Rundle (in his book Wittgen­ stein and Contemporary Theory o f Language, chapters 1 and 2). Rundle recognises this, saying, ‘In so far as Wittgenstein’s aim is therapeutic, to wean us off our illusions, to remove intellectual cramp, it may be of no account that, as has emerged throughout these first two chapters,

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations meaning and use are not exact equivalents’ (p. 38). Rundle goes on to claim, however, that the weaker thesis that meaning is determined by use, when it attempts to cash out ‘use* in specific cases of explaining the meaning of a word, will find itself forced to ‘restrict use by appeal to just the kinds of semantic notion that the shift from meaning might have been thought to dispense with* (p. 38), so that the essential Augustinian contention - ‘that what use determines is primarily an associa­ tion of word and thing* - returns by a back door. But a therapy is no more intended systematically to generate explanations of particular word-meanings than to say what meaning is. We can of course give particular explanations as the need arises in real life, without supposing that we need some general account of what we can and cannot mention in doing so. On Wittgenstein’s view, that kind of general account is just another doomed attempt to fit the variety of real life into a single, theoretical mould. The Use theory is not a theory in this sense either. So the Use theory is a collection of reminders assembled for a specific purpose (PI 127). It serves to remind us that what we are actually interested in when we talk about someone learning, teaching or understanding the meaning of a word or sentence is how the word or sentence is used. A nd it reminds us of this to show that meanings are not to be reified whether in a concrete, mental or abstract realm. But it very much remains to say how these reminders prevent us, or deter us, from supposing that a person’s use of a word or sentence is the outward sign o f some enabling inner state or process. Certainly we are interested in how the person uses the word or sentence. But how does that fact rule out or tell against overt use as a product of inner grasp? So far, I have been trying to explain what W ittgenstein means by claiming that meaning can, at least in many cases, be defined as use. If we grant W ittgenstein’s claim, the converse is that a form of words which has no use has no meaning (see PI 96). A ny new form of words deserves a suspicious reception, because it is not so far clear how it is to be used, or therefore, what it means. T o take a slightly more complex case, a word or expression which does have an established use, but which is now being pressed into an additional, novel use, cannot inherit or import the intelligibility of its established use for the benefit o f its new, and for the Use theory, suspect use. T h e Use Argument (to come to it at last) is that the private language model o f meaning and understanding has no ordinary or reputable use, and therefore no real meaning. As he says at PI 116, ‘W hen philosophers use a word . . . one must always ask oneself: is the word ever actually used in this way in the language-game which is its original home?’ Just as a gift without practical consequences is not a gift (see above, p. 14), so

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T he U se A rgument a statem ent without practical applications is not genuinely a meaningful statement. This surprising claim has wide repercussions throughout PI and, by now exploring its implications for behaviourism, we can not only clarify W ittgenstein’s position on that thorny topic, but see in detail how the Use Argum ent is applied. W hat follows, therefore, may look like a digression, but it is at the same time an explanation, by example, o f how the Use Argum ent works. Wittgenstein calls the Lockean view, in all its richness, a ‘picture’ - a picture of thinking, intending, understanding and meaning as inner processes which only the thinker can really or directly know about. It is a kind of fundamental model that generates many specific idioms and ways of thinking. A t PI 374, Wittgenstein says, surprisingly, ‘the best that I can propose is that we should yield to the temptation to use this picture, but then investigate how the application of the picture goes’ (see also PI 422-4 and Remarks on the Philosophy o f Psychology, vol. 2,668). I take this to mean two things - first, that the picture is too well entrenched for us to think of rejecting it outright (as the behaviourist tries to do), and second, that our only possible strategy of resistance to it is to examine its consequences piecemeal. Wittgenstein goes on to say that the Lockean picture makes it seem ‘As if there really were an object, from which I derive its description, but I were unable to show it to anyone’ (PI 374). This ‘as if indicates that Wittgenstein holds (1) that there is no object, (except in the harmless sense in which to say there is an object, for example, ‘I have an idea’, is to say that I am thinking of something); (2) that when I tell what I am thinking, I am not describing or reporting an object, (except in the harmless sense in which to say for example ‘In my idea of it, the house has a garden all round’ is to say ‘I would like the house to have a garden all round’); (3) that there is no privileged access, (except in the harmless sense in which to say ‘Only I can know my experience’ is to say ‘T h e doubt which exists for other people doesn’t exist for me’ PI II.xi.198f). W e are therefore to com bine use of the picture with a renewed sensitivity to its real applications in ordinary language. W ittgenstein does not want to stop us talking about inner objects which other people cannot know, or about descriptions o f them , as long as we are careful only to m ean the harmless things listed above, only the things with established uses. T h is allows him to deny that he is a behaviourist; his aim is to prevent us summoning up the objects the existence of which the behaviourist then goes on to deny. W e are permitted to say, for example, that there is a difference between pain-behaviour accompanied by and not accom panied by pain (PI 304) as long as we mean this in the harmless sense that there is a difference between genuine and simulated pain. We

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W ittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations are to be careful n ot to be misled by the word ‘accom panied' into believing in som ething a behaviourist would have to reject. T h a t is not how ‘accom panied' is used in this context. T h e point, at its most general, is that ‘Private objects exist* might mean two things: either that we can think, imagine, mean and so on (harmless); or that there are real entities that only one person can possibly know about, existing in a queer kind o f location to which only one person has access (the harmful, quasi'philosophical thesis rejected by behaviourism). If the sentence ‘Private objects do not exist' is taken to deny the first of these, it ‘looks as if we had denied mental processes. A nd naturally we don't want to deny them' (PI 308). But suppose it is taken to deny the second, does Wittgenstein endorse it? In other words, does Wittgenstein support a form of behaviourism which makes the above distinction explicit, which is careful to negate only the quashphilosophical thesis? A t PI 305, Wittgenstein takes a cautious line with this question. The impression that we wanted to deny something arises from our setting our faces against the picture of the ‘inner process*. What we deny is that the picture of the inner process gives us the correct idea of the use of the word ‘to remember*. We say that this picture with its ramifications stands in the way of our seeing the use of the word as it is. Here, he does not say that the quasi-philosophical thesis is false (that the private objects it asserts do not exist). He merely says that our normal use of such words as ‘remember* does not involve, and is not to be understood in terms of, such private objects. Private objects are no part of what ‘to remember* means. Here and elsewhere, W ittgenstein hesitates to say that the quasi-philosophical thesis is false, because that would be to give it too much credit for intelligibility. Before we could say ‘Private objects do not exist* (understood as denying the quasi-philosophical thesis), we would have to understand what private objects would be if they did exist (see PI 339). T h e assumption that we understand this, shared by the dualist and the behaviourist, is what W ittgenstein calls ‘the decisive movement in the conjuring trick* (PI 308). T h a t it is a piece of trickery is shown by the fact that ‘Private objects do/do not exist* has no established use and therefore, according to the Use Argum ent, no genuine meaning. Thus, W ittgenstein often gives expression to our (quasi-philosophical) wish to say that there is something there, but always with a question mark over its meaning. PI 296 is typical. Yes, but there is something there all the same accompanying my cry of pain. And it is on account of that that I utter it. And this something is what is

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T he U se A rgument important - and frightful*. - Only whom arc we informing of this? And on what occasion? T h e question is, when would anyone actually use the claim ‘There is something there*? If the claim fails the test of use, it has as yet no meaning. A nd if it is used only in another way (to suggest that someone is concealing an em otion for example), this use does not legitimise the proposed Lockean interpretation. A t PI 298, he goes so far as to say definitely t h a t ‘T his is the important thing* gives no information, but this is unusual. PI 348 represents his more cautious view . . . ‘These deaf-mutes have learned only a gesture-language, but each of them talks to himself inwardly in a vocal language*. - Now, don*t you understand that? But how do I know whether I understand it?! - What can I do with this information (if it is such)? The whole idea of understanding smells fishy here. I do not know whether I am to say 1 understand it or don*t understand it. W ittgenstein is not claiming that the quasi-philosophical thesis (and therefore its denial) is gibberish. A t PI 348 he points out that the thesis is grammatically well formed and that it has the usual kinds o f logical connection with other sentences. In addition, it may well stimulate certain pictures and connections in the imagination (PI II.iv.5, PI 351, PI 515). A t the same time, however, when we try to imagine really using any of these forms of words (other than in their harmless senses, PI 349) we are at a loss. They pass the normal grammatical and logical tests for meaningfulness, but fail the (crucial) test of use. A t PI 398, he says that the words ‘Only I have got this*serve no purpose, but then goes further, claiming that, ‘if as a matter of logic you exclude other people’s having something, it loses its sense to say that you have it*. T h e conclusion is again that the Lockean claim has no meaning, but here it is supported by a thesis about the need for a usable negation of the claim. PI 416 reverts to the more direct style of argument: ‘W hom do I really inform, if I say, “I have consciousness**? W hat is the purpose of saying this to myself . . .?* (assuming I do not have one of the harmless senses in mind, for example to ‘tell someone who believes I am in a faint “I am conscious again** and so on*). W ittgenstein’s point is that these claims* ability to function (to be used) in philosophical arguments is somehow attenuated or spurious because they have no base of ordinary or genuine usage. It is like a logic game in w hich we are told th at anything which is stimp cannot be gloob and th at all trugs are stimp (these obviously being terms that have no ordinary use). In the game, we have to draw certain conclusions from these and

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations other premisses. If we now come across a player o f the game misguidedly searching real cupboards and drawers for something gloob, our most helpful advice will n ot be ‘D o n ’t bother checking the trugs’. W h at we ought to say is, ‘You know, “gloob” is just a made-up word. It has no real application in ordinary life.* In the same way, the term ‘private* (in the quasi-philosophical sense) has no real use in ordinary life. Just as we cannot discover empirically either th at there exists or does n ot exist something gloob, so we cannot say either th at there does or th at there does n ot exist something ‘private*. W e do not understand either term well enough for these claims to be available. So the statements which go to make up the picture of an inner realm, Wittgenstein claims, have no real meaning. Unfortunately, however, they retain an appearance or outer shell of meaningfulness. They have become rather like the statements in the logic game - catalysts to the imagination perhaps, grammatically regular, logically interrelated, and yet in real terms, pointless. We do not know what it would be for a private object to exist because we have no ordinary use for the term. In our ordinary practical use, to say ‘ “There has just taken place in me the mental process of remembering. . .’’ means nothing more than: “I have just remembered . . .” * (PI 306 and see also PI 427). W ittgenstein’s view, then, is that the quasi-philosophical thesis is (to coin a phrase) practically meaningless. O ne symptom of this lack of practical meaning is the fact that we have no idea what a more detailed description of a private object would be like: If you admit that you haven’t any notion what kind of thing it might be that he has before him - then what leads you into saying, in spite of that, that he has something before him? Isn’t it as if I were to say of someone: ‘He has something. But I don’t know whether it is money, or debts, or an empty till* (PI 294). It isn’t false to say ‘He has something’ in such a case, and it isn’t gibberish. But it is practically meaningless. David Stern provides an excellent summary of the development and importance of practical meaninglessness for Wittgenstein, (see his book Wittgenstein on Mind and Language, pp. 17-31), and points out some of its consequences. The most difficult question, however, is: how are we to recognise practical meaninglessness? If unverifiability is too rigidly programmatic as the test, mere unfamiliarity seems too conservative. Unimaginability is ruled out at PI 216 and PI 396. So what if someone honestly takes Wittgenstein’s advice to look and see - and sees sense not nonsense? We shall return to this question.

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T he U se A rgument T h e Use Argument, then, claims that expressions such as ‘He has some­ thing* or ‘N o one else can have this* may be perfectly meaningful when used in some ordinary way, but practically meaningless when used in the quasiphilosophical way. PI 278 captures this strategy in a nutshell: ‘ “I know how the colour green looks to me” - surely that makes sense! Certainly: what use of the proposition are you thinking of?* (see also for example PI 396). Now, if the private language model (and behaviourism) depends on the quasi-philosophical interpretation of talk about private objects and mental activities, this gives us reason, not so much to reject a private language as impossible, as to regard the model as practically meaningless too. It is a mistake to dismiss it as impossible because that gives it too much credit for intellig­ ibility. T h e Use Argument, finally, also has a de-motivating effect: if we have no practical use for the private language model, we have no practical need of it. W ittgenstein has made a number o f shrewd and striking points against our tendency to take it for granted that we understand the private language model, that we understand what is in dispute between the dualist and the behaviourist, that we understand what private objects and inner actions are. But there are problems too. For one thing, there is a tension here between two doubtfully compa­ tible lines of argument: on the one hand, that the private objects picture, unless harmlessly used to talk about remembering, imagining, thinking and so on, is practically meaningless because it lacks any ordinary use; but on the other, that it does indeed suggest various applications and correspond to various experiences in ordinary life. If talk about private objects is constantly suggesting itself to us in everyday situations, if, as he says at PI 423, the picture ‘forces itself on us at every turn*, how can it be correct to say that it is practically meaningless because we don't know how to apply it? Is W ittgenstein not compelled to say that there is something wrong with these everyday applications? A nd isn’t what’s wrong with them the fact that they give rise to philosophical problems (see PI 693)? But this seems an entirely ad hoc way of distinguishing ordinary uses which do confer meaning from those which don’t. Paul Feyerabend made a rather similar point in his 1955 review of the Investigations (in The Philosophical Review). He wrote, ‘one may ask why Wittgenstein tries to eliminate theory T [essentialism about meaning], which certainly must be regarded as a form of life if we look at the way in which it is used by its adherents. Nevertheless Wittgenstein tries to eliminate this theory as well as other philosophical theories. But this attempt can only be justified by assuming that there is a difference between using a sign (playing a language-game) and proceeding

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations according to theory T. The procedures which are connected with theory T are supposed not to be taken as parts of a language-game: they constitute a sham-game which is to be destroyed.* Feyerabend suggests that Wittgenstein was in fact still held captive by the Tractatus doctrine that philosophy must be something that ‘stands above or below, not beside the natural sciences* (T 4.111). On my view, Wittgenstein wants to alert us to the possibility of a new kind of failure to which philosophical and other theories are vulnerable: not falsehood or self-contradiction, and not the unverifiability of the positivists, but a kind of bleaching out, or loss of reality, or pointlessness, which I have called practical meaningless­ ness. And the first problem is not that this new possibility of failure might rule out theories which previously seemed plausible, at least to their adherents. The problem is that there are non-philosophical, everyday, locutions and experiences which, on Wittgensteins own view, seem to support the theory he wants to reject as practically meaningless. A second problem is that, even if the inner is simply not very important for what we normally want to say about meaning and understanding, still, for non-ordinary purposes, as far as W ittgenstein’s reminders go, it might be exactly what we need. W hat non-ordinary purposes could require a private language? T h e obvious answer to this question is that a scientific account of natural language use or acquisition might require a private language. It might be that use and the ability to use could be satisfactorily explained in a developed psychological theory only as outcomes o f some unified inner structure, whether introspectible or not, which would qualify as a private language. It also seems reasonable to ask what the point of all our usage is, though that is not a question we ordinarily ask. Hobbes, for example, says that words exist to serve as marks or signs of ideas, in answer to this question about the point of the whole exercise (Leviathan chap. 4). If W ittgenstein holds that these non-ordinary questions are somehow not legitimate, we are owed some argument for this. A third problem with the Use Argument is that it might be criticised as question-begging. If meaning can be defined as use, then, if there is no use for a form of words, it has no meaning. But for the Lockean, meaning is not use. It is the inner state which enables outward use. In the absence of arguments to demonstrate that meaning can be defined as use, the Lockean can accept with equanimity that there is no ordinary use, or even no use at all, for a form of words. T o sum up: the identification of meaning with use is intended as a corrective, but its converse leads W ittgenstein to argue that dualism and

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Interim R esults behaviourism are both based on expressions (such as ‘There is something there* or ‘O nly I have got this*) which are not in fact used in the ways they suppose. Because (according to this converse reading o f the Use theory) an expression w hich has no normal use has as yet no meaning, the dualistic picture and the behaviouristic rejection of it are neither true nor false but (practically) meaningless. T h is argument, to put it mildly, needs to be supported in various ways. We need some independent reason to believe that lack o f use indicates meaninglessness, and to justify the priority given to ordinary use over technical uses. W e also need to reconcile W ittgenstein’s claim th at the dualistic picture has no normal use with his claim that it constantly suggests itself to us in ordinary language, and (for this and other reasons) it would be good to have some general m ethod of testing for lack o f practical meaning. A s presented above, the Use Argum ent is question-begging. But the cumulative force of W ittgenstein’s individual points remains. T h e ques­ tion now is whether these points and others could persuade us th at, although the picture of inner acts and objects is used (in the harmless senses) in ordinary speech, it can not be pushed beyond its norm al boundaries into dualistic explanation and the behaviouristic rejection of it. T h e very large task of marshalling these points to meet the problems raised above and persuade us th at doctrines as familiar as dualism and behaviourism are, in the most im portant sense, meaningless will occupy the rest o f this book. W e may therefore take this opportunity to review our progress so far.

In terim Results W e have now looked at eight distinguishable strands within the Private Language Argum ent, and the single most important point to notice about them is that they do not all tend towards the same conclusion. Som e appear to emphasise that nothing which other people would find worth calling a language could emerge from inner definitions or resolutions. T h e Interpretation Argument held that there would not be enough regularity in what the PLU does to allow us to describe his or her performances as linguistic. T h e Practice Argument claimed that we could not see such performances as belonging to a practice, and so could not properly describe them as being guided by a sign, making a report, following a rule, giving an order etc. T h e P LU ’s performances would be, as far as we were concerned, a series o f tics. T h e conclusion o f these arguments is: we

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Interim R esults behaviourism are both based on expressions (such as ‘There is something there* or ‘O nly I have got this*) which are not in fact used in the ways they suppose. Because (according to this converse reading o f the Use theory) an expression w hich has no normal use has as yet no meaning, the dualistic picture and the behaviouristic rejection of it are neither true nor false but (practically) meaningless. T h is argument, to put it mildly, needs to be supported in various ways. We need some independent reason to believe that lack o f use indicates meaninglessness, and to justify the priority given to ordinary use over technical uses. W e also need to reconcile W ittgenstein’s claim th at the dualistic picture has no normal use with his claim that it constantly suggests itself to us in ordinary language, and (for this and other reasons) it would be good to have some general m ethod of testing for lack o f practical meaning. A s presented above, the Use Argum ent is question-begging. But the cumulative force of W ittgenstein’s individual points remains. T h e ques­ tion now is whether these points and others could persuade us th at, although the picture of inner acts and objects is used (in the harmless senses) in ordinary speech, it can not be pushed beyond its norm al boundaries into dualistic explanation and the behaviouristic rejection of it. T h e very large task of marshalling these points to meet the problems raised above and persuade us th at doctrines as familiar as dualism and behaviourism are, in the most im portant sense, meaningless will occupy the rest o f this book. W e may therefore take this opportunity to review our progress so far.

In terim Results W e have now looked at eight distinguishable strands within the Private Language Argum ent, and the single most important point to notice about them is that they do not all tend towards the same conclusion. Som e appear to emphasise that nothing which other people would find worth calling a language could emerge from inner definitions or resolutions. T h e Interpretation Argument held that there would not be enough regularity in what the PLU does to allow us to describe his or her performances as linguistic. T h e Practice Argument claimed that we could not see such performances as belonging to a practice, and so could not properly describe them as being guided by a sign, making a report, following a rule, giving an order etc. T h e P LU ’s performances would be, as far as we were concerned, a series o f tics. T h e conclusion o f these arguments is: we

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations wouldn’t call it a language. A nd yet the Lockean set out precisely to explain what we do call language. A possible Lockean response to this line of attack would be to invoke a linguistic version o f the argument from analogy: the PLU ’s tics are intelligible to me as a language because I have the same tics. But, if my discussions of the Interpretation and Practice Arguments are correct, the Lockean need not fall back on this response. T h e arguments do not establish their conclusion. O ther arguments try to bring out the strangeness of the P LU ’s situation. We tend unthinkingly to grant the PLU various conceptual resources which, Wittgenstein argues, would be extremely problematic. T h e Stage-setting Argument pointed out that much more is involved in naming or defining than we tend to think. T h e Consequences Argument suggested that a private definition could not do the real work of a definition, without some public method o f determining meaning. T h e Verificationist Argument claimed that, without an external paradigm, there would be a conceptual problem about assuming that the PLU would be able to remember the original definition or resolution. T h e conclusion of these arguments is: the PLU can ’t do it all alone. O f these three arguments, the most persuasive is the Verificationist Argument. Y et the version o f it that I sketched is far from clearly stated or worked out in PI. It is therefore unsafe to place any considerable inter­ pretative weight on it. T h en there are arguments which claim that we do not really understand the concept of a private language. According to the Identification Argu­ m ent, the private language model would involve a possibility o f identifica­ tion error, which (allegedly) does not make sense. T h e Beetle-in-the-box Argument, at least on one interpretation, inferred a complementary possibility of naming error. A nd again, according to W ittgenstein’s sense­ lessness of doubt doctrine, this is a possibility we cannot really make sense of. T h e Use Argum ent, too, as presented above, holds that the private language model is meaningless because it has no base in ordinary usage. T h e conclusion of these arguments is: the whole idea of a private language is a piece of nonsense. I suggested above that the Identification and Beetle Arguments are inconclusive and that the Use Argument is question-begging. But even more important than their individual success or failure is their direction. T h e majority view is that W ittgenstein’s aim in the Private Language Argument is to show that a private language is impossible. A nd it is true that the first two groups of arguments can be seen in this light: the first group showing that it is impossible from our perspective, and the second group showing that it is impossible from the P LU ’s perspective too. But the

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Interim R esults third group sets out not to show that a private language is impossible but to show that it does not even qualify as a meaningful hypothesis. These two aims are not strictly incompatible because the kind o f (practical) meaninglessness W ittgenstein has in mind permits the drawing o f inferences from the meaningless proposition or model (as from ‘All trugs are stimp*). But if, as I believe, W ittgenstein’s fundamental aim is to show the private language model to be meaningless, it would be misleading to let the majority view go unchallenged. He wants to show that we do not really understand this model (although it is advanced as clarifying meaning and understanding in language). He does not primarily want to show that the model could not in practice or in principle be realised. A nd correspondingly, the arguments of the first two groups are better seen as urging that terms, such as ‘language’ or ‘remember’, depend for their normal meaning on their normal (public) context. We lose our purchase on the meaning of such terms when we try to apply them outside their normal context, just as we lose our sense of what might be m eant by a phrase as ordinary as ‘It’s five o ’clock’ if we change the context a little and say ‘It’s five o ’clock on the sun’ (PI 350 and see PI 349). It may seem surprising to claim that the PLA is not intended to show that the expression ‘private language’ is like the expression ‘round square’ (in expressing a logical impossibility), but like an expression such as ‘stimp trug’ (in having at best a stipulative meaning). T h e real justification o f this claim is the interpretation of PI as a whole to which it leads, but perhaps I should m ention some preliminary advantages here. In the first place, the present view accounts for the inconclusiveness of many of the arguments we have looked at (complained of, for example, by A . C . Grayling in his book Wittgenstein, p. 118 and elsewhere). Again and again, I have had to conclude that such-and-such an argument does not establish such-and-such a conclusion, or that the premisses which would be necessary for that conclusion are not present in the text. But there is a very good reason for what might (wrongly) appear to be a lack of rigour in W ittgenstein’s arguments. T o draw up strict arguments we would have to pretend to understand the target better than we do. O ur tendency, reacting against the Lockean model, is to say ‘Thinking is not an incorporeal process which lends life and sense to speaking* (PI 339). But this is already to give the notion of an incorporeal process too much credit for intelligibility, and producing strict arguments to prove that thinking is not an incorporeal process would only reinforce that presump­ tion of intelligibility. W e should rather ask: how ‘not an incorporeal process’? Am I acquainted with incorporeal processes, then, only thinking is not one of them? No; I called the expression

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations ‘incorporeal process* to my aid in my embarrassment when I was trying to explain the meaning of the word ‘thinking* in a primitive way (PI 339). O n W ittgenstein’s view, the idea o f an incorporeal process has not even enough meaning to qualify as a myth (compare Zettel 642). T h e majority view is that between PI 243 and PI 308 or thereabouts, Wittgenstein argues that a private language is impossible. A n alternative view (advanced by Fogelin and Kripke) is that this same conclusion has already been reached at PI 202, by way of the remarks on rule-following. W e shall consider this view in the Appendix. But, on the interpretation suggested here, to say a private language is impossible is, for Wittgenstein, to give it too much credit for intelligibility. T he first advantage of this interpretation is that it explains why Wittgenstein did not try to pursue the arguments of PI 243-308 in more detail: to do so would only reinforce the error he means to attack. A nother merit is consistency with Wittgenstein’s concept of philosophy as advancing no theses with which anyone would disagree (PI 128). If one thing is certain, it is that people have disagreed about whether or not a private language is impossible. A third advantage derives from the interpretation of the Identification, Beetle and Use Arguments. These are most naturally taken as indicating that the expression ‘private language’ is meaningless, not that it signifies a logical impossibility. T h e present interpretation, finally, makes better sense o f the relation between PI 243-308 and the remainder of PI. O n the majority and on the alternative views, the post-308 sections can come to seem unfocused individually brilliant perhaps, but lacking in any clear tendency or struc­ ture. It is even possible for an interpretation o f PI (like M arie M cG in n ’s Wittgenstein and the Philosophical Investigations) to neglect the last 380 sections of Part O ne almost entirely. O n the interpretation suggested here, however, PI 2 4 3-308 is a target-finding exercise, not the decisive battle, in W ittgen­ stein’s struggle against the Lockean. Inconclusive in itself (and necessarily so), the Private Language Argument functions to introduce two questions which dominate the rest o f PI. First, can it be shown that we do not really understand the private language model? A nd second, if we do not understand it, why does it have such a powerful hold over us? It is to these questions we now turn.

T h e P ost'308 P ro ject How could it possibly be shown that we do not understand what we believe we do understand? W ittgenstein raises this question at PI 334 and in the sections following PI 511. He insists that

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations ‘incorporeal process* to my aid in my embarrassment when I was trying to explain the meaning of the word ‘thinking* in a primitive way (PI 339). O n W ittgenstein’s view, the idea o f an incorporeal process has not even enough meaning to qualify as a myth (compare Zettel 642). T h e majority view is that between PI 243 and PI 308 or thereabouts, Wittgenstein argues that a private language is impossible. A n alternative view (advanced by Fogelin and Kripke) is that this same conclusion has already been reached at PI 202, by way of the remarks on rule-following. W e shall consider this view in the Appendix. But, on the interpretation suggested here, to say a private language is impossible is, for Wittgenstein, to give it too much credit for intelligibility. T he first advantage of this interpretation is that it explains why Wittgenstein did not try to pursue the arguments of PI 243-308 in more detail: to do so would only reinforce the error he means to attack. A nother merit is consistency with Wittgenstein’s concept of philosophy as advancing no theses with which anyone would disagree (PI 128). If one thing is certain, it is that people have disagreed about whether or not a private language is impossible. A third advantage derives from the interpretation of the Identification, Beetle and Use Arguments. These are most naturally taken as indicating that the expression ‘private language’ is meaningless, not that it signifies a logical impossibility. T h e present interpretation, finally, makes better sense o f the relation between PI 243-308 and the remainder of PI. O n the majority and on the alternative views, the post-308 sections can come to seem unfocused individually brilliant perhaps, but lacking in any clear tendency or struc­ ture. It is even possible for an interpretation o f PI (like M arie M cG in n ’s Wittgenstein and the Philosophical Investigations) to neglect the last 380 sections of Part O ne almost entirely. O n the interpretation suggested here, however, PI 2 4 3-308 is a target-finding exercise, not the decisive battle, in W ittgen­ stein’s struggle against the Lockean. Inconclusive in itself (and necessarily so), the Private Language Argument functions to introduce two questions which dominate the rest o f PI. First, can it be shown that we do not really understand the private language model? A nd second, if we do not understand it, why does it have such a powerful hold over us? It is to these questions we now turn.

T h e P ost'308 P ro ject How could it possibly be shown that we do not understand what we believe we do understand? W ittgenstein raises this question at PI 334 and in the sections following PI 511. He insists that

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T he P osT-308 Project It is not every sentence-like formation that we know how to do something with, not every technique has an application in our life; and when we are tempted in philosophy to count some quite useless thing as a proposition, that is often because we have not considered its application sufficiently (PI 520). W ittgenstein’s method, therefore, is to show that the sentence-like formations stemming from the Lockean picture of an inner realm do not in fact have application in our life. In the case of m athematics, a single proof may ‘lead us to say that we cannot imagine something which we believed we could imagine’ (PI 517), such as the trisection of the angle (PI 334). Unfortunately, no single proof can be expected in the present case: the picture gives rise to many apparently intelligible propositions, and indeed, many of these propositions are intelligible, as long as they are used in their normal way. In place of a single proof, then, W ittgenstein discusses many specific sentence-like formations from the Lockean picture, aiming to show that where they do have a use in real life, it is not their predicted Lockean use. Is this the question-begging Use Argument again? N o, because it does not require, as an unargued premiss, the equation of meaning with use. I said above that the Lockean can accept with equanimity the lack of any real use for a proposition. For the Lockean, what makes the proposition meaningful is a mental state, which might occur regardless o f use. But it is also true, on the Lockean view, that the point of meaning is use: we have language in order to use it (to remember our own thoughts and to communicate them to others). If a proposition has no real use, the Lockean is under some obligation to explain why not. W hy is it, for example, that propositions like ‘I am here* or ‘A rose is red in the dark too* (PI 515), understood in their philosophical senses, have no ordinary use? A re they too technical or abstract, too far from everyday, mundane concerns? But ‘A rose is red in the dark too’ contains no technical or abstract terms. A nd a proposition like ‘If you bring this rose into the light you’ll see that it’s red’ (which ought to be equally technical or abstract) certainly does have a normal use. If W ittgen­ stein can show that the Lockean picture suffers from a characteristic and pervasive lack o f use, it becomes difficult for the Lockean to produce a convincing explanation of the fact. A nd the W ittgensteinian explanation that these useless propositions are, in some important sense, meaningless becomes correspondingly plausible. T h e attem pt to argue this is cumulative and (because it is an argument to the best explanation) persuasive rather than demonstrative. But it is not question-begging.

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations So far, I have characterised W ittgenstein’s project in the post-308 sections of PI in such a way as to show that that project arises from, yet does not presuppose, the Use theory of meaning. T h e post-308 project assumes that lack of any real use is a surprising fact, something that requires an explanation: it does not assume that lack of any real use in itself shows meaninglessness. I wanted to characterise the project in this way, partly to bring out its continuity with the early sections of PI (which are concerned with the central importance of use), and partly to pre-empt the mistaken view that, because the Lockean grounds use in inner grasp, showing lack of use misses the point. There is, however, another, simpler way to characterise the project. W hy, if we do not genuinely understand the Lockean picture, do we have such a strong, pre-theoretical conviction that we do understand it? T h e source of this conviction, W ittgenstein believes, is the analogy between inner and outer. W e feel that we understand ordinary outer objects and processes very well, and after all, thoughts and thinking are like these (only existing and occurring in ‘inner space*). This analogy, or ‘misleading parallel* (PI 571), has been ‘absorbed into the forms of our language* (PI 112), making it inescapable. T h e alternative characterisation of W ittgenstein’s post-308 project is that it is an attempt to show in detail how ‘the analogy which was to make us understand our thoughts falls to pieces’ (PI 308). W ittgen­ stein’s aim is to show that the inner/outer analogy is so imperfect, so beset with puzzles and disanalogies, that it cannot give us an understanding o f the Lockean picture. Is this really the same project? Yes it is, because W ittgenstein’s way of showing that the analogy falls to pieces is to show that many sentence-like formations which on the Lockean view ought to have a use, have no use; and that many others which ought to be used in a particular way, are only used in a different way. Again, it is the same because the burden on the Lockean is the same. T o explain why these sentence-like formations do not have any, or the expected, use would also be to explain what enables us to understand the picture. If the Lockean claims, for example, that the sentence-like formations have no ordinary use because they are highly theoretical, that points to their role in the theory (rather than the inner/ outer analogy) as enabling us to understand them. W e might say that, at the tactical level, W ittgenstein’s project is to show lack of use: at the strategic level, it is to attack the analogy. As was the case with the Private Language Argum ent, W ittgenstein in fact advances several arguments, some relatively brief and self-contained, some highly ramified. A s I did before, I shall begin with the arguments which are easiest to present.

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T he Improvement A rgument

T h e Im p rov em en t A rgum ent W e have already seen W ittgenstein claim that we ‘haven’t any notion what kind o f thing it might be that he has before him* PI 294. PI 308 takes up the same idea: We talk of processes and states and leave their nature undecided. Sometime perhaps we shall know more about them - we think. But that is just what commits us to a particular way of looking at the matter. For we have a definite concept of what it means to learn to know a process better. W ittgenstein’s point is that we know how to recognise an improvement in our knowledge o f outer processes, like ozone depletion or car manufacture. But we don’t have any idea of what would count as an improvement in our knowledge o f ‘processes’ like rehearsing a speech or calculating a result in one’s head. T o put the point in linguistic terms, we don’t have any normal use for sentence-like formations such as ‘Now I know better what happens in me when I calculate in my head’. A more familiar view, however, would be that we do indeed have a sufficient grasp of what a mental process is to understand what knowing it better would be like. W undt’s programme was based on training subjects to introspect more accurately so as to find out in more detail about their mental processes. O ther accounts (going back to Hobbes) look to neurophysiology for a better understanding o f mental processes, assuming that mental processes are sufficiently well understood to be identifiable with neural ones, on at least a token-token basis. (Eliminative accounts, by contrast, regard the neural as displacing the mental, at least in theory). According to these more familiar views, a scientist might very well want to say, at the conclusion of a series of introspectionist or neurophysiological experiments, ‘Now I know better what happens in me when I calculate in my head’. A different reaction to W ittgenstein’s claim might be to agree that we don’t have any normal use for that sentence-like formation, simply because we always know perfectly well what happens in us when a mental process occurs. ‘Now I know better what happens in me when I calculate in my head’ is strange, it might be said, in exactly the same way that ‘Now I know my name is N ’ is strange. W ittgenstein attacks this second reaction at PI 311 (I cannot exhibit my own mental processes to myself) and PI 350 (even if I could exhibit them to myself, that would not help me understand what a mental process is supposed to be in someone else). But there is no argument specifically to

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations show that we do not understand what an improvement in our knowledge of a mental process would be: this lack o f understanding is supposed to be something we intuitively recognise. Faced with this disagreement over how well we understand what a mental process is (we understand it not at all/well enough to begin scientific research/with the greatest possible intimacy), how can we proceed? Two points can be made: first, that if the post-308 project is successful as a whole, that will support W ittgenstein’s contention that there is a radical failure in our grasp o f what a mental process is, and second, that the very existence of this disagreement tends to tell in W ittgenstein’s favour. W e do not find this kind of disagreement regarding outer processes - no one has qualms about the usability of a proposition like ‘Now I know better what happens in a tree when it sheds its leaves*. T h e disagreement itself is at least a disanalogy between inner and outer processes.

T h e In terru ption A rgum ent If thinking is a mental process and mental processes are like outer processes, it should always be possible to ask whether the process is continuing or has been interrupted. A t PI 328, W ittgenstein challenges this: ‘Suppose some­ one takes a measurement in the middle of a train of thought; has he interrupted the thought if he says nothing to himself during the measuring?’ Suppose a carpenter is making a set of shelves. Perhaps there is a problem about how many shelves to fit into the available space. T h e carpenter is thinking about this problem while preparing tools and materials. He or she rattles a box of screws to get a rough idea how many are left. Does this interrupt the process of thinking about how many shelves to make? There seems to be no clear answer to the question at this point: the answer depends on what happens next. If the carpenter says, inwardly or outwardly, ‘Now what was I thinking about?* and remembers or fails to remember, then we say the process has been interrupted. But if the carpenter simply continues imagining different arrange­ ments of shelves, we say there has been no interruption. W hat this brings out is that we say a process of thought has been interrupted when the thinker reacts as if there has been an interruption. We don’t look to what happens at the time of the interruption, we look to what happens later. In the case o f an outer process, too, we might look to what happens later but, in this case, we take the later event as evidence of what happened at the time of the interruption. In the case of the inner process, what happens later seems to be the crucial thing (see Zettel 7, 8, 14).

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations show that we do not understand what an improvement in our knowledge of a mental process would be: this lack o f understanding is supposed to be something we intuitively recognise. Faced with this disagreement over how well we understand what a mental process is (we understand it not at all/well enough to begin scientific research/with the greatest possible intimacy), how can we proceed? Two points can be made: first, that if the post-308 project is successful as a whole, that will support W ittgenstein’s contention that there is a radical failure in our grasp o f what a mental process is, and second, that the very existence of this disagreement tends to tell in W ittgenstein’s favour. W e do not find this kind of disagreement regarding outer processes - no one has qualms about the usability of a proposition like ‘Now I know better what happens in a tree when it sheds its leaves*. T h e disagreement itself is at least a disanalogy between inner and outer processes.

T h e In terru ption A rgum ent If thinking is a mental process and mental processes are like outer processes, it should always be possible to ask whether the process is continuing or has been interrupted. A t PI 328, W ittgenstein challenges this: ‘Suppose some­ one takes a measurement in the middle of a train of thought; has he interrupted the thought if he says nothing to himself during the measuring?’ Suppose a carpenter is making a set of shelves. Perhaps there is a problem about how many shelves to fit into the available space. T h e carpenter is thinking about this problem while preparing tools and materials. He or she rattles a box of screws to get a rough idea how many are left. Does this interrupt the process of thinking about how many shelves to make? There seems to be no clear answer to the question at this point: the answer depends on what happens next. If the carpenter says, inwardly or outwardly, ‘Now what was I thinking about?* and remembers or fails to remember, then we say the process has been interrupted. But if the carpenter simply continues imagining different arrange­ ments of shelves, we say there has been no interruption. W hat this brings out is that we say a process of thought has been interrupted when the thinker reacts as if there has been an interruption. We don’t look to what happens at the time of the interruption, we look to what happens later. In the case o f an outer process, too, we might look to what happens later but, in this case, we take the later event as evidence of what happened at the time of the interruption. In the case of the inner process, what happens later seems to be the crucial thing (see Zettel 7, 8, 14).

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Suppose, immediately after rattling the box o f screws, the carpenter begins thinking about what colour to paint the shelves (with no sense of an interruption in his or her train of thought). Has rattling the box of screws interrupted the carpenter’s train o f thought or merely coincided with a change in it? Have we any way to settle this question? If not, this is a serious disanalogy with the outer case. In the case of an outer process, we know rather well how to settle this kind of question. T o put the point in linguistic terms: the Lockean picture leads us to expect one kind o f use for a proposition like ‘Rattling the box interrupted the carpenter’s train of thought’ (a use which connects with identifiable changes occurring in the process from the moment of, and as a causal result of, the interruption). In fact, although we do have a use for such propositions, it is not the use the Lockean picture anticipates. PI 6 3 3 -7 explore a related feature of an interrupted train of thought. W hen someone continues after an interruption, or knows how they would have continued, this is not based (Wittgenstein claims) on any persisting causal influence from the pre-interruption segment of the train o f thought. Rather, it is ‘like following out a line of thought from brief notes’ (PI 634). I do not read off what I was going to say ‘from some other process which took place then and which I remember* (PI 637). But in the case of an outer process, knowing how the process would have continued had it not been interrupted is a matter of reading off from the pre-interruption segment. There is therefore a disanalogy between inner and outer processes concerning our knowledge of pre- and post-interruption segments (and we will have more to say about such questions o f knowledge below; see pp. 93-5).

T h e S p eed o f T h ou g h t A rgum ent If thinking is a process, to be understood on the model o f an outer process, it should be possible to imagine the process speeded up or slowed down. A nd we do indeed talk about thinking quickly or slowly. ‘So it is natural to ask if the same thing happens in lightning-like thought - only extremely accelerated - as when we talk and “think while we talk” * (PI 318). W ittgenstein’s answer to this natural question is that ‘I can see or understand a whole thought in a flash in exactly the sense in which I can make a note of it in a few words or a few pencilled dashes* (PI 319). He goes on to suggest in PI 320 that ‘T h e lightning-like thought may be connected with the spoken thought as the algebraic formula is with the sequence of numbers which I work out from it*. These remarks appear to

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Suppose, immediately after rattling the box o f screws, the carpenter begins thinking about what colour to paint the shelves (with no sense of an interruption in his or her train of thought). Has rattling the box of screws interrupted the carpenter’s train o f thought or merely coincided with a change in it? Have we any way to settle this question? If not, this is a serious disanalogy with the outer case. In the case of an outer process, we know rather well how to settle this kind of question. T o put the point in linguistic terms: the Lockean picture leads us to expect one kind o f use for a proposition like ‘Rattling the box interrupted the carpenter’s train of thought’ (a use which connects with identifiable changes occurring in the process from the moment of, and as a causal result of, the interruption). In fact, although we do have a use for such propositions, it is not the use the Lockean picture anticipates. PI 6 3 3 -7 explore a related feature of an interrupted train of thought. W hen someone continues after an interruption, or knows how they would have continued, this is not based (Wittgenstein claims) on any persisting causal influence from the pre-interruption segment of the train o f thought. Rather, it is ‘like following out a line of thought from brief notes’ (PI 634). I do not read off what I was going to say ‘from some other process which took place then and which I remember* (PI 637). But in the case of an outer process, knowing how the process would have continued had it not been interrupted is a matter of reading off from the pre-interruption segment. There is therefore a disanalogy between inner and outer processes concerning our knowledge of pre- and post-interruption segments (and we will have more to say about such questions o f knowledge below; see pp. 93-5).

T h e S p eed o f T h ou g h t A rgum ent If thinking is a process, to be understood on the model o f an outer process, it should be possible to imagine the process speeded up or slowed down. A nd we do indeed talk about thinking quickly or slowly. ‘So it is natural to ask if the same thing happens in lightning-like thought - only extremely accelerated - as when we talk and “think while we talk” * (PI 318). W ittgenstein’s answer to this natural question is that ‘I can see or understand a whole thought in a flash in exactly the sense in which I can make a note of it in a few words or a few pencilled dashes* (PI 319). He goes on to suggest in PI 320 that ‘T h e lightning-like thought may be connected with the spoken thought as the algebraic formula is with the sequence of numbers which I work out from it*. These remarks appear to

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations deny that the lightning-like thought is a speeded-up version of the same thought at normal speed: rather it is like a meaningful abbreviation. A nd this would be another disanalogy with outer processes. W hen a clock runs fast, it does not leave out some of the steps it considers less important, or symbolise its normal operation in a form which is quicker to work with. But there is a danger in this argument, the danger o f merely substituting one kind of inner process for another. W ittgenstein moves immediately to defuse this danger. A t PI 321 he writes, ‘ “W hat happens when a man suddenly understands?” - T h e question is badly framed. If it is a question about the meaning o f the expression “sudden understanding”, the answer is not to point to a process that we give this name to.* T h e Lockean error is not an error about the details of the mental process which goes on in us when we suddenly understand or have a lightning-like thought. T h e Lockean ertor is to suppose that expressions such as ‘sudden understanding’ can be made meaningful or explained by reference to mental processes of whatever sort. This introduces a rather serious problem of interpretation, for what are we to make now of the remarks in PI 3 1 9-20 which seemed to contrast the speeded-up thought with the abbreviated thought? There, W ittgenstein seemed to claim precisely that the Lockean was wrong about the details of the mental process involved in lightning-like thought. But that seems to imply that we can talk intelligibly about mental processes and, if we introspect carefully, arrive at truths about them. Before I explain how we might try to reconcile PI 319 -2 0 with PI 321, I ought to stress that W ittgenstein does not say in PI 319-20 that a lightninglike thought is a note or formula of a longer thought. He merely suggests these as analogies. Still, PI 319-20 do at least create the impression (which will recur more powerfully elsewhere) that W ittgenstein arrives at these analogies as a result of an inward examination more accurate than anything the Lockean achieved. There are three main ways to bring W ittgenstein’s apparent use of introspection into line with his attack on the intelligibility of the Lockean picture. T h e first is to read the apparent use of introspection as part of a dialectic of self-correction. We saw this self-correction occur within PI 339 (first, a superficial response to the Lockean picture, then the correct response) and PI 318-21 have something of the same appearance. Perhaps PI 319 and 320 set out a first, superficial response, the more clearly to correct it with PI 321. U nfortunately, there is little independent evidence to recommend this view (no interlocutor’s quotation marks, no explicit reference to the putatively mistaken first reaction), and in other cases, as we shall see in a mom ent, it is hard to suppose that the apparent use of introspection is for purposes of self-correction.

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T h e second option is to interpret W ittgenstein’s apparent use of intro­ spection as a kind of shorthand for what are really claims about the usability of linguistic expressions. T h e claim that a lightning-like thought is abbre­ viated rather than accelerated, on this view, is to be interpreted as the claim that we have no normal use for a sentence-like formation such as ‘I had the same thought as before, only faster*. By contrast, we do have a use for propositions like ‘I ran over the main topics of my speech in my head*. A s will be obvious from this example, it is far quicker and easier to make the point in substantive rather than meta-linguistic terms. W ittgenstein speaks so often in substantive mode, on this view, for the sake of ease o f exposition. T his is an attractive and plausible line in many cases. But there are two problems with it. T h e first problem is that there are a number of passages where W ittgenstein talks in substantive mode and seems to mean it. Let me give some examples. A t PI 645 we read: ‘For a moment I meant to . . .* That is, I had a particular feeling, an inner experience; and I remember it. - And now remember quite precisely! Then the inner experience of intending seems to vanish again. Instead one remembers thoughts, feelings, movements, and also connections with earlier situations. Here Wittgenstein certainly appears to demand a more conscientious kind of introspection, rather than attention to what we might normally say. A t PI 648 there is the same demand: ‘W hat does my memory shew me; what does it bring before my mind?* There is no indication in the text that this question is anything other than genuine. Wittgenstein’s point is that what we really remember in such cases is something less than we are inclined to think we remember, that ‘W hat I see in my memory allows no conclusion as to my feelings* (PI 651). This seems to require that at least some such memories can be accurate. A t PI 607, he writes, ‘The picture of a special atmosphere [surround­ ing a sentence and part of understanding it] forced itself upon me; I can see it quite clear before me - so long, that is, as I do not look at what my memory tells me really happened*. O nce again, it seems that by remembering what really happened in me when I understood the sentence, (for example that ‘I was thinking about my breakfast and wondering whether it would be late today*), I can see that no special atmosphere was involved. O ther examples can be found at PI 635 and PI 677. M any o f W ittgenstein’s other arguments seem to depend in the same way on what we really remember. W hen I carefully remember what went through my mind while teaching the child to add 2, I realise that I did not think ‘After 1000, the next number should be 1002* (PI 186). W hen I remember what went through my mind when I was expecting a louder bang

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations than the one that eventually occurred, I realise that no representation of a louder bang occurred in my imagination (PI 442). W hen I try to ‘attend to the way the sound of a letter comes* to me when I read it, I find (if I attend carefully) that there is no special or distinctive way (PI 166). It’s hard to see any natural way to take these meta-linguistically. O n W ittgenstein’s view we do have a use for ‘I thought to myself “W hen you get to 1000, write 1002 next” ’, and for ‘I imagined a very loud bang but the actual explosion was disappointing’. T h e question W ittgenstein is interested in is: what did you in fact think to yourself, imagine etc.? A nd that seems to accept the substantive mode as legitimate. Finally, and in addition to these argumentative uses of introspection, there are quite explicit admissions of mental pictures and sounds. PI 6 concedes that it may be the purpose o f a word to bring a picture o f the object before the hearer’s mind, so that ‘Uttering a word is like striking a note on the keyboard of the imagination’ (see also PI 37). T h e important point is that the mental image so produced does not constitute the hearer’s understanding of the word. Just as a brake-lever is only a brake-lever in conjunction with a certain mechanism, so the image, separated from its context, ‘may be anything, or nothing’ (PI 6). Again, at PI 165 W ittgenstein says, apparently in propria personay ‘if I so much as look at a Germ an printed word, there occurs a peculiar process, that of hearing the sound inwardly’. This happens, but does not constitute reading the word, ‘for the sounds of words may occur to me while I am looking at printed words, but that does not mean that I have read them ’. A nd many other examples could be given. T h e second problem with the meta-linguistic interpretation is that it rules out a certain natural kind of explanation. If the substantive mode is to be reinterpreted in meta-linguistic terms, what we experience cannot explain why we say the things we say. T o take a new example: at PI II.xi.147 W ittgenstein writes, ‘Seeing an aspect and imagining are subject to the will. There is such an order as “Imagine this”, and also: “Now see the figure like this”; but not: “Now see this leaf as green”.’ T his neatly encapsulates the move from substantive to meta-linguistic mode (see also PI II.xi.62). If, as the present interpretation holds, the second sentence paraphrases the first, then the first no longer explains the second. Why can we order someone, for example, to see the double cross as a white cross on a black background? A natural explanation is that we all know that we can at will see it either this way or as a black cross on a white background. But on the present interpretation, to say that we can do this just is to say, inter a lia t that we have a use for that kind of order. In the speed of thought case, why do we say ‘I ran over the topics in my head’ but not ‘I had the same thought, only faster’? T h e natural answer is that the first corresponds to our experience

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and the second does not. But it is a consequence o f the metalinguistic interpretation that this natural answer merely restates the question. There are (I think unreliable) indications that Wittgenstein may have accepted this consequence, and certainly, some commentators are ready to accept it on his behalf. Perhaps we do simply have to accept that this language-game is played, without resorting to the kind o f explanation I described above as natural (PI II.xi.51). But this is without doubt a startling departure from common sense, o f the kind Wittgenstein thought philosophy should not involve (PI 128, 599). L et’s turn to the third way of reconciling W ittgenstein’s apparent use o f introspection with his attack on the Lockean picture. T h e third option is to interpret W ittgenstein’s use of the substantive mode as genuine (not as something he self-corrects, and not as something we should reinterpret meta-linguistically), but then to find a difference between W ittgenstein’s and the Lockean’s use or interpretation o f introspection. Struck by the above emphasis on memory, for example, we might say that, for W ittgen­ stein, introspection is always retrospection. But PI 586 and PI 587 (among others) present cases of contemporaneous self-observation/introspection. O r again, struck by W ittgenstein’s emphasis on the unreliability of our memory-reports, we might say that, for W ittgenstein (as for Saussure), what we introspect is formless, vague, or plastic to interpretation (a view developed in Malcolm Budd’s book Wittgenstein’s Philosophy o f Psychology, see p. 28f., p. 76, p. 128f.). This seems to be suggested by PI 366, where W ittgenstein rejects the idea of a mapping between a calculation I perform in my head and one I perform on paper, or at PI 656, where he invites us to regard the wish we seem to introspect as just a way of regarding the language-game o f ‘telling a wish’. A nd of course, at PI Il.xi. 175 we have, ‘If G od had looked into our minds he would not have been able to see there whom we were speaking o f. But W ittgenstein also emphasises that we can remember accurately, as we saw above, and our dependence on contextual knowledge for purposes o f interpretation (see PI Il.xi. 174) applies also to outer processes, such as a coronation (PI 584). W hat difference, then, can we find between W ittgensteinian and Lock­ ean introspection? T h e obvious answer to this question is - the difference which will be brought out by the post-308 project. T h e third line o f interpretation concedes an analogy between inner and outer because, in both cases, we can properly speak o f remembering what happened. T o that extent, the analogy works. But how much follows from this? I said above that remembering seems to involve a concept of things really having been as they are believed to have been. It would follow that inner and outer processes must really take place. But it does not follow that ‘really taking place’ means the same thing in the two cases. T o say that someone really felt

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations remorse, for example, might be to say something about the authenticity of the em otion, not, as in the case of an outer process taking place, something about its dimensionality or causal efficacy (and see PI 306 on remembering). O n this interpretation, then, Wittgenstein and the Lockean both see an analogy between inner and outer processes and both really do use introspection. But for the Lockean, the analogy is much closer than it is for Wittgenstein, and introspection is correspondingly modelled more closely on perception. Accepting the analogy as close, the Lockean thinks he can do certain things with inner processes - use them in certain sorts of explanation - while Wittgenstein regards these uses as spurious. The nature of Wittgenstein’s disagreement with the Lockean, in short, is that if the analogy is complete or close, certain ways of speaking about inner processes are meaningful: if it is partial or distant, they are not (PI II.xi.192). A t PI 76, Wittgenstein says, ‘If someone were to draw a sharp boundary [around a concept] I could not acknowledge it as the one I too always wanted to draw, or had drawn in my mind. For I did not want to draw one at all.’ The Lockean believes that working out the details of the inner/outer analogy will lead to a better understanding of the inner - a natural enough belief because the analogy gives us the understanding we have. Wittgenstein argues, however, that working out the details produces only nonsense. The Lockean insists on sharpening an analogy which Wittgenstein insists on leaving as it is. Leaving the analogy as it is, it should be noted in passing, is not at all a passive or easy m atter. Given our almost irresistible tendency to over­ extend the analogy, we have to work hard to remind ourselves ‘not only of similarities, but also o f dissimilarities’ (PI 130). This demands an extended and purposive course o f argument, as provided by the post-308 project. Returning to the question of introspection, one problem with the third line of interpretation is that it diverges from, or adds to, W ittgenstein’s stated aim of investigating the applications of the picture (PI 374, PI 423-4). In the same way, the analogy which was going to make us understand our thoughts cannot strictly be said to ‘fall apart’: rather, it shrinks dramati­ cally. I think these points have to be accepted. W ittgenstein’s tactic is not only to show anomalies of use. In pursuit of disanalogies between inner and outer, he also points out anomalies of experience. A nother problem is that the balance of scholarly opinion is that W ittgenstein did not rely on introspection. Malcolm Budd, for example, writes, ‘A t the heart of W ittgenstein’s philosophy of psychology is his rejection of introspection as a means of obtaining information about everyday psychological concepts’ (p. 164). W ittgenstein certainly wanted to stress the limitations of introspection. It does not produce knowledge, at least in the case o f sensations (PI 246, PI II.xi.200f.; but contrast PI 586-7). It does not produce an understanding of

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concepts (PI 314, PI II.xi.187; PI II.xiii.2). It is in some cases not at all clear even what introspection is supposed to be (PI 41 2 -1 4 , but contrast PI 677). It depends very much on the whole context (PI 635-63). But the weight of evidence seems to me to favour the view that, for W ittgenstein, within these limits, introspection can indeed give us information, and even inform ation about psychological concepts. A t PI 677, for example, introspection reveals or confirms that there are differences of degree in the concepts o f ‘meaning it* or ‘thinking o f someone*. A t the very minimum, introspection can give us the im portant negative information that certain concepts are applicable in the absence o f any specifiable introspectible process (see, for example, PI 140). T h e disadvantages o f this line of interpretation, then, seem to me supportable. Let me now point out an advantage. W hen discussing the Use Argum ent, I suggested three objections to it: that there are uses for the inner objects picture in everyday life, that the picture could legitimately be used in non-ordinary (for example, scientific) contexts, and that the argument was question-begging. I have tried to respond to the third objection already. A preliminary answer to the second is that the inner objects picture cannot bring any explanatory power to a theory to the extent that it derives its meaning from its role in the theory. T h e present interpretation allows us now to answer the first objection, too. T h e analogy does exist, and the picture really is used in everyday life. W ittgenstein’s project is not to show that any and all talk about the inner is meaningless, only that it becomes meaningless when pushed, as the Lockean pushes it, beyond its everyday role. Just as the searcher after something gloob took the term out of its proper context and, by doing so, created an impossible task, so the Lockean misinterprets our normal talk about the inner by extending it beyond its normal boundaries (PI 194 end). This too creates an infinitely elusive object (see PI 195 on the danger of transferring a sentence into ‘a different language-game. . . from the one in which we actually use it*, and PI II.xi.23-4 on the way assimilating inner to outer ‘makes this object into a chimera*). A nother advantage, in my view, is that Wittgenstein’s use of introspection reinforces Pi’s incompatibility with behaviourism. The defining issue for behaviourism, historically and logically, is the validity of introspection and, for Wittgenstein, introspection as we ordinarily understand it is unproblematic. How, then, does the present interpretation square PI 319-20 with PI 321? PI 3 1 9 -2 0 , as suggested initially, claim that a lightning-like thought is (typically) abbreviated rather than speeded up (see also PI 634). This is exactly what it appears to be, a claim about experience, based on introspection. PI 321 does two things: it warns against the assumption that sudden understanding is something that happens, in any sense close to the sense in which an outer process happens, and it warns against taking

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations any process as explaining the meaning of the phrase ‘sudden understand' ing’. A s W ittgenstein says at PI 316, what I observe in myself when I think does not help clarify the meaning o f the word ‘think’ (see also PI 314). So PI 3 1 9 -2 0 use introspection to establish a disanalogy between inner and outer processes - to think quickly is not to have a speeded-up thought. PI 321 states by contrast what introspection cannot be used to do. It cannot explain what it means in general for an inner process to happen, and it cannot explain the meaning o f a phrase like ‘sudden understanding’.

T h e P re-ex isten ce A rgum ent According to the Lockean picture, a process of thought is something independent of the process of revealing the thought, by speaking, humming, drawing a picture etc. Just as a hidden process of metamorphosis precedes the emergence of the butterfly, so a hidden process of thought precedes the emergence o f (thoughtful) speech. A t PI 334, W ittgenstein says, ‘O ne is tempted to use the following picture: what he really “wanted to say”, what he “m eant” was already present somewhere in his mind even before we gave it expression*. Consistently with the third line of interpretation outlined above, W ittgenstein does not attack this picture as meaningless or false. O n the contrary, he says, ‘This picture is more or less appropriate in different cases’ (PI 335). T h e analogy between inner and outer is workable, in that we can properly say that the thought happened or was in the thinker’s mind before it was expressed, in at least some cases. W ittgenstein’s criticism of the picture is for its tendency to overextend: we are too much ‘inclined to extend the comparison* (PI 73). He writes, can't all sorts of things happen here? - I surrender to a mood and the expression comes. Or a picture occurs to me and I try to describe it. Or an English expression occurs to me and I try to hit on the corresponding German one. Or I make a gesture, and ask myself: What words correspond to this gesture? And so on (PI 335). Thoughtful speech might have been preceded, not by an inner rehearsal or act o f grammatical construction, but by a mood, a picture, a phrase from another language, a gesture etc. T h e Lockean exaggeration of the analogy, however, wrongly makes it seem that a speaker’s meaning or intention must always pre-exist. It also makes it seem as if we should be able to say in more

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations any process as explaining the meaning of the phrase ‘sudden understand' ing’. A s W ittgenstein says at PI 316, what I observe in myself when I think does not help clarify the meaning o f the word ‘think’ (see also PI 314). So PI 3 1 9 -2 0 use introspection to establish a disanalogy between inner and outer processes - to think quickly is not to have a speeded-up thought. PI 321 states by contrast what introspection cannot be used to do. It cannot explain what it means in general for an inner process to happen, and it cannot explain the meaning o f a phrase like ‘sudden understanding’.

T h e P re-ex isten ce A rgum ent According to the Lockean picture, a process of thought is something independent of the process of revealing the thought, by speaking, humming, drawing a picture etc. Just as a hidden process of metamorphosis precedes the emergence of the butterfly, so a hidden process of thought precedes the emergence o f (thoughtful) speech. A t PI 334, W ittgenstein says, ‘O ne is tempted to use the following picture: what he really “wanted to say”, what he “m eant” was already present somewhere in his mind even before we gave it expression*. Consistently with the third line of interpretation outlined above, W ittgenstein does not attack this picture as meaningless or false. O n the contrary, he says, ‘This picture is more or less appropriate in different cases’ (PI 335). T h e analogy between inner and outer is workable, in that we can properly say that the thought happened or was in the thinker’s mind before it was expressed, in at least some cases. W ittgenstein’s criticism of the picture is for its tendency to overextend: we are too much ‘inclined to extend the comparison* (PI 73). He writes, can't all sorts of things happen here? - I surrender to a mood and the expression comes. Or a picture occurs to me and I try to describe it. Or an English expression occurs to me and I try to hit on the corresponding German one. Or I make a gesture, and ask myself: What words correspond to this gesture? And so on (PI 335). Thoughtful speech might have been preceded, not by an inner rehearsal or act o f grammatical construction, but by a mood, a picture, a phrase from another language, a gesture etc. T h e Lockean exaggeration of the analogy, however, wrongly makes it seem that a speaker’s meaning or intention must always pre-exist. It also makes it seem as if we should be able to say in more

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T he Pre- existence A rgument detail what its pre-existing consists in (contrary to the Improvement Argument). W ittgenstein ends PI 335 with a rhetorical challenge to this assumption - what can we really say ‘to the question: “W hat did the thought consist in, as it existed before its expression?” *? T h e Pre-existence Argum ent, then, is not about an anomaly of use. We do have a use for expressions like ‘I thought out what I wanted to say before­ hand*. It claims that the Lockean picture predicts experiences that we do not in fact have. T h e Lockean picture makes these false predictions because it exaggerates, or sharpens, or forces, the analogy between inner and outer. There is another factor encouraging us to infer past experiences where none really happened, and the PI 600s are largely devoted to exploring it. In many cases we use an apparently categorical past tense, which seems justified by nothing outer. T h e Lockean inference is that it must be justified by something inner. Here are some examples. ‘O ne can now say that the words “I wanted N to come to me” describe the state o f my mind at that time; and again one may not say so* (PI 662). For the Lockean, ‘I wanted . . .* is made true by the state o f my mind at that time, just as ‘T h e tree was in full le af is made true by the state of the tree at that time. For W ittgenstein, the analogy is not so prescriptive: we are not compelled to interpret ‘I wanted . . .* as the Lockean does. A t PI 602 W ittgenstein writes, ‘Asked “Did you recognise your desk when you entered your room this morning?** - I should no doubt say “Certainly!** A nd yet it would be misleading to say that an act of recognition had taken place* (see also PI 6 0 3 -4 , PI 596, PI 598). As before, it is correct to say ‘I recognised . . .* (at least if someone asks me). But if we look at what our memory tells us really happened, we will probably find no act o f recognition. T h e truth o f the past tense statement does not depend on the occurrence at that time o f something inner. A t PI 692 we have, ‘Is it correct for someone to say: “W hen I gave you this rule, I m eant you to ......in this case**? Even if he did not think o f this case at all as he gave the rule? O f course it is correct. For “to mean it** did not mean: to think of it*. O nce again, the past tense expression is not made correct by anything we retrospect. In fact, it is a disguised past tense conditional, roughly equivalent to ‘If I had been asked, I would have told the learner to write 1002* and so on (PI 187). Even if retrospection does reveal an experience, that experience is significant only in its total context (PI 663). (O ther past tense examples can be found at PI 633f. - ‘I was going to s a y . . .*; PI 642f. - ‘I h a te d . . .*; PI 663 - ‘I meant him*; PI 676f. - ‘I meant this*; PI 687 - ‘I thought of him*). T h e Lockean sharpening of the analogy encourages a quasi-causal inter­ pretation o f inner processes. Outer processes have causal efficacy. (Indeed, a definitional connection between real existence and causal efficacy goes back

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations at least to Plato’s Sophist, 247e, where it trumps the Theory o f Forms). It follows by the analogy that inner processes must, in some similar sense, produce and be produced too. So if the inner process is a productive factor in the emergence of thoughtful speech, it must always occur, just as the process of metamorphosis must always occur if the butterfly is to emerge. But on the contrary, W ittgenstein argues, it is a disanalogy between inner and outer processes that the inner process need not occur.

T h e C o-ex isten ce A rgum ent T h e Lockean picture of thinking as an independent process suggests that it exists either before or alongside speaking. As W ittgenstein says, thinking ‘seems to be an accompaniment of speech. A process, which may accom­ pany something else, or can go on by itself (PI 330). W ittgenstein’s response is that it is sometimes correct to say that a mental process accompanies thoughtful speech or action (‘we sometimes call it “thinking” to accompany a sentence by a m ental process’, PI 332). But someone might speak or act thoughtfully without any mental process going on (and the thought involved could be a highly abstract one such as ‘If two magnitudes are equal to a third, they are equal to one another* or a very practical one such as ‘Yes, this pen is blunt. O h well, it’ll do’, PI 330). So the mental process is not always there. A nd even when it does occur, it isn’t that occurrence which makes it correct to say that the person is thinking (‘that accompani­ m ent is not what we mean by a “thought” *, PI 332). This shows that the mental process is unlike an outer process, because it may or may not be present in any given case o f thinking, and because it isn’t what we intend to name. ‘Metamorphosis’ names the process that occurs in the chrysalis, but ‘thinking’ does not name the process that occurs, when it does occur, in the mind. W ittgenstein adds a point best seen as meta-linguistic. Consider the command ‘Say a sentence and think it; say it with understanding. - A nd now do not say it and just do what you accompanied it with when you said it with understanding!’ (PI 332). For the Lockean, this sort o f command ought to have a use. In fact, we hardly know what might be m eant by a command like ‘Just perform the accompaniment which occurred when you understood the sentence’. (The point is complicated, however. We do have a use for ‘Just think it - don’t say it’, and, as Wittgenstein points out, for ‘D on ’t sing the tune, but repeat its expression’. A nd there are accompani­ ments typical of thoughtful speech - see PI Il.xi. 183; PI II.xi.196). A t least in

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations at least to Plato’s Sophist, 247e, where it trumps the Theory o f Forms). It follows by the analogy that inner processes must, in some similar sense, produce and be produced too. So if the inner process is a productive factor in the emergence of thoughtful speech, it must always occur, just as the process of metamorphosis must always occur if the butterfly is to emerge. But on the contrary, W ittgenstein argues, it is a disanalogy between inner and outer processes that the inner process need not occur.

T h e C o-ex isten ce A rgum ent T h e Lockean picture of thinking as an independent process suggests that it exists either before or alongside speaking. As W ittgenstein says, thinking ‘seems to be an accompaniment of speech. A process, which may accom­ pany something else, or can go on by itself (PI 330). W ittgenstein’s response is that it is sometimes correct to say that a mental process accompanies thoughtful speech or action (‘we sometimes call it “thinking” to accompany a sentence by a m ental process’, PI 332). But someone might speak or act thoughtfully without any mental process going on (and the thought involved could be a highly abstract one such as ‘If two magnitudes are equal to a third, they are equal to one another* or a very practical one such as ‘Yes, this pen is blunt. O h well, it’ll do’, PI 330). So the mental process is not always there. A nd even when it does occur, it isn’t that occurrence which makes it correct to say that the person is thinking (‘that accompani­ m ent is not what we mean by a “thought” *, PI 332). This shows that the mental process is unlike an outer process, because it may or may not be present in any given case o f thinking, and because it isn’t what we intend to name. ‘Metamorphosis’ names the process that occurs in the chrysalis, but ‘thinking’ does not name the process that occurs, when it does occur, in the mind. W ittgenstein adds a point best seen as meta-linguistic. Consider the command ‘Say a sentence and think it; say it with understanding. - A nd now do not say it and just do what you accompanied it with when you said it with understanding!’ (PI 332). For the Lockean, this sort o f command ought to have a use. In fact, we hardly know what might be m eant by a command like ‘Just perform the accompaniment which occurred when you understood the sentence’. (The point is complicated, however. We do have a use for ‘Just think it - don’t say it’, and, as Wittgenstein points out, for ‘D on ’t sing the tune, but repeat its expression’. A nd there are accompani­ ments typical of thoughtful speech - see PI Il.xi. 183; PI II.xi.196). A t least in

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T he C o- existence A rgument the case o f understanding, then, the Lockean picture tends to propose what is merely a command-like formation as a legitimate command. Now, why is this command-like form ation not used in real life? For the Lockean, because we simply aren’t interested, normally, in the inner process of understanding independent o f its outward manifestations. For W ittgenstein, because the form ation is meaningless. T h e inner/outer analogy is not close enough to render it intelligible. As he did with the past tense, W ittgenstein discusses many further examples of present tense expressions we might misinterpret as naming a co­ existing mental process (concentrated this time in the PI 500s). PI 507f. - *1 mean . . .’; PI 536f. - ‘I read this face as . . .*; PI 545 - ‘I hope . . .*; PI 547f. ‘I deny . . .’; PI 577 - ‘I am expecting . . .*; PI 578 - ‘I believe . . PI 588 - ‘I am revolving the decision . . .’; PI 592 - ‘I intend . . .’. (There are, of course, other examples outside of the PI 500s; for example, ‘I am afraid’ in PI Il.ix.) Throughout these discussions W ittgenstein emphasises the variability of what might go through a person’s mind (see, for example, PI 576) and the context-dependence of whatever does go through it (PI 583 etc.). He also points out odd formations which, on the Lockean view, ought to be usable. For example ‘Does the sam e negation occur in: “Iron does not melt at a hundred degrees Centigrade” and “Twice two is not five”?’ (PI 551 and see also PI fl.xi.162f.). A nice example of W ittgenstein’s talent for bringing out the strangeness of formations accepted by the Lockean occurs at PI 501: ‘ “T h e purpose of language is to express thoughts.” - So presumably the purpose of every sentence is to express a thought. T h en what thought is expressed, for example, by the sentence “It’s raining”?’ O n the Lockean view, the idiom ‘expressing a thought’ ought to be usable for every sentence. In fact, its use in real life is quite different, to request or introduce an explanation of the meaning of some particularly difficult sentence. A t PI 157-8, W ittgenstein presents a related attack on thinking as a co­ existing process, which we might call the First W ord Argument. He claims that when a beginner is learning to read, the question ‘W hich was the first word he really read?’ makes no sense (unless we provide a stipulative definition of ‘first’, such as the first of the first series of fifty correct words). If some co-existing process constitutes reading, however, then the question certainly does make sense. It means ‘W hich was the first word accompanied by the constitutive process?* T o this argument the Lockean can reply in various ways. O ne way is by claiming that the question is normally not asked, not because it has no sense, but because only the reader (who is probably too young or inexperienced to be reliable) could answer it. It might also be said that

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations we are not usually interested in whether a particular word was really read. Our interest is in whether, and how well, a learner can read. A nother reply is to claim that the constitutive process may not be all-or-nothing, so that the question has no definite answer because the process may be partially or confusedly present. A ll these responses press for a clearer account of what it is for the question to ‘make no sense* (as opposed to being unpractically difficult or uninteresting). But if the conclusions o f the sections on the Verificationist and Use Arguments are correct, no such account is present in PI. I therefore regard the First W ord Argument as an overstatement or dramatisation of the Co-existence Argument. If we should try to sum up the point of the Pre-existence and Co-existence Arguments, it would be this. T h e Lockean interprets the past- and present' tense statements examined by W ittgenstein as reports o f inner processes. Because inner processes are, for the Lockean, closely analogous to outer ones, they are naturally reported in much the same way. W ittgenstein shows in great detail, however, that there is often nothing to report, and that when there is, it is not that alone which makes the ‘report* correct. Furthermore, there are many unusable ‘reports* which ought to be possible on the Lockean view (‘Report the thought you had as it existed before you expressed it*, ‘Report the thought you meant to express by “It*s raining** * and so on). But if the role of reporting is so different for inner processes, this is a very striking disanalogy with outer processes.

T h e D escrip tion A rgum ent If the role o f reporting is so different, we would expect the same to be true of describing. This would also follow from the claim that we haven’t really any idea what an inner process or object might be, and from the Improvement Argum ent (see PI 290-1). W ittgenstein gives several examples of sentences the Lockean interprets as descriptions, pointing out how different they are from descriptions of outer objects and processes. A t PI 179-81, he discusses ‘Now I know how to go on*, stressing (as above) that it is possible that ‘nothing at all occurred in B*s mind*, and that even if a mental process did occur, it is not that alone which justifies the claim. T his means it would be ‘quite misleading* to call these words a description of a mental state. PI 577 and PI 585 contrast two ways of taking a sentence like ‘I am expecting him*. If it means something like ‘I am not thinking about him but I would be surprised if he didn’t show up*, then it is not a description of a

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations we are not usually interested in whether a particular word was really read. Our interest is in whether, and how well, a learner can read. A nother reply is to claim that the constitutive process may not be all-or-nothing, so that the question has no definite answer because the process may be partially or confusedly present. A ll these responses press for a clearer account of what it is for the question to ‘make no sense* (as opposed to being unpractically difficult or uninteresting). But if the conclusions o f the sections on the Verificationist and Use Arguments are correct, no such account is present in PI. I therefore regard the First W ord Argument as an overstatement or dramatisation of the Co-existence Argument. If we should try to sum up the point of the Pre-existence and Co-existence Arguments, it would be this. T h e Lockean interprets the past- and present' tense statements examined by W ittgenstein as reports o f inner processes. Because inner processes are, for the Lockean, closely analogous to outer ones, they are naturally reported in much the same way. W ittgenstein shows in great detail, however, that there is often nothing to report, and that when there is, it is not that alone which makes the ‘report* correct. Furthermore, there are many unusable ‘reports* which ought to be possible on the Lockean view (‘Report the thought you had as it existed before you expressed it*, ‘Report the thought you meant to express by “It*s raining** * and so on). But if the role of reporting is so different for inner processes, this is a very striking disanalogy with outer processes.

T h e D escrip tion A rgum ent If the role o f reporting is so different, we would expect the same to be true of describing. This would also follow from the claim that we haven’t really any idea what an inner process or object might be, and from the Improvement Argum ent (see PI 290-1). W ittgenstein gives several examples of sentences the Lockean interprets as descriptions, pointing out how different they are from descriptions of outer objects and processes. A t PI 179-81, he discusses ‘Now I know how to go on*, stressing (as above) that it is possible that ‘nothing at all occurred in B*s mind*, and that even if a mental process did occur, it is not that alone which justifies the claim. T his means it would be ‘quite misleading* to call these words a description of a mental state. PI 577 and PI 585 contrast two ways of taking a sentence like ‘I am expecting him*. If it means something like ‘I am not thinking about him but I would be surprised if he didn’t show up*, then it is not a description of a

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T he Description A rgument state of mind. If it means ‘ “I can’t keep my mind on my work today; I keep on thinking o f his com ing” - this will be called a description o f my state of mind*. S o we do sometimes describe our state o f mind, but the Lockean sharpening o f the analogy makes it seem as if this is what we do in all such cases. If someone, however, expecting an explosion for example, ‘whispers “It’ll go off now”, instead of saying “I expect an explosion any m om ent”, still his words do not describe a feeling; although they and their tone may be a m anifestation o f his feeling’ (PI 582). A particular case in which we are not describing - the case of avowal or expression (Ausserung) - has attracted a lot o f attention. A t PI Il.ix, for example, W ittgenstein asks ‘Are the words “I am afraid” a description of a state o f mind?’ His answer is that these words might be many different things, in some cases a description of my state o f mind, in others a cry o f complaint or a confession. He concludes, ‘if “I am afraid” is not always something like a cry of complaint and yet sometimes is, then why should it always be a description of a state of mind?’ (see also PI 585). Again, ‘the criteria for the truth of the confession that I thought such-and-such are not the criteria for the true description o f a process’ (PI II.xi.210). As always, it is the Lockean over-extension of the analogy (the move from sometimes-like to always-is) that W ittgenstein rejects. Some commentators think that avowal is in some sense typical or particularly revealing of first-person psychological statements in general. Paul Johnston, for example, emphasises that ’this type of statement has a quite different grammar from that of a description’ (p. 12f., p. 127f.). Norman Malcolm (Wittgenstein: Nothing is Hiddent p.142) says, ’In likening the utterance “I’m in pain” to a cry of pain, Wittgenstein was not declaring that it is a cry of pain. He was pointing out a similarity that, once seen, helped him to be freed from the foregoing tangle of misleading, confusing or nonsensical ideas [that I know that I am in pain by inwardly observing myself].’ The point of drawing this analogy, according to Malcolm, is to show that ‘I’m in pain*, though it can be true or false (unlike a cry, which is genuine or pretended), is not made true or false by any comparison against reality. One does not apply psychological predicates to oneself on the basis of criteria, and this ‘undermines the notion that first-person psychological utterances are compared with reality* (p. 144). Thus, ‘If one doesn’t employ the predicates in accordance with any criteria, then one is not trying to determine whether the predicates fit either inner mental states or outer behaviour. If, in addition, one does not use the subject term, the word ‘I’, to refer to anyone or anything, then one is not trying to

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations determine whether the predicate is true of some particular person or thing* (p. 147). Malcolm describes this as a ‘decisive refutation of the notion that one somehow compares these sentences with how things are, and of the connected notions that one verifies, or perceives, or observes, or knows, that they are true, or false*. Malcolm rightly points out that, for Wittgenstein, ‘He is in pain*, too, ‘can be an expression of concern or anguish* (Zettel 540-5). Here too, what we say functions as a replacement for more primitive expressive behaviour (of tending and treating). But this extension to a case in which (on his account, p. 143) we do apply criteria surely shows that the distinction between expressive and descriptive uses of a sentence will at best be an intuitive way into the important distinction, which is that between an utterance made on the basis of criteria and one made, as it were, immediately. For Wittgenstein, in any case, the distinction between describing and expressing seems to be a matter of the surroundings and the extent to which the speaker is caught up in the experience (see PI 585-6). There seems to be no class of sentences which are only used expressively (PI II.ix.7, 13, 17-19). Criterionless first-person ascriptions such as ‘My present image is red’ (PI 377f.), for example, are not readily understood as expressive. To put it briefly, we have three disjunctions: between expressive and descriptive uses, between criterionless and criterion-employing uses, and between first-person and second/third-person psycholo­ gical ascriptions. The second disjunction matches the third much better than the first does, and accordingly, seems to offer more hope of casting light on the third. The crucial question, then, is how we are to understand criter­ ionless utterance. This obviously depends on what we take Witt­ genstein to have meant by the term ‘criterion*, a matter of some debate. On p. 99f. below, I explain a criterion as any one of many logically co-sufficient conditions for an utterance, usable on parti­ cular occasions as a crucial test (taking the other co-sufficient conditions, or a sufficient number of them, to be satisfied). If this account is correct, a criterionless utterance might be either one that has no logically co-sufficient conditions, or one not in fact preceded by any crucial test. But an utterance which lacks co-sufficient conditions would be logically isolated. N*s utterance ‘I am in pain* would have no connection, for example, with N*s present wants or N*s history as a human being. If this is untenable, a criterionless utterance, for Wittgenstein, must be one not in fact preceded by a crucial test to justify the utterance. Our question now is whether Wittgenstein believed that there is a set of utterances classified by content (such as first-person psycho­ logical ascriptions) which are never made on the basis of a crucial

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T he Description A rgument test. I argued above (in the section on the Identification Argument) that Wittgenstein overstates the impossibility of error, and a natural corollary of this overstatement is a rejection of testing, for, where a test is applied, the tester could conceivably make a mistake about its application or its outcome. Wittgenstein also clearly states that some introspective judgments are criterionless (PI 377f). On the other hand, introspection for Wittgenstein is at least sometimes a difficult process, a matter of self-examination, something which the person can get wrong (see the section on the Speed of Thought Argument above and p. 80f. below). Someone who is asking himself‘Do I really love her?*, for example, may call up imaginary situations, in which imagined responses could serve as criteria of real love (PI 587). I suggest that our most reasonable course, lacking decisive textual evidence, is to suppose that Wittgenstein held that some but not all first-person psychological ascriptions (those concerning sensations, for example) could involve a crucial test only in abnormal circum­ stances (such as a case in which the person concerned has reason to suspect some kind of neurological malfunction). If I have to take regular supplements of wonder drug D, for example (see above, p. 27), then I might treat the time elapsed since my last dose as a crucial test even of a judgment like ‘I feel hot* (because my regular dose might last six hours, say, before the normalising effect begins to wear off). Self-ascription of sensations would be criterionless, then, in the sense that no criterion would normally be applied as a crucial test justifying the ascription. If all this is correct, avowals would not only be relegated to pointing the way towards criterionless utterance, but criterionless utterance would itself apply only to some first-person inner ‘reports* or ‘descriptions*, and only under normal (rather than all possible) circumstances. Furthermore, second- and third-person psychologi­ cal ascriptions would, on many occasions, be criterionless too, as would many non-psychological utterances. The judgment that another person is in pain, for example, might be made without applying any crucial test. As Wittgenstein suggests, it, too, can be beyond intelligible doubt (‘the words becoming quite meaningless* PI 420, but contrast PI II.xi.198, 201). In short, the match even between the second and third disjunctions is far from perfect. Now, the concept of an avowal can be put to various uses. It might be invoked, for example, to answer the question ‘What makes a sentence like “I am in pain** meaningful?* Such a sentence is not made meaningful, it might be said, by the ability of the word ‘pain* to designate an object, but by the ability of the sentence as a whole to replace the natural expressions of pain. Used in this way, a perfect match between the avowal/description and the first/second- or

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations third-person disjunctions may not be necessary. But other problems loom. Even if we allow that the concept could explain how terms for sensations which have a natural expression become meaningful, other sensations and other mental processes would seem to fall outside its scope. What about all the sensations (and other mental states and processes) that do not have natural expressions? And how far does the concept of an avowal (Ausserung) really help in the case of sensations that do have a natural expression? Do we understand the relation between the natural behavioural expression and the experience, on which the explanatory value of the concept is predicated? What is the relation, for example, between the twinge of toothache and the wince that expresses it? Does the wince correlate with the twinge? Or constitute it? Or neither? Until we understand how to respond to these questions, the fact that in one case the behavioural output is learned (speech) and in another case unlearned (natural expression), seems to me relatively unimportant. For Wittgenstein himself, the natural expressions of a sensation seem only to help explain how sensa­ tion-language is in fact introduced (PI 244, PI 257). The concept of an avowal does not generate a theory of the meaning of sensationlanguage. I now want to leave the question of avowals to discuss Malcolm’s interpretation of the PLA (quoted above). This begins from the criterionless nature of first-person psychological ascriptions (as does Budd’s, see Appendix). According to Malcolm, the absence of criteria, and the non-referring nature of T in these contexts, show that such ascriptions are not made true by any comparison against reality. And this in turn shows that we do not observe or know our inner states. Furthermore, it shows where dualism and behaviour­ ism err. Both regard ‘I am in pain’ as being compared against reality to test its truth. But ‘if one doesn’t employ the predicates in accordance with any criteria, then one is not trying to determine whether the predicates fit either inner mental states or outer behaviour’ (p. 147). I have already suggested that it is not easy to be certain what Wittgenstein would say about a criterionless class of sentences. For Wittgenstein, I suggest, there are criterionless utterances (cases in which no difficulty prompts us to apply a crucial test), but not criterionless classes of utterances, if, as above, the principle of classification is content-based. Thus, first-person psychological ascriptions might involve the application of criteria (though they typically do not), and second- or third-person psychological ascrip­ tions might not. In fact, even a non-psychological sentence like T h e book’s on the desk’ would not normally involve the use of criteria.

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T he Pointing A rgument Criteria would normally be used only, for example, if the speaker was for some reason uncertain that the object really was a book or a desk. Nevertheless, this is a paradigmatic case of ‘comparison with reality*. What makes the sentence true (whether criteria are put into use in a particular case or not) is the book’s really being on the desk. For these reasons, I would question Malcolm’s notion of a criter­ ionless, content-based class of sentences, and the connection he sees between it and the notion of a fit with reality. Another problem for Malcolm’s account is to explain what does make ‘I am in pain’ true, if it is not anything that can be described as a ‘comparison with reality’. Malcolm is surely correct to point out that ‘I am in pain* (unlike a groan) can have a truth-value, but then it seems reasonable to inquire what makes it true or false in a given case. Malcolm’s account protests against the object-designation model of the truth or falsehood of *1 am in pain’, but supplies no alternative. T o sum up: neither the concept of an avowal nor that of criterionless utterance holds much promise, it seems to me, as alternatives to the objectdesignation model. W ittgenstein’s aim is not to uproot that model and replace it with something better, but to reveal it as an exaggeration of our ordinary, harmless analogy between inner and outer.

T h e P oin tin g A rgum ent A t PI 382 Wittgenstein asks, ‘W hat is the meaning of the words: “This image”? How does one point to an image? How does one point twice to the same image?’ T h en at PI 411 he takes up the question ‘Is this sensation my sensation?* He says this question has a ‘practical (non-philosophical) application’, but unfortu­ nately he doesn’t say what it is. Perhaps he has in mind the case in which someone wonders whether a certain sensation, such as a thrill of triumph, is really authentic. If this is correct, the question means something like ‘Has this sensation been produced in me only by peer-suggestion or abnormal circum­ stances?* Wittgenstein’s comment on the question is: Which sensation does one mean by ‘this* one? That is: how is one using the demonstrative pronoun here? Certainly otherwise than in, say, the first example! [‘Are these books my books?*] Here confusion occurs because one imagines that by directing one’s attention to a sensation one is pointing to it. T h e inward pointing which, at PI 258, could not establish a definition, is in fact not a kind of pointing at all (see also Blue B ook p.71). T o accept it as

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T he Pointing A rgument Criteria would normally be used only, for example, if the speaker was for some reason uncertain that the object really was a book or a desk. Nevertheless, this is a paradigmatic case of ‘comparison with reality*. What makes the sentence true (whether criteria are put into use in a particular case or not) is the book’s really being on the desk. For these reasons, I would question Malcolm’s notion of a criter­ ionless, content-based class of sentences, and the connection he sees between it and the notion of a fit with reality. Another problem for Malcolm’s account is to explain what does make ‘I am in pain’ true, if it is not anything that can be described as a ‘comparison with reality’. Malcolm is surely correct to point out that ‘I am in pain* (unlike a groan) can have a truth-value, but then it seems reasonable to inquire what makes it true or false in a given case. Malcolm’s account protests against the object-designation model of the truth or falsehood of *1 am in pain’, but supplies no alternative. T o sum up: neither the concept of an avowal nor that of criterionless utterance holds much promise, it seems to me, as alternatives to the objectdesignation model. W ittgenstein’s aim is not to uproot that model and replace it with something better, but to reveal it as an exaggeration of our ordinary, harmless analogy between inner and outer.

T h e P oin tin g A rgum ent A t PI 382 Wittgenstein asks, ‘W hat is the meaning of the words: “This image”? How does one point to an image? How does one point twice to the same image?’ T h en at PI 411 he takes up the question ‘Is this sensation my sensation?* He says this question has a ‘practical (non-philosophical) application’, but unfortu­ nately he doesn’t say what it is. Perhaps he has in mind the case in which someone wonders whether a certain sensation, such as a thrill of triumph, is really authentic. If this is correct, the question means something like ‘Has this sensation been produced in me only by peer-suggestion or abnormal circum­ stances?* Wittgenstein’s comment on the question is: Which sensation does one mean by ‘this* one? That is: how is one using the demonstrative pronoun here? Certainly otherwise than in, say, the first example! [‘Are these books my books?*] Here confusion occurs because one imagines that by directing one’s attention to a sensation one is pointing to it. T h e inward pointing which, at PI 258, could not establish a definition, is in fact not a kind of pointing at all (see also Blue B ook p.71). T o accept it as

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations pointing, to accept that the demonstrative pronoun functions in ‘this sensation* as it does in ‘this book*, is a further Lockean exaggeration of the inner/outer analogy. A t PI 6 6 9 -7 2 W ittgenstein gives an interesting argument to show that we cannot point to a sensation by directing our attention to it. He accepts that we can point to something by looking or listening in a particular, receptive way. A nd it is by analogy with this outer ‘pointing-by-looking’ that we think we can point to a sensation by directing our attention on to it. But if we ‘look or listen inwardly* in the same receptive way, then the something we point to by that method ‘is not the sensation which we get by means of it* (PI 672). Rather, ‘Listening [inwardly] as it were looks for an auditory impression and hence can*t point to it, but only to the place where it is looking for it* (PI 671). This argument (of PI 669-72) appears to assume that we can point to something public only by looking or listening expectantly, waiting for the thing to appear. But we can also point by looking or listening intentiy, to something that is already present. If we can concentrate intently on a sensation, at least this degree of analogy between inner and outer pointingby-attending would hold. So, is it possible, according to W ittgenstein, to concentrate intently on a sensation? W ittgenstein discusses a similar kind of kind of concentration (on the colour or shape of something) at PI 3 3 -6 . He makes two by-now-familiar points - that many different things may happen when a person directs his or her attention to the colour or the shape o f something, and that ‘it isn’t these things by themselves that make us say someone is attending to the shape, the colour, and so on ’ (PI 33). So it is possible, on W ittgenstein’s view, to point to the colour or shape of an object, or to point to a piece in a game as a piece in a game (PI 35). It is also possible to pronounce one image to be the same as another (PI 377). I can say, for example, whether two dreams I had on successive nights contained the same images. W hy then does W ittgen­ stein seem to suggest that we cannot point to an image (see also PI 2 75-9, PI 311, PI 380, PI II.xi.22)? This is another claim which is best taken meta-linguistically. As appeared in PI 411, W ittgenstein wants to contrast the uses of the demonstrative pronoun as it applies to inner and outer processes. In the second h alf o f PI 38 W ittgenstein says (in the manner of so-called causal theories o f naming), that ‘it is precisely characteristic o f a name that it is defined by means of the demonstrative expression “T h at is N ” (or “T h a t is called ‘N ’ ”).’ In the case of outer processes and objects, the demonstrative pronoun has this important role. It introduces the term into use. T h e primary disanalogy with the inner demonstrative is that we did not learn how to use, for

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T he Pointing A rgument example, colour-words, by an inward pointing with the attention (PI 361-2). T h e teacher points at some outer blue thing, or someone in pain, and says, T h a t's blue', T h a t's what it's like to be in pain'. There are other disanalogies between inner and outer demonstratives. T h e whole purpose of a demonstrative in normal use is to draw the attention of others to something they can see or hear. But in the inner case, this purpose is, on the Lockean view, necessarily defeated (PI 398, PI 453, PI 571). PI 379 concedes that there are normal uses for a statement like ‘First I am aware of it as this; and then I remember what it is called'. A certain kind of poet, or someone who has taken an hallucinatory drug, might say this to express a raw, pre-verbal experience o f something. But the Lockean, in a typical piece of over-extension, wants to apply the statement to every case of perception, and to make the thing perceived something inner. T h e expected Lockean use is not the statement's real use. W hat about a statement like ‘So this is love'? ‘This' here can be used to refer to going places together, making plans, giving things up for the other person and so on. But it also has a use in which ‘this' refers to a set of feelings and emotions - euphoria, recurring memories or images, and so on. In this second use, the person in love seems to point to these feelings and emotions as explaining the word ‘love'. In rather the same way, people say things like ‘You can't understand what depression is until you've felt it yourself, and someone who begins to experience feelings of despair, inability to cope and so on, might very well say to themselves, ‘So this is depression'. D on't these cases substantiate the Lockean use? Suppose someone had exactly the same feelings and emotions as the person in love, but unconnected with any outer events or behaviour, and for only one second (PI 583, PI Il.i). In this case, it would not be correct to say ‘So this is love'. So even in its second use, it is not the feelings and emotions by themselves that count. It is also noticeable that, in these cases (of love and depression), it is not a single sensation which is referred to, but a whole cast or aspect o f experience. Are there any cases in which we say ‘So this is . . .' when ‘this' refers to a single sensation? We can surely say ‘So this is the taste of ouzo', ‘So this is the smell o f a skunk' and so on, wanting to impress on ourselves a sensation we may not easily experience again. Here we seem to direct our attention on to a sensation, at least in the sense of setting aside distractions. A nd when we suddenly remember a face or some notes from a melody, we may con­ centrate on it, perhaps to remember whose face it is or the rest of the melody, before the memory fades. In cases like this (which could occur, disconnectedly, for a second), can't we say ‘W hose face is this?* intending to refer to the memory image (see PI Il.iii)?

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations It seems to me that PI 66 9 -7 2 overstates the disanalogy between inner and outer demonstratives: in both cases there is an ‘anti-distraction’ use for the dem onstrative. But W ittgenstein is clearly right to say th a t serious disanalogies do exist. T h e kind o f pointing-w ith-the-attention w hich we have now adm itted, is not used to introduce terms into use or to draw the attention o f other people to something. A n d it is n ot so much a m atter o f singling out an identifiable particular as o f setting aside possible sources o f distraction.

T h e H ypostasis A rgum ent I said above that the Lockean tends to give a quasi-causal or efficacious role to inner states and processes. T h e inner rehearsal, the calculation done in the head, the inwardly examined image, make a difference to the outer performance, (in the same sort of way that outer processes make a difference to outer events). So if we later observe a similar outer performance, it seems natural to suppose that some similar inner process led up to it. A nd if the person concerned denies experiencing any such inner process, then the process must have occurred unconsciously. This hypostasis of unconscious inner processes is very natural, given the extension of the inner/outer analogy to efficacy. Examples range from Freudian unconscious desires to Chom skyan tacit knowledge of generative grammatical rules. But hypostasis also provides the Lockean with replies to some of the points W ittgenstein has been making. Why is there disagreement over how well we understand inner processes? Because these processes are sometimes fully conscious, sometimes partly conscious, and sometimes entirely unconscious. W hy do we determine whether a process of thinking has been interrupted by the way the person reacts after the interruption? Because in many cases, the process is a theoretical entity, hypostasised to explain later behaviour. W hy does a lightning-like thought seem to be abbreviated rather than speeded-up? Because the appar­ ently missing parts of the process occur unconsciously. W hy does it seem that we sometimes speak thoughtfully without any inner pre-existing or co-existing process? Because in these cases the processes occur unconsciously. W hy is there a difference between the cases Wittgenstein concedes as describing one’s state of mind, and the cases he refuses to accept? Because in the former cases the process is conscious, in the latter cases it is unconscious. (I do not, o f course, present these replies as complete or conclusive, but to discuss them further would take us too far from the text).

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations It seems to me that PI 66 9 -7 2 overstates the disanalogy between inner and outer demonstratives: in both cases there is an ‘anti-distraction’ use for the dem onstrative. But W ittgenstein is clearly right to say th a t serious disanalogies do exist. T h e kind o f pointing-w ith-the-attention w hich we have now adm itted, is not used to introduce terms into use or to draw the attention o f other people to something. A n d it is n ot so much a m atter o f singling out an identifiable particular as o f setting aside possible sources o f distraction.

T h e H ypostasis A rgum ent I said above that the Lockean tends to give a quasi-causal or efficacious role to inner states and processes. T h e inner rehearsal, the calculation done in the head, the inwardly examined image, make a difference to the outer performance, (in the same sort of way that outer processes make a difference to outer events). So if we later observe a similar outer performance, it seems natural to suppose that some similar inner process led up to it. A nd if the person concerned denies experiencing any such inner process, then the process must have occurred unconsciously. This hypostasis of unconscious inner processes is very natural, given the extension of the inner/outer analogy to efficacy. Examples range from Freudian unconscious desires to Chom skyan tacit knowledge of generative grammatical rules. But hypostasis also provides the Lockean with replies to some of the points W ittgenstein has been making. Why is there disagreement over how well we understand inner processes? Because these processes are sometimes fully conscious, sometimes partly conscious, and sometimes entirely unconscious. W hy do we determine whether a process of thinking has been interrupted by the way the person reacts after the interruption? Because in many cases, the process is a theoretical entity, hypostasised to explain later behaviour. W hy does a lightning-like thought seem to be abbreviated rather than speeded-up? Because the appar­ ently missing parts of the process occur unconsciously. W hy does it seem that we sometimes speak thoughtfully without any inner pre-existing or co-existing process? Because in these cases the processes occur unconsciously. W hy is there a difference between the cases Wittgenstein concedes as describing one’s state of mind, and the cases he refuses to accept? Because in the former cases the process is conscious, in the latter cases it is unconscious. (I do not, o f course, present these replies as complete or conclusive, but to discuss them further would take us too far from the text).

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T he H ypostasis A rgument It is important to distinguish two kinds of hypostasis before discussing Wittgenstein’s Hypostasis Argument (Wittgenstein outlines this distinction at PI 156, PI 158-9 and PI 427). T h e Lockean kind of hypostasis holds that processes like those which are sometimes conscious, sometimes occur uncon­ sciously. Someone learning a foreign language, for example, might consciously apply an explicit grammatical rule in order to form an interrogative. But the learner forms interrogatives in his or her native language, too. T h e Lockean view is that a similar rule must have been applied. T h e rule for the speaker’s native language, however, is so familiar, so deeply ingrained, that its applica­ tion is unconscious. Lockean hypostasis does not concern brain-processes of which we are never (without the help of neurological equipment) conscious: it concerns processes like those we sometimes introspect. T h e Hypostasis Argument is a kind o f reductio ad absurdum, resting on the idea that once we begin to hypostasise unconscious processes, we won’t be able to stop. PI 595 points out that we sometimes have a feeling that a certain sentence in a certain situation is unnatural (rather as native speakers are held to have intuitions about grammaticality, see PI 542). W ittgenstein asks, ‘A re we to say that there is a particular feeling accompanying the utterance o f every sentence when we say it naturally?’ Are all grammatical sentences accompanied by (mostly unconscious) intuitions o f grammati­ cality? There seems to be no very convincing reason for the Lockean to say ‘N o’. But to say ‘Yes’ seems rather profligate with theoretical entities (see also PI 171). PI 596 gives another example. W e sometimes feel an object to be strange, or out of place, or unfamiliar. A re we to say that an unfamiliar object, which we notice but do not consciously feel to be unfamiliar, nevertheless makes an unconscious ‘impression of unfamiliarity’ on us? A nd are we to say that ‘every object, which we know well and which does not seem strange to us, gives us a feeling o f familiarity’? A nother example occurs at PI 600: ‘Does everything that we do not find conspicuous make an impression o f inconspicuousness? Does what is ordinary always make the impression of ordinariness?’ A nother example follows at PI 6 0 2 -3 , concerning recognition (and see also PI 448, where the recognition of a sensation is suggested by the interlocutor as necessary for the sensation-word to have meaning). PI 601 is particularly interesting. Wittgenstein says ‘W hen I talk about this table, - am I remembering that this object is called a “table”?’ Here, we are not interested in a brain-process that might be described at a higher level as information-retrieval. O ur question concerns an inner process. W hen someone wants to talk about an object in a foreign language, there is sometimes a conscious process of remembering. A nd when we want to refer

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations to something unusual in our native language we sometimes become conscious o f some kind of process of remembering: ‘O h there’s a “ph” in it . . . and it’s some kind of -itis . . . like that Egyptian queen . . . got it! Nephritis’. T h e behavioural ouput from this inner process, on the Lockean view, is successful use of the word ‘nephritis*. But when I say ‘T h e book’s on the table* I successfully use the word ‘table*. Is this successful use also output from an inner process of remembering, which happens so quickly or easily that I do not become conscious of it? T h e reductio argument mobilises the common sense reaction that in a case like this, I do not rem em ber that the object is a table, I know it is. Let me give an example from linguistics. Steven Pinker (in his article ‘Rules of Language*) writes as follows: ‘Verbs intuitively perceived as derived from nouns or adjectives are always regular [in their pasttense form], even if similar or identical to an irregular verb. Thus one says grandstanded, not grandstood; flied out in baseball (from a fly ball), not flew out; high-sticked in hockey, not high-stuck. The explanation is that irregularity consists of a linkage between two word roots, the atomic sound-meaning pairings stored in the mental lexicon; it is not a link between two words or sound patterns directly. High-stuck sounds silly because the verb is tacitly perceived as being based on a noun root (hockey) stick, and noun roots cannot be listed in the lexicon as having any past-tense form (the past tense of a noun makes no sense semantically), let alone an irregular one. Because its root is not the verb stick there is no data pathway by which stuck can be made available; to obtain a past-tense form, the speaker must apply the regular rule, which serves as the default.* The thing to be explained, for Pinker, is why we say ‘He highsticked the umpire* rather than ‘He high-stuck the umpire*. The explanation suggested is that we unconsciously interpret, or recog­ nise, or perceive the verb ‘to high-stick* as derived from the noun ‘stick*. But ‘stick*, understood as a noun, obviously has no past tense. So when we look for a past tense for the verb ‘to high-stick*, we default to the normal ‘Add -ed* rule for past tenses in English. This kind of explanation depends on hypostasising an unconscious perception or recognition like the conscious perception or recognition of wordfunction we sometimes have. Pinker*s use of the expression ‘data pathway’ holds out the promise of a neural level of explanation, but the explanation offered is primarily psychological. The Hypostasis Argument would ask where this unconscious parsing is supposed to stop. When we produce an irregular past tense form normally (such as go-went), have we tacitly perceived it as based on a verb root? Do we tacitly perceive verbs such as ‘to cut*,

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T he H ypostasis A rgument ‘to bite* or ‘to drink* (which have a corresponding noun but also an irregular past tense) as not based on the noun? What about regular verbs like ‘to table*, ‘to telephone*, ‘to knife*? Are these regular because we tacitly perceive them as noun-based (and default) or because we tacitly perceive them as verb-based, along with ‘to melt* or ‘to complain*? And are children and pre-literate communities, who have never had the conscious experience of perceiving a word as noun-based or verb-based, supposed to be capable of the same tacit experiences as us? They can certainly produce the same past tense forms. We could generate many other questions about unconscious parsing, or about LakofPs unconscious images. The natural con­ clusion is that hypostasis of unconscious inner processes seems to create a lot more theoretical trouble than it*s worth. In present research into memory or visual recognition, the focus of explanatory optimism is very much neural, rather than Lockean. T h e general tendency is to suppose that any mental process hypostasised by a theory will turn out to be identical to some brain process. Pinker says that this expectation is ‘as fundamental to cognitive science as the cell doctrine is to biology and plate tectonics is to geology* (The Language Instinct, p. 78). But this is, of course, an area of intense philosophical controversy. A typetype identity theorist (or someone like Honderich) can expect neural explanations to coincide with, and so substantiate, psychological ones. Functionalists such as Putnam, on the other hand, hold that we cannot expect to find genuine explanations o f human behaviour at the neural level (see his article ‘Philosophy and O ur M ental Life* and PI Il.xi. 139). Psycho­ logical explanations, on this account, are the only ones we have. Eliminativists, on the contrary, believe that ‘folk psychology* will, at least in theory, eventually disappear altogether from explanations of human behaviour. T h en there are those, such as Searle, who regard the semantic and subjective as irreducibly real (whatever this means exactly). A guide to PI is not the place to say more about this debate. But perhaps we can at least say this. If researchers are converging on the view that hypostasised unconscious processes are not finally satisfactory, that they stand in need of a further, neural, level of explanation, then W ittgenstein is in fact winning the argument against causal explanation based on the inner. T o sum up: if inner processes are like outer processes, then they can continue to operate when no one is conscious of them. But the hypostasis of unconscious inner processes, once begun, seems uncontrollable. A s before, the inner/outer analogy must not be pushed too far. This seems to me a rather powerful argument, but the hypostasis o f unconscious mental entities and processes is such an essential element in

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations the modern Lockean case, that W ittgenstein provides several arguments against it. W e will discuss some of these later (see Appendix), but one development of the Hypostasis Argument can be considered now. PI 185-92 discuss the case o f a pupil who seems to understand the order ‘Add 2’ but who, on continuing the series past 1000, begins to write ‘1004 . . . 1008 . . . 1012 . . .’ T h e pupil’s teacher naturally insists that he meant the pupil to write ‘1002 . . . 1004 . . . 1006 . . .’ W ittgenstein asks, ‘did you also mean that he should write 1868 after 1866, and 100036 after 100034 and so on - an infinite number of such propositions?* (PI 186). T h e Lockean’s first inclination is to understand ‘meaning the pupil to write 1002* on the model o f an explicitly considered case. Suppose the teacher thinks, in the early stages of teaching the rule, ‘I wonder if the pupil will continue properly into two-digit numbers? Well, after 8 , 1 will be looking to see if the pupil writes 10’. Here, the teacher explicitly thinks about a particular transition and explicitly expects a particular number. Is there is a similar, but unconscious, mental process that underlies the teacher’s claim to have meant the pupil to write ‘ 1002* after ‘ 1000’? Th e obvious problem is that there would have to be an infinite number of these unconscious mental processes. T h e Lockean may reply that the mental process which underlies the claim to have meant ‘ 1002’ after ‘1000* is one of consulting some general schema or formula. T h e teacher may have in mind an algebraic formula (PI 146) or a general instruction such as that the pupil ‘should write the next but one number* (PI 186). T h e trouble with this reply is that the pupil, too, might mentally, or even overtly, consult the formula or general instruction, and still write ‘1004’, or mean another pupil to write ‘1004* (PI 73). Merely consulting the formula or instruction, mentally or otherwise, obviously does not guarantee that the consulter will understand it (PI 152). Consulting by itself, therefore, does not explain the teacher’s claim to have m eant ‘1002’. Som ething more is needed to bridge the gap between consulting and understanding, and on the Lockean view, it seems this would have to involve a realisation that the formula or general instruction requires ‘1002’ after ‘1000’. If the mental alternatives are something general or something specific (as they are for Langacker, for example; see below, p. 126), and if something general will always leave a gap between consultation and understanding, then meaning for the Lockean must be ultimately based on something specific. T his brings us back to specific mental acts for each step in the series. C a n the Lockean avoid an infinity o f these m ental acts by holding th at ‘I m eant you to write 1002’ is a misleading past tense, w hich does not m ean ‘I derived the value 1002 at that tim e’ but ‘I would have derived the value 1002 if the question had arisen at that tim e’?

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T he C onnection A rgument W ittgenstein accepts this ‘translation* (PI 187) but does n ot regard it as solving the L ockean’s problem. T h e Lockean still lacks an account of the teach er’s understanding of the formula or instruction at th at tim e. In virtue of w hat m ental state or process would the teacher have derived th at value if asked at th a t time? C onsultation o f a general formula or instruction, again, is not enough. W ittgenstein goes on to discuss two possible accounts: first, th a t the formula or instruction itself determ ines how it is to be applied (shifting from a Lockean to a Platonic theory), and second, th a t the way the formula or instruction is m eant determ ines this (returning us to the original question o f what explains its being m eant in one way rather th an another). Thus, either the Lockean provides an impossible account o f the mental basis of someone’s understanding a rule such as ‘Add 2*, or ultimately, no account at all. It follows that hypostasis, once begun, is uncontrollable, not only in the sense that all manner o f superfluous processes are generated, but also in the sense that at least some kinds of understanding would require an infinite number of unconscious mental steps.

T h e C o n n ectio n A rgum ent W ittgenstein’s last and most difficult group o f arguments against overextending the analogy concerns the kinds o f connection an inner object or process has: firstly, to other inner objects and processes; secondly, to behaviour-in-context or action, and thirdly, to outer objects and processes. His general strategy is to argue that these connections are not like, and not to be understood on the model of, connections between outer objects such as causal connections. T his is a particularly rich, nuanced and elusive topic in PI, and any attempt to deal with it in a systematic way will be controversial. For a diagram summarising the rather complex discussion which follows, see below, p. 119. Inner/Inner Connections. T h e most natural place to start would be with the association of ideas. This causal connection between ideas was advanced by Hume as the fundamental principle o f the then-new science o f psychology, the principle that would do for the study of human nature what N ew ton’s concept of gravity had done for the science of motion. It is surprising, then, that W ittgenstein says so little about it. T h e classical empiricists’ reification of ideas (on which associationism depends) is obviously an important example o f the sharpening o f the analogy which W ittgenstein wants to attack, but he chooses not to attack it on this particular terrain. Thus, the

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T he C onnection A rgument W ittgenstein accepts this ‘translation* (PI 187) but does n ot regard it as solving the L ockean’s problem. T h e Lockean still lacks an account of the teach er’s understanding of the formula or instruction at th at tim e. In virtue of w hat m ental state or process would the teacher have derived th at value if asked at th a t time? C onsultation o f a general formula or instruction, again, is not enough. W ittgenstein goes on to discuss two possible accounts: first, th a t the formula or instruction itself determ ines how it is to be applied (shifting from a Lockean to a Platonic theory), and second, th a t the way the formula or instruction is m eant determ ines this (returning us to the original question o f what explains its being m eant in one way rather th an another). Thus, either the Lockean provides an impossible account o f the mental basis of someone’s understanding a rule such as ‘Add 2*, or ultimately, no account at all. It follows that hypostasis, once begun, is uncontrollable, not only in the sense that all manner o f superfluous processes are generated, but also in the sense that at least some kinds of understanding would require an infinite number of unconscious mental steps.

T h e C o n n ectio n A rgum ent W ittgenstein’s last and most difficult group o f arguments against overextending the analogy concerns the kinds o f connection an inner object or process has: firstly, to other inner objects and processes; secondly, to behaviour-in-context or action, and thirdly, to outer objects and processes. His general strategy is to argue that these connections are not like, and not to be understood on the model of, connections between outer objects such as causal connections. T his is a particularly rich, nuanced and elusive topic in PI, and any attempt to deal with it in a systematic way will be controversial. For a diagram summarising the rather complex discussion which follows, see below, p. 119. Inner/Inner Connections. T h e most natural place to start would be with the association of ideas. This causal connection between ideas was advanced by Hume as the fundamental principle o f the then-new science o f psychology, the principle that would do for the study of human nature what N ew ton’s concept of gravity had done for the science of motion. It is surprising, then, that W ittgenstein says so little about it. T h e classical empiricists’ reification of ideas (on which associationism depends) is obviously an important example o f the sharpening o f the analogy which W ittgenstein wants to attack, but he chooses not to attack it on this particular terrain. Thus, the

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations PLA (PI 256-8) casts doubt on an individual’s ability to set up voluntarily an association between ideas, but Hume’s associationism is not o f this voluntary kind (cf. the weakness referred to above in the Verificationist Argument). PI 640 may suggest that the connection we sometimes see between thoughts is the result of later interpretation. But in general, W ittgenstein avoids explicitly discussing associationism in PI. O n the other hand, W ittgenstein has a lot to say about the connection between inner objects and processes and that other inner entity, the mind or self. If inner objects are like outer ones, they ought to stand to persons in similar ways. In particular, we might expect that, just as persons can perceive, possess or know about outer objects such as tables and chairs, so inner objects can be perceived, possessed, or known about by the inner analogues of persons. But in these three expectations, W ittgenstein argues, we are mistaken. Locke held that the mind directly perceives its own ideas, not the external objects those ideas represent. A t PI 453, W ittgenstein says: to say that someone perceives an expectation makes no sense. Unless indeed it means, for example, that he perceives the expression of an expectation. To say of an expectant person that he perceives his expectation instead of saying that he expects, would be an idiotic distortion of the expression. PI 417 backs this up. There are occasions when we want to say ‘I am conscious again’ (as in PI 416), but these are not occasions on which I have perceived my consciousness. A nd if I want to say, ‘I perceive I am conscious’ (to ‘shew that I am attending to my consciousness’) ‘then the sentence ‘I perceive I am conscious* does not say that I am conscious, but that my attention is disposed in such-and-such a way’ (PI 417). But this last sentence raises a problem. If ‘I perceive my consciousness’ is allowable, why should we not allow ‘I perceive my expectation’ too? Does PI 453 only rule out ‘I perceive my expectation* as a way o f saying ‘I ex p ect. . .* ? If so, this would also explain why W ittgenstein objects in PI 417 that the sentence ‘does not say that I am conscious’, a remark that is otherwise difficult to interpret. But on this account, it is possible for someone to perceive his or her inner states (and what this means is that his or her attention is disposed in such-and-such a way). T h e inner/outer analogy would then hold, to the extent that we can be said to perceive both. It is all too easy to read PI 417 and PI 453 as completely damning perception of one’s own consciousness or expectations (leading us back towards the view that Wittgenstein rejected introspection). A more careful reading reveals, however, that W ittgenstein here accepts that we can direct

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T he C onnection A rgument our attention on to our own states of consciousness. T h e disanalogy lies rather in the perception-independence of the thing perceived. T h e first three remarks of PI II. ix give further examples of self-observation (con­ cerning pain and grief). But they also point out that if this directing of the attention on to our grief changes it, or is even a precondition of its existence, then perceiving the inner is not like perceiving the outer. It might be said in reply that perceiving an electron changes it irrevoc­ ably, but this raises questions too large to consider here. It might also be argued that directing our attention on to our own grief does not change it, but merely reveals more about it. A nd, o f course, if inner processes can be unconscious, then they need not be perceived in order to exist (and in any case, they need not be perceived in W ittgenstein’s sense o f being the focus o f special attention). Hans-Johann Glock writes (in his Wittgenstein Dictionary, p. 176), Tor most mental phenomena, it does not even make sense to suppose that their subject misperceives them or mistakes them for something else. The possibility of a gap between its seeming to be so and its being so which characterizes perception is absent.* In similar vein, he says (p. 308), ‘There is no such thing as recognizing or perceiving the sensation - it does not make sense to say “From observing myself I can tell that I am in agony**.* Does it make sense to suppose that someone misperceives or mistakes his or her own state of mind? Can one tell one*s state of mind by self-observation? Wittgenstein's explicit answer to these questions is - yes. ‘The exclamation “Pm longing to see him!** may be called an act of expecting. But I can utter the same words as the result of self-observation, and then they might mean: “So, after all that has happened, I am still longing to see him**.* In this case (PI 586), someone discovers his true state of mind, somewhat to his surprise, by self-observation. The following section, PI 587, discusses belief and love. ‘Does it make sense to ask “How do you know that you believe?** and is the answer: “I know it by introspection**? In some cases it will be possible to say some such thing, in most not. It makes sense to ask: “Do I really love her, or am I only pretending to myself?” and the process of introspection is the calling up of memories; of imagined possible situations, and of the feelings that one would have if . . .’ In all these cases the possibility of a gap between its seeming to be so and being so is surely present. So if this characterises perception, we would seem to have perception. These are not cases of sensation,

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W ittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations however, though sensations may be importantly involved in all of them. Is Glock right to say that it does not make sense to say ‘From observing myself I can tell that I am in agony'? Later on p. 308, Glock comments on various arguments intended to show that one can be in doubt or in ignorance of one's own sensations. He writes, for example, ‘we say things like “While I was running, I didn't feel the pain". But we might as well say “While I was running, it didn't hurt", and one could not reply “It did, but you failed to notice".' I wonder if this is true. Suppose our runner has a large blister on one foot, of a sort that would normally be very painful to run on. The runner's trainer asks from the side if he or she wants to stop. Obviously surprised, the runner says ‘O f course not!' Suppose the trainer can see the runner's face, drawn and pale as if with pain. The trainer can see the runner clearly favouring one foot, almost limping. But the runner's mind is fixed so absolutely on the race that foot, face and stride have been banished from consciousness. Now suppose the race has been video-taped and trainer and runner are watching it together some time later. Couldn't the trainer say ‘The foot was obviously hurting you by this stage that's why I asked if you wanted to stop. But you were completely oblivious to the pain.' (That is, it did hurt, but you failed to notice.) And couldn't the runner reply, ‘Looking at myself on the tape, I can see I was in agony'? This is past tense of course. So suppose the trainer shows the runner part of the tape on instant play-back, while the runner is still running. Can't the runner say, ‘Good grief! Do I look like that? I must be in agony!'? It's hard to believe that a runner who said this would make the trainer gape and stare, and to that extent, it's hard to accept Glock's claim that ‘I see I am in agony' does not make sense. This question can be argued further, but perhaps we can already see that perception is not a clear source of disanalogies between self-to-inner and person-to-outer. (The Lockean concedes or insists that other people cannot directly perceive my inner states, and this is obviously a disanalogy with outer objects. W ittgenstein's aim, however, is to show that the disanalogies run much deeper than the Lockean already thinks.) Let's move on, therefore, to possession. A s we saw above, PI 411 concedes a practical application for the question ‘Is this sensation my sensation?' I suggested (in the absence o f an explanation in the text) that possession might be understood to signify authenticity. But W ittgenstein insists that possession, in the sense that applies to outer objects, cannot meaningfully

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T he C onnection A rgument be used of inner ones (see PI 398, quoted above). I cannot lay claim to something no one could take from me. In the same way, to say ‘I have an idea* is normally to say that I have thought of something, not that an idea belongs to me. It might be said in reply that ‘to have* has not one but a wide range of senses in outer applications. A person might have a right to appeal and a litigious disposition, but neither can be said to belong to the person. A town might have a unique history and genuine charm, but neither is transferable to other towns. Does W ittgenstein’s possession disanalogy depend on an unnatural sharpening of the normal uses o f ‘to have*? It seems to me that the general analogy between inner and outer possession is closer than W ittgenstein admits. N ot only are there nontransferable senses o f outer possession, there are transferable senses of inner possession. W e talk about intellectual property rights, for example: if a software technique, or story concept, or musical theme was N*s idea, then N has rights analogous to rights in solid, transferable property. A n idea can belong to someone, and the very same idea might have belonged, or ownership might be transferred, to someone else. It should also be said that the Lockean need not equate ‘having* with ‘possessing*, so that any arguments which depend on strict possession (that the Lockean interprets ‘I have an idea* as laying claim to it) miss the point. But perhaps a specific disanalogy remains: when we say that the ‘same* idea might have been had by someone else, we mean qualitative identity, while it is the Lockean conception of inner objects and processes as having numerical identity that Wittgenstein most wants to attack (see PI 253). If it is logically impossible for someone else to have numerically the same thing, then ‘it loses its sense to say that you have it* (PI 398). But this seems to be an overstatement. A nother town could not have this particular history, and yet it isn’t senseless to say that this town has a proud or turbulent or interesting history. So perhaps W ittgenstein’s point can best be put like this: the Lockean assimilates inner objects and processes to outer ones by allowing them numerical identity, and by holding that they are contingently related to minds (in the sense that my mind or self would still be what it is if I had not received a particular visual impression V ). But the Lockean also regards V as inalienable - no one else could have the relation to V that I do in fact have (though others can have V-like impressions of their own). But we seem to have no outer analogue of this conjunction of numerical identity, contingency, and inalienability. T h e reason another town cannot have this town’s history is that this town is the town it is because it had that history - in other words, the relation is not contingent. We cannot claim to understand the Lockean view, therefore, on the basis of the inner/outer analogy.

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations W hat about potential outer analogues like a smile or a death? W e say someone has a nice or friendly or enigmatic smile. But no one else could have N ’s smile because that particular smile would not be the smile it is if smiled by someone else. T h e smile is inalienably N ’s smile because it is identified as the smile it is by reference to N (so inalienability occurs because the relation is not contingent). We say someone had a good or sad or painful death. Could someone else have had that very death? There is a sense in which this is possible, as when A steps on the mine or drinks the poisoned drink which would have killed B. In this case, the relation to a person is contingent, but there is no inalienability. But we sometimes regard a death as the event it is in part because of the person involved. In this case, the death is inalienable but the relation is not contingent. Let’s grant, then, that there is no outer analogue which combines numerical identity, contingent relation and inalienability. How damaging is this to the Lockean? C a n ’t the Lockean reply that we understand these features individually (by outer analogues or by definitions) and that the mental just is unique in combining all three? G lock believes that W ittgenstein can deploy a bipolarity principle at this point (p. 308). But what plausible principle would rule out only inner ‘having’? A principle such as ‘O ne cannot claim to contingently have something one cannot transfer to someone else’ seems to be false: one can contingently have a good friend or an eccentric sense of humour without these being transferable, d o c k ’s suggestion is ‘that one can only own what one could lack’ (p. 307). But this depends on strict possession (while the Lockean only needs ‘having’). A nd what about one’s own body, or one’s ‘personal space’? Are these outer things not owned in such a way that they cannot be lacked? Finally, even if a plausible principle can be devised, can the Lockean not fairly reply that it applies only to the outer, that the inner is, of course, unique? O r argue that the self-to-experiences relation is after all not contingent, perhaps because the self is nothing more than the totality o f experiences ‘it’ has? T o sum up: it seems to me that W ittgenstein’s comments on perception and possession do not take us beyond what the Lockean already admits (or insists on) as disanalogies between inner and outer. His comments on knowledge o f the inner, however, are more extensive and more radical. T h e Lockean holds that I can know my own inner states (excepting the unconscious ones of course) while, by contrast, others can only infer or guess at them . W ittgenstein rejects this root and branch, arguing that I cannot be said to know my own inner states, while others can know them with the greatest certainty (PI 246, PI II.xi.206). ‘I know I am in pain’ does have normal uses, W ittgenstein accepts (PI 2 4 7 -8 , 409, 441, PI H.xi.224), but none of these is analogous to ‘I know Pisa

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T he C onnection A rgument is in Italy’. T h e Lockean misreads ‘I know I am in pain* as analogous to knowledge-claims about outer objects (PI II.xi.202). O r, to put it the other way round, the Lockean over-extension of the inner/outer analogy produces a sentence-like formation that does not in real life have the use the Lockean predicts for it. L et’s distinguish four uses of the fact-related kind of ‘I know . . .’. I just know there are more (such as this ‘pessimistic’ use) but perhaps these are the main ones. There is a ‘concessionary’ use, as in ‘I know I promised to be on time, b u t . . .’. Second, there is an ‘indignant* use, as in ‘I know what it says, thank you very much*. There is also an ‘emphatic’ use, as in ‘W here is it? I know I had it yesterday*. Finally, there is an ‘informing* use, as in ‘I know who killed the archdeacon. It was . . .* In these cases, ‘I know . . .’ can be roughly translated as ‘I concede . . .*, ‘I don’t need to be told . . .’, ‘I feel certain . . .’ and ‘I can re v e a l. . .’ respectively. O n the Lockean view, inner states, objects and processes ought to be prime candidates for the third and fourth uses. But in fact, only the first and second uses of ‘I know I am in pain’ are possible. In the same way, the Lockean predicts a use for ‘I cannot really know if N is in pain’ which it does not have (PI II.xi.215, 221). I would say ‘I cannot really know . . .* if, for example, N was injured some days ago, but our telephone link has broken down and I haven’t heard what N ’s condition is now. O n the Lockean view, I ought to say ‘I cannot really know . . .’ even if N is obviously in pain before me. These new anomalies o f use (which the Lockean tries to explain as our reluctance to state the obvious) are unfortunately entangled with an argument which I think is unnecessary and misleading. W ittgenstein clearly accepts an argument like . . . 1 It makes sense to say *1 know . . .’ only where it also makes sense to say ‘I doubt . . .*, *1 believe . . .*, ‘I suspect . . .* and so on (PI II.xi.201—2). 2 But ‘I doubt whether I am in pain* is senseless (PI 408, PI U.xi.198, 201). 3 So ‘I know I am in pain* is senseless (PI H.xi.200, 219) (unless it is used to mean 2 above, PI 247). This argument is unnecessary because the anomalies of use are clear without it. A nd it is misleading because it reinforces the claim, made at PI 679, that the senselessness o f doubt also applies to speaker’s meaning. Th is drives a wedge between meaning and understanding because it is, of course, possible to doubt whether one understands something. W hat I mean becomes something I can authoritatively pronounce on. W hy does W ittgenstein insist on the senselessness o f ‘I know I am in pain’ when its abnormality (compared with the Lockean prediction o f normal

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations use) is sufficient to show the disanalogy between inner and outer? I suspect that this is a resurgence o f the Use Argument: a sentence-like formation which has no real use has no real meaning. ‘I doubt whether I am in pain’ has no real use, therefore it and any other sentence-like formations semantically linked to it are meaningless. If this is correct, then the above argument (1-3) is not only unnecessary and misleading, but also question-begging. An alternative view (see for example, Peter Hacker’s Wittgenstein's Place in Twentieth-Century Analytic Philosophy, pp. 246-7) is that the argument is a rejoinder to the Lockean explanation. On the Lockean view, it is merely otiose to say ‘I know I am in pain* in the third and fourth uses. Wittgenstein therefore needs some argument to show that the third and fourth uses are more than just pragmatically inappropriate, that they are in fact senseless. This is entirely plausible as a motive for the argument of 1-3, but it does little to dispel the above reservations about it. Hacker concedes that the argument requires ‘elaboration, refinement and careful qualification*. My own feeling is that, when the necessary detail is in place, the argument has little persuasive force. W e have now reached this point: the Lockean concedes that we do not in fact say ‘I know I am in pain’ (in the third and fourth uses) or ‘I doubt whether I am in pain*, but explains this as normal reluctance to assert what everyone already accepts. We don’t normally assert ‘I know I am breathing’ either. For W ittgenstein, on the other hand, we don’t have any use for these forms of words, because doubt and knowledge are radically out of place. ‘I know I am in pain’ would be as misconceived as ‘I know ouch!* W hich explanation o f the anomalies o f use surrounding knowledge of the inner is to be preferred? Essentially, this turns on whether we can properly sharpen the inner/outer analogy. If we can, then pains are inner objects or processes the existence of which can be known or doubted. If we cannot, then the whole model o f knower and object known breaks down. But if this is correct, then these anomalies of use depend on the success of the post-308 project. Th ey are, as it were, second-line arguments in that project, reinforcements that can be deployed if the front-line arguments succeed. In the absence of clear and convincing arguments against the Lockean explanation o f the anomalies o f use surrounding knowledge (‘We don’t say that because everyone takes it for granted’), these anomalies do not help to show that sharpening the inner/outer analogy is a mistake: rather, they help to show what follows if sharpening the analogy is a mistake. There remains one other disanalogy arising from the discussion of self-toinner connections. T h e ‘I* in ‘I am in pain’ or ‘I am thinking about Cadiz’ is

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T he C onnection A rgument not analogous to the *1* in ‘I have a broken leg* or ‘I was born in Cadiz\ T h e latter T refers to a person: the former does not refer at all (PI 3 98-410, 413, and see also PI II.ix .9-10, PI H.x. 18-23). W ittgenstein writes, ‘W hen I say “I am in pain”, I do not point to a person who is in pain, since in a certain sense I have no idea who is* (PI 404). This, however, is an interlocutor’s remark, and it also contains the warning phrase ‘in a certain sense*. In his own person, W ittgenstein wants to make two points: first, that I do not have to apply any criteria o f personal identity to say that I am in pain, and second, that in the expressive use of the sentence, T does not even name a person. ‘ “I” is not the name o f a person, nor “here” of a place, and “this** is not a name* (PI 410; and see also PI 404). T h a t is, if‘I am in pain* can be used purely expressively, then it may not even be part of the speaker’s intention to distinguish himself from others (PI 406). W hen someone groans with pain, they do not necessarily intend to draw attention to themselves. In this expressive use, therefore, ‘I* is not used to refer (and so is not used as a name). How damaging are these two points to the Lockean view? T h e ‘absence of criteria* point is, it seems to me, unproblematic for the Lockean. T h e Lockean can simply say that, of course, that which is at the centre o f all my thoughts and sensations does not need to be discriminated from the various items traversing the periphery. Alternatively, the Lockean can opt (like Hume or, perhaps, like the W ittgenstein o f the early 1930s) for a no­ ownership view, in which the self is identified with the stream o f inner experiences. O n this account, there would naturally be no separate criteria of identity for the self. A nd thirdly, the Lockean might try to uphold the inner/outer analogy by arguing that even in ‘outer* uses (such as ‘I have broken my leg*), I do not identify myself by criteria. T h e ‘n ot a name* point (assuming that W ittgenstein means th at ‘I* is not necessarily used with the intention of drawing attention to myself), depends heavily on purely expressive uses. In many other cases, ‘I* clearly is used to draw attention to myself: (1) ‘I have an idea!* - when everyone else is stumped; (2) ‘I am in pain* - in response to the doctor’s ‘W ho should I treat first?*; (3) ‘I am afraid* - in response to the sergeant’s ‘A n y m an here frightened?*; and so on. Thus the disanalogy would apply between expressive and other uses, not between inner and outer. O uter uses such as ‘I’ve done it!* or T m O klahom a bound!* could also be expressive, equivalent to ‘Hooray!* or ‘O n to Oklahoma!* In these uses ‘I* seems to be non-referring. T o put it briefly, the non-referring ‘I* thesis seems to have a weaker and a stronger com ponent. T h e weaker claim (that we do not use criteria to identify the ‘I* in inner uses) seems generally too weak to damage the Lockean. T h e stronger claim (that ‘I* in its inner uses does not refer)

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations inherits a certain vagueness about what the word ‘refer’ means and seems generally too strong to be plausible. It might be plausible for expressive uses, but the expressive/descriptive distinction is not at all co-extensive with the inner/outer distinction. Though I want to stress th at (here as elsewhere) the question can be pursued at greater length, I conclude that W ittgenstein’s discussion o f the non-referring uses o f ‘I’ does not contribute a new argument to the post-308 project. It serves to supple­ m ent, not substantiate, th at project. W e can therefore move on, from inner-to-inner connections, to the more difficult question o f the con ­ nections between the inner and behaviour-in-context. lnner/A ction Connections. W ittgenstein’s claim about the relationship between what happens in someone’s mind and what they do, at its most general, is that the relationship is not evidential. If the Lockean is right, someone else’s outward behaviour is evidence for me of what is going on in his or her mind. A nd the decisions, intentions and so on which occur in my mind are evidence for me of what I am going to do. But, according to W ittgenstein, even if there are evidential connections on occasion, they are far from being as frequent or paradigmatic as the Lockean predicts. Suppose I say T h e sky looks threatening’ (an example from PI H.v). Is this to be understood as ‘T h e sky is now filled with dark clouds, and - since dark clouds generally correlate with rain - 1 have evidence that it will soon rain’? W ittgenstein wants to suggest that this analysis (description + generalisation + hypothesis) may falsify actual usage o f the original sentence. He asks, Should we ever really express ourselves like this: ‘Naturally, I am presuppos­ ing that [dark clouds generally correlate with rain]*? - Or do we not do so only because the other person already knows that? Doesn’t a presupposition imply a doubt? And doubt may be entirely lacking. Doubting has an end (PI H.v.6-7). W e can take this point about the absence of doubt in two ways: either it recapitulates the point, considered above, that the Lockean predicts a use for ‘I know . . .* or ‘I presuppose . . .* or ‘I doubt . . .* which is, in fact, extremely abnormal, or else it goes further, to suggest that a sentence like ‘T h e sky looks threatening’ contains no suppressed inference at all. It is this stronger claim which seems to be made at PI II.v.4 . . . A doctor asks: ‘How is he feeling?* The nurse says: ‘He is groaning*. A report on his behaviour. But need there be any question for them whether the groaning is really genuine, is really the expression of anything? Might they not, for example, draw the conclusion ‘If he groans, we must give him more analgesic* - without suppressing a middle term? Isn’t the point the service to

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T he C onnection A rgument which they put the description of behaviour? (see also PI 310, PI 421, and for a more explicit statement Zettel 225). It is certainly possible to use ‘He is groaning* sympathetically. In this use, no inference is drawn to the patient’s inner state - the statement is, as it were, already infused with the attitude that he has a soul/is not an automaton (see PI ILiv and PI 420). N o further inferential work is needed to achieve what the speaker wants to achieve. A nd the word ‘attitude* suggests a new reason for suspecting the Lockean’s inferential analysis. T h e alleged conclusion is not a hypothesis at all, but an attitude (PI ILiv. 1-4, and see PI 310). Suppose it were to be claimed then, that descriptions like ‘He is groaning* are typically or fundamentally ‘attitude-bearing*, and that the non-sympathetic use (in which the description really does serve as evidence) is a specialised or secondary use. If this could be proved, the Lockean would be misrepresent­ ing an exceptional as a standard use. Furthermore, in this exceptional, nonsympathetic use, ‘He is groaning* would serve, not as evidence for the presence o f processes or entities that cannot be observed directly, but as a reason for not witholding the normal attitude. W ittgenstein does suggest that the case in which behaviour and pain have to be distinguished, the case in which someone pretends to be in pain, is highly atypical. PI II.xi.253-4 describe it as ‘a very special pattern* and point out that ‘A child has much to learn before it can pretend* (see also PI 249-50). So let’s grant, at least for the sake o f argument, that there is a noninferential, attitude-bearing use of ‘He is groaning* which, in some (at least developmental) sense, is basic. M uch more needs to be said to reach and to clarify this conclusion, of course, but perhaps it is not implausible. It is damaging to the Lockean, however, only if taking the non-attitude-bearing, secondary kind o f use as standard is a mistake. T h e Lockean might concede that children learn ‘Noddy’s crying!* as an expression of sympathy, but insist that, when children learn about pretence, they need a language capable of distinguishing tears from pain. W ittgenstein and the Lockean can agree, then, that there is a noninferential (expressive) and an inferential (descriptive) use of, for example, ‘He is groaning*. T h e question between them now is: how are we to understand the descriptive use? For the Lockean, we infer to an inner object or process understood on the model o f outer objects and processes (and the presence of this inner object or process in turn makes the emotional response or action appropriate). For W ittgenstein, the descrip­ tive use occurs in the exceptional case where someone’s natural expressive reaction to pain (the reaction of tending and treating) has been withheld or

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations is pending. It functions as a reminder of the appropriateness of that reaction. A nd what makes the reaction appropriate is our natural tendency to comfort someone in distress, not a complicated and shaky inference to the existence o f an unwelcome intruder in the victim’s mental life. It seems to me, however, that the ‘absence o f doubt’ point does not lend strong support to W ittgenstein’s view. T h e Lockean can plausibly claim that we do not say ‘Naturally I am presupposing that groans generally correlate with pain* only because this is too widely accepted to be worth saying. T h e absence o f doubt indicates a supremely confident inference, not (except in the expressive case) no inference at all. W ittgenstein might well reject this Lockean claim on the grounds that the lack o f a use for the above ‘presupposition* implies lack of meaning (as opposed to a meaning too obvious or familiar to be worth making explicit), but I have already explained why this direct form of the Use Argument achieves nothing. A nd so it seems that the non-inferential point, like the anomalies o f use surrounding knowledge, is best seen as building on the arguments against sharpening the inner/outer distinction, rather than adding to them directly. T h e non-inferential point also seems rather limited. It may be true of pain, but how true is it of belief, intention, memory, recognition, thinking, understanding, reading and so on? There certainly are attitude-bearing reports in these cases, too, but they seem rarer and less fundamental. So far, we have been discussing W ittgenstein’s claim that the relationship between behaviour-in-context and the behaver’s state o f mind is not evidential. Let’s now consider his positive claim that the relationship is criterial (PI 344, 367, 3 7 6 -7 , 385, 509, 542, 5 72-3, 591). W hat does this mean? A criterion (I suggest) is a co-sufficient condition, that is, a condition which, taken in conjunction with other conditions, defines the behaver’s state of mind (see Blue Book p.25: to give the criterion, for example, of angina, is ‘a loose way of stating the definition of “angina” *). T h e fact that someone says ‘I feel depressed’ is not evidence for a Lockean inner state of depression. Rather, saying ‘I feel depressed’, along with a lot of other things, is what it means for someone to feel depressed. A symptom of depression, by contrast, is an empirically discovered correlate of depression (which may quickly be adopted as a criterion), such as abnormal serotonin levels. Peter Hacker’s early book Insight and Illusion adopts a very different view of criteria, describing the relation between a criterion and what it is a criterion for, as ‘a fundamental semantic relation unrecognised by classical logic . . . weaker than entailment but stronger than inductive evidence* (p. 293). Hacker argues in that book that Wittgenstein intended to develop a criterial semantics (to replace

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T he C onnection A rgument the truth-conditional semantics of the Tractatus), and that the Private Language Argument fundamentally depends on this criterial semantics, as indeed does Wittgenstein’s stance on behaviourism and dualism. This last claim is pursued in an article written jointly with Gordon Baker, entitled ‘The Grammar of Psychology’, which holds that, while the behaviourist errs by regarding the relation between behaviour and inner state as one of entailment, the mentalist errs in the opposite direction by regarding the relation as merely inductive. In fact, they argue, ‘The nexus is neither inductive nor entailment, but criterial\ where a criterion is ‘noninductive evidence supporting a judgement*. Hacker is admirably frank about the problems for this inter­ pretation, including the lack of clear textual evidence for it, the implication that the meaning of a term such as ‘angina* changes when a new criterion (such as the presence of a certain bacillus) is used, the implication that the Law of the Excluded Middle has to be jettisoned, and the problem of saving sense for utterances Wittgen­ stein held to be criterionless. There is also the problem that this interpretation attributes to Wittgenstein a systematic theory of meaning (see the section on the Use Argument above). I propose to say nothing further about these problems, however, because the chief interpretative merit of the account of criteria just sketched, I think, is that it unifies in a plausible and exciting way various strands in Wittgenstein’s later thinking; in particular, the funda­ mental rejection of the Tractatus, the Private Language Argument and the critique of behaviourism and mentalism. It supplies an interpretative key that shows how these various strands derive from a single idea, the idea of a revolutionary new criterial relation determining meaning. If, therefore, we could provide an alternative interpretative key of equal power, which does not bring in its train problems as severe as those above, then, whatever its merits as an independent philoso­ phical thesis, the criterial semantics account would lose much of its appeal as a piece of exegesis (and it is in fact rejected by Hacker along with the view I adopt of criteria as logically co-sufficient conditions - in his more recent Meaning and Mind, see Vol. 3, Part 1, p. 243f.). Now my claim, of course, is that Wittgenstein’s attack on the Lockean sharpening of the naturally and properly vague inner/ outer analogy provides an alternative key of exactly this kind, unproblematic yet exegetically powerful. We have already seen its consequences for our perspective on the PLA, and we are currently discovering the light it can shed on the post-308 sections of PI. We shall see before long that it can also be used to analyse Wittgen­ stein’s rejection of the Tractatus. Thus, rather than attack the

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations criterial semantics interpretation in detail, I hope to replace it with something better. Persevering, then, with the account of criteria as logically co-sufficient conditions, we have to take note of four complications. First, saying ‘I feel depressed’ is obviously not a necessary condition o f feeling depressed. Second, the other co-sufficient conditions that have to be present to make saying *1 feel depressed* a criterion, are enormously various and complex (PI 583-4). They include the behaver’s whole form of life (if the behaver had arrived from another planet the day before, but was otherwise indistin­ guishable from a normal human being, we would not regard the utterance *1 feel depressed’ as a criterion o f this creature’s feeling depressed). Th ey also include the particular language-game within which the utterance occurs (so that, if it occurs as part o f a performance o f a play, it is not criterial for the actor’s state of mind). Third, the status o f an indicator (as criterion or mere symptom) is often subject to change and indeterminacy. T h e criterion of a disease can change very readily as new facts are discovered (PI 354), and the criterion o f a syndrome may be specifiable only as ‘some or most of the following symptoms . . .’ (PI 79, 87). Finally, it is possible to fix on one criterion and (taking it for granted that all the other co-sufficient condi­ tions, or a sufficient number of them, are in place) use that single criterion as a crucial test. O n my account (see above, p. 76f.), to describe an utterance as criterionless is to say that no such crucial test was in fact performed, not that there are no co-sufficient conditions defining the utterance. In spite of these complexities, W ittgenstein’s point is simple: when someone says ‘I feel depressed*, this is best understood, not as a report, description or effect (and therefore causal indicator) of an inner state, but as part of what it means to talk about a depressed state of mind. T o say that someone is depressed just is to say that such-and-such co-sufficient conditions obtain, (where ‘such-and-such* indicates that we are able to give various examples of the conditions - to rectify various possible misunderstandings but no complete listing of them). T h e utterance is part o f a whole context which exemplifies the kind of context that defines depression. It does not stand to an identifiable inner state as sign to object signified. Perhaps this sounds like behaviourism, but it is in fact pre-behaviourist. It does not accept the meaningfulness o f Lockean inner entities, then deny their existence: it attempts to describe our actual use o f terms like ‘depression’ without accepting the Lockean picture o f it. T h en what is the difference between the cases in which someone says ‘I feel depressed’ genuinely and mendaciously? Here we employ the picture - at a vague, pre-Lockean level -

of an inner process (PI 4 2 3 -4 , PI II.iv.8). T h e

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T he C onnection A rgument difference, we say, is that the truthful speaker feels something, has an inner condition, which the mendacious speaker does not. But according to W ittgenstein, it is now very important that we rest content with this faqon de parler (PI II.xi.79). W e must not try to sharpen the inner/outer analogy beyond its actual, vague, employment. We must not, like savages hearing civilised speech, take it literally (PI 194 end). Perhaps I can summarise this point and at the same time explain a difficult remark. Merrill and Jaakko Hintikka (in their book Investigating Wittgenstein, pp. 269-70) cite PI 297: ‘Of course, if water boils in a pot, steam comes out of the pot and also pictured steam comes out of the pictured pot. But what if one insisted on saying that there must also be something boiling in the picture of the pot?* They say that this has become ‘one of the favourite passages of those who think that Wittgenstein is trying to exorcise private objects (acts, experiences etc.) altogether’. The passage does seem on the face of it to attack the suggestion that there is something boiling in the pictured pot, and by analogy, to undermine the claim (made - by an interlocutor - in PI 296) that there is something real in a person behind the cry of pain. It therefore seems to support a behaviourist interpretation like Cook’s (see his book Wittgenstein's Metaphysics, p. 12 If.) or (as I claim) Johnston’s. The Hintikkas continue: ‘We are now in a position to see that the accepted interpretation of this passage is precisely the wrong way round . . . Wittgenstein is not suggesting that the actual private experience (the analogue to the real water boiling in the actual kettle) must fall out of the semantical picture, but that a part of its alleged one-to-one representation or “picture” (pictured water boiling in the pictured kettle) is redundant . . . The point of the analogy is thus to criticize the simple object-label model of our language of private experiences . . . It does not tell at all against the reality of private experiences . . .’ According to this view of him, for Wittgenstein ‘there really are private experiences, and there really are expressions naming them and referring to them* (p. 247). His point is that the sensation ‘can only be spoken of by some public [and logical, not contingent] correlate* (p. 263). Thus, his target is Cartesian semantics, not Cartesian metaphysics. Metaphysically, Wittgenstein is a Cartesian (see p. 265, and for a similar interpreta­ tion, Alan Donagan’s article ‘Wittgenstein on Sensation’). For the behaviourist interpretation, the points of analogy are: pictured p o t........................................ body pictured steam.................................... behaviour pictured contents...............................inner experiences. For the Hintikkas, however, the analogues are: real p o t................................................ body

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations real steam............................................ behaviour real contents.......................................inner experiences, and the corresponding picture components stand for talk about these. Both of these interpretations accept the question ‘What is in the pictured pot?* as legitimate, and both agree that the answer to it is ‘Nothing*. But Wittgenstein’s claim, on my view, is that the analogy which does and must exist between the real and the pictured scene does not legitimise that question. In real life, we simply don’t ask it, any more than we ask how many children Lady Macbeth had (PI 365 and the end of PI 398 are relevant). Having said that, there are of course pictures in which we are supposed to infer to something hidden - in de Witte’s Woman Playing the Virginals, we may be supposed to infer a hidden lover. But when looking at the painting we do not ask, ‘And are there strings inside the virginals?*, ‘Is there a caged bird in the next room?’, ‘Is there a baker’s which does wonderful bagels half a mile down the road?* These questions are just not part of the game, perhaps because, as the Hypostasis Argument suggests, they could be multiplied indefinitely. What we see from these representational analogies is that any analogy can peter out very suddenly in certain directions, without damage to its overall function. The analogy between picture-scene and real scene certainly exists, but it does not legitimise questions about the picture-scene analogous to legitimate questions about the real scene. In the same way, the analogy between inner and outer should be allowed to peter out exactly where it does: in real life, we simply do not ask if inner experiences exist. I therefore regard this admittedly difficult remark (PI 297) as confirming the overall tendency of the post-308 project. Wittgenstein was not a behaviourist, not a dualist, not something in between (see Baker and Hacker’s article ‘The Grammar of Psychology’), and not someone who ultimately avoided the issue (see Robert Fogelin’s book Wittgenstein, p. 197f.). The question which generates these alternatives is: what is the relation between overt behaviour and inner states? And for Wittgenstein, to ask this is to ask a question not licensed by the inner/outer analogy as we ordinarily use it, to step off the playing-field we know, to ask ‘What did Hamlet like for breakfast?* O n my view, then, to say that the relationship between behaviour and psychological ascriptions is criterial is only intended to rem ind us o f the real vagueness, fluidity and context-dependence o f that relationship. But if this is correct, the criterial point, too, depends on , and does not independently support, the post-308 project. O r, to put it another way, the criterial point aims to provide an alternative to the Lockean sharpening o f the analogy. It does not attack it directly.

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T he C onnection A rgument L et’s turn now from the observer to the agent point o f view. W hat connections hold between my own mental states and processes and my own actions? From a Lockean perspective, planning, intending, calculating the consequences, deciding and so on are inner processes that lead up to and produce the outer action in the same way that computational/electronic processes produce a movement in a robot arm. O ne natural extension of this popular analogy is that an agent knows in advance what his or her body is likely to do by monitoring and inferring inductively from these computa­ tional processes. W ittgenstein certainly wants to say that a person’s ability to predict his or her future actions (conceded at PI II.xi.220, and distinguished from knowledge in the section just before) is not inferential. A t PI II.x.16 he says: ‘One feels conviction within oneself, one doesn’t infer it from one’s own words or their tone.’ - What is true here is: one does not infer one’s own conviction from one’s own words; nor yet the actions which arise from that conviction (see also PI 631-2, 638). But then how am I able to predict what I will do? W hat enables me to do this? Is the inner conviction only an interpretation I put on my primitive ability to predict? PI 637 seems to deny this: ‘I know exactly what I was going to say!* And yet I did not say it. - And yet I don’t read it off from some other process which took place then and which I remember. Nor am I interpreting that situation and its antecedents. For I don’t consider them and don’t judge them (see also PI 634). O n the other hand, PI 656 seems to advocate it: What is the purpose of telling someone that a time ago I had such-and-such a wish? - Look on the language-game as the primary thing. And look on the feelings, etc., as you look on a way of regarding the language-game, as interpretation (see also PI 490 and compare Zettel 27). W hatever the role of interpretation might be, W ittgenstein does seem to want to regard the ability to predict as primitive, a mere given. It is specifically in the context of this discussion of a person’s ability to say what he or she meant to do, or was going to say, or wanted, that W ittgenstein says, ‘O ur mistake is to look for an explanation where we

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations ought to look at what happens as a “proto-phenomenon”. T h a t is, where we ought to have said: this language-game is played’ (PI 654). PI 655 reinforces the point: T h e question is not one of explaining our language-game by means of experiences, but of noting a language-game.’ In this much-quoted remark it is important to notice the phrase ‘by means of experiences’. PI 632 explicitly allows that ‘a physiological investigation’ could be conducted to determine whether the utterance of an intention is a cause and the action that fulfils the intention is its effect. W ittgenstein’s point is that trying to explain the primitive ability by means o f the inner is a mistake. T h e ability is primitive relative to experiences. Debate over the necessity for explanations at this inner level continues. It is perhaps the fundamental question for cognitive science in general, one outcrop being Fodor and Pylyshyn’s systematicity challenge to connectionism and the ensuing literature. Rather than pursue that question here, we should ask: what does W ittgenstein say in PI to show that I do not infer my future actions from my present intentions? Here it is possible to devise an argument from the absence of justification (resembling the argument from the absence of doubt that there is no inference involved in certain uses o f ‘He is groaning’). It might plausibly be suggested, for example, that we do not ask someone who says ‘I am going to take two powders now’ (PI 631) to justify their belief, and that if we did, it would be no justification to say, ‘I have recently noted an intention of mine to that effect’. It would follow that, in at least one sense, no inference has taken place. This argument seems to underlie PI 32 4 -5 , PI 460-1 and PI 4 8 6 90. It may also explain why W ittgenstein discusses the justification of inductive belief at PI 4 66-97. According to the Lockean, my belief that I will take two powders is to be understood on the model of my inductive belief that such-and-such powders will make me sick. T h e tendency of the PI 4 6 6 97 discussion, however, is to suggest that there are senses in which even typical inductive beliefs are not justified by any inference. M y belief that the fire will burn me may not be (a) logically implied by any set of propositions, or (b) the result of any inference I did in fact perform. I simply find myself afraid of the fire and I can, if asked, produce a hundred reasons, ‘each drowning the voice of the others’ (PI 478). T h e PI 4 6 6 -9 7 discussion, therefore, does not lead towards a disanalogy between inductive beliefs and an agent’s beliefs about his or her future actions (PI 324). Instead, it challenges the Lockean understanding of ordinary inductive belief. A nd at this point we leave it, as raising questions too large (and too far removed from our present concerns) to deal with here. Returning to the ‘absence of justification’ argument, we can respond, as we did above, to the ‘absence of doubt’ argument. T h e Lockean can reply that no

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T he C onnection A rgument explicit justification occurs in normal speech because it is universally conceded that the agent has access to evidence (his or her intentions) which is not directly available to anyone else. This reply is attacked by the post-308 project as a whole, and the ‘absence of justification’ argument is therefore best seen as developing an alternative to the Lockean view, rather than as attacking it directly. If explaining one’s intentions is not a matter of describing a process (PI II.xi.210), and so not a matter of filling in a causal background to an action, then why do we do it? (PI 656). T h e ‘absence of justification’ argument is perhaps a preliminary contribution to this question. A t PI 6 2 7 -8 there is an ‘absence of surprise’ argument. Suppose I am explaining gravity to a child. I let a pebble fall, saying, ‘And see! It moves towards the centre of the E arth .’ W ittgenstein argues that, for the Lockean, there ought to be this same ‘A nd see!’ for me (at least sometimes) about my own actions. But ‘this “and see!” however, is precisely what does not belong here. I do not say “See, my arm is going up!” when I raise it’ (PI 627). In short, it is always possible to re-confirm even very well-established inductive beliefs. But there seems to be nothing corresponding to this re-confirmation in the case of action. So an agent’s ability to predict a future action is not inductive. Now, there certainly is an experience of trying to perform an action and being surprised or relieved at success. Someone might very well try to move an injured arm and be delighted to see that the arm moves. But is this really a case of doing A and finding that B (its usual concom itant) still follows? A t PI 614, W ittgenstein says, ‘W hen I raise my arm “voluntarily’' I do not use any instrument to bring the movement about. M y wish is not such an instrument either.’ In the same way, ‘ “W illing” is not the name of an action’ (PI 613). This is consistent with W ittgenstein’s general view of the mental, and obviously, interpreting wishing or willing as causes of action is part of the Lockean sharpening of the inner/outer analogy. But there do not seem to be any arguments in what W ittgenstein says about the will which add to the case he makes against over-extending the analogy. As above, W ittgenstein is drawing out the implications o f that case, assuming that it succeeds. Can we supplement Wittgenstein’s comments on willing with such arguments? Wittgenstein claims that not ail actions involve trying (PI 616,622-3, PI Il.xi. 13, 94). Glock considers the Lockean counter­ claim that we do not speak of trying in easy cases because ‘it would be too obvious to be worth stating. But [this] position does not accord with the linguistic facts. It is committed to the mystifying claim that it is less obvious (and hence more worth saying) that 1 am trying to O when my Simplicity of reference/analysis PI 39-64 > Determinacy of sense PI 66-105 > Philosophy and Essence PI 65, 8 9 -9 5 , 116 > Non-essentialist Philosophy PI 107-33

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T he Structure

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PI

stances, are not seriously abnormal. They are not research-guiding scientific metaphors, which further investigation can sharpen and confirm. W ittgen­ stein’s warning against analysis is a warning against interpreting these idioms as metaphors. W ittgenstein’s response to the Tractatus’ notion of projection, to sum up, is that it is a false extension of the inner/outer analogy, deriving from a misplaced dissatisfaction with that analogy’s indefiniteness (see, for exam ­ ple, PI 71). T h e problems projection was designed to solve (explaining the truth and meaning of propositions at an allegedly basic, fully analysed level) are addressed in W ittgenstein’s twin attacks on propositional analysis (PI 39-64) and on determinacy of sense (PI 66-105). T h e projection issue, then, has not provided any new arguments for the post-308 project. Instead, it serves as a crucial application for that project. I suggest that we can best understand what the later W ittgenstein wants to say about the Tractatus, if we see the issue in the light of the post-308 project, as it applies to the concept o f projection. T his fact also helps to confirm the post-308 project as the centre of PI. Looking now to the Connection Argument as a whole, my main aims in this section have been: first, to provide a structure within which W ittgenstein’s complex and scattered insights can be constructively discussed, second, to distinguish those lines of thought which attack the Lockean view from those which build an alternative to it, and third, to give at least a preliminary evaluation of the lines which attack the Lockean picture. I hope the diagram given above will help summarise the discussion’s structure and results.

T h e Structure o f P I We can now sketch out the structure o f PI as a whole. 1-137 M eaning and Use M eaning should be understood as use, not as reference, and not as something in the mind T h e diversity of uses PI 10-17, 2 3 -4 , 3 3 -8 Against Logical Atomism PI 38-137 > Simplicity of reference/analysis PI 39-64 > Determinacy of sense PI 66-105 > Philosophy and Essence PI 65, 8 9 -9 5 , 116 > Non-essentialist Philosophy PI 107-33

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations 138-242 Being G uided and Interpreting Instantaneous understanding PI 138-40 > a matter of inner grasp? PI 141-55 Being guided . . . by a written text PI 156-71 . . . physically PI 172 > essentialism PI 173, 176-8 . . . by a line PI 174 . . . by a formula PI 151-4, 179 . . . by a memory PI 184 . . . by a rule PI 143, 185-90 . . . by a drawing PI 193-4 . . . by an intention PI 197 . . . by an order PI 206, 212 > Requires custom and usage, not individual interpretation, not some­ thing inner PI 197-243 243-307 T h e Private Language Arguments > Inner interpretations, inner definitions cannot explain how language becomes meaningful . . . because others could not recognise the output as a language . . . because the interpreter/definer would be unable to use signs mean­ ingfully . . . because we have no concept of the inner clear enough to be explanatory But to say this is not behaviourist PI 296-307 308-693 Describing the Inner /O u ter Analogy Behaviourism and dualism both misuse the analogy, making it too close > Early Arguments against over-extending the analogy PI 308-85 > T h e C onnection Argument PI 386-465 etc. > causality and thinking/belief/language PI 466-97 > T h e Co-existence Argument (developed) PI 501-94 > T h e Hypostasis Argument PI 595-610 > T h e Pre-existence Argument (developed) PI 611-93 Part II Various Part II consists largely of expansions and re-formulations o f material already present in Part I. T h e most important expansions are . . . on the diversity of uses PI U.ix

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T he Structure

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. . . on M oore’s paradox (related to the first person asymmetry of psychological verbs) PI II.x . . . on seeing an aspect (related to experiencing the meaning of a word, inter alia) PI Il.xi. 1—196 . . . on knowledge of the inner PI Il.xi. 197-255 . . . on the nature of philosophy PI H .xi.50-1, 7 3 -5 , 78 -8 2 , 133-5, 139, 142, 217, 236, PI Il.xii O n this account, the structure of PI - apart from the scattered locations of the various strands of the C onnection Argument, and the grouping together of heterogeneous developments in Part II - can be seen to be rather logical. Phase 1 attacks the errors of perspective that led to Logical Atomism - its neglect o f the diversity o f real language, its fascination with a certain concept of simplicity, and its exaggeration of the precision of language. Adopting a truer perspective, we abandon the idea of analysis towards absolute simplicity and with it the attempt to ‘find the essence’ of language. This has implications for the concept of philosophy in general, seen as a discipline that gives the essence of important concepts. I have said comparatively little about this part o f PI because I think it is already well understood. Having cleared the ground of these errors, Phase 2 begins to investigate the role of the mental in understanding language. W ittgenstein considers a variety of cases in which someone understands something and acts on the basis of his or her understanding. He concedes that the agent’s perfor­ mances may be accompanied by mental imagery or other inner workings, but insists that these are neither necessary nor sufficient for it to be true that the agent’s performance derives from his or her understanding. W hat is necessary is a custom or practice of related performances. I shall say a little more about this section in the Appendix. Phase 3 shifts the focus from understanding to meaning. As above, W ittgenstein does not deny that inner workings may accompany the meaningful use of language: he denies that it is these which m ake the use meaningful. But here we have to separate three different strands in this denial. W ittgenstein argues that a language made meaningful by inner workings (a) would not be recognisable as a language to anyone else, (b) would not be usable as a language even by the person whose inner workings were supposed to establish its meanings, and (c) is not genuinely a hypothesis we understand. I think it is a serious mistake to take (a) and (b) as claiming that a private language (one made meaningful by someone’s inner workings) is impossible. T h e real point is that the idea of a private language distorts our ordinary concept of inner workings beyond recognition.

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations Phase 4 sets out to show the extent o f this distortion, by bringing out its departures from the inner/outer analogy as that analogy occurs in ordinary language. O nce we appreciate how much distortion is involved in the idea of a private language (and in the ideas of behaviourism, dualism, reasons-ascauses and so on), we will realise, somewhat to our surprise, that we do not really understand them . If W ittgenstein’s claim (in Phase 3) had been that a private language is impossible, it would be at best anti-climactic and at worst inconsistent to spend the rest of PI arguing that we do not really understand what a private language is. T h e end result is that our ordinary concept of inner workings cannot be made to do service in a theory of understanding or meaning. T he Tractatus’ attempt to achieve this (under the term ‘projection’) leads to nonsense of a subtler form than its author realised. T h e problem is not that it tries to say what can only be shown. T h e problem is that it takes what we do say, removes it from its context, stretches some points and suppresses others, and distorts an informal picture into a theory divorced from any genuine application.

C on clu sion T h e post-308 project aims to show that the inner/outer analogy (which we do use) does not confer meaning on the Lockean extension of it. W ittgen­ stein’s central point in PI is that, although we do properly use the picture of inner processes, we do not apply the picture as the Lockean predicts or recommends. In the Introduction I outlined four problems for the post-308 project, and we can now review these (in reverse order). 1 The picture (as extended by the Lockean) becomes meaningful through its role in a developed scientific or philosophical theory. Reply: to the extent that this is true, the terms adopted from ordinary language (or ‘folk psychology*) bring no explanatory potential to the theory. (If this doesn’t seem too serious, try going through a Lockean theory substituting X for ‘belief, Y for ‘schema’, Z for ‘image’ and so on). 2 Wittgenstein himself legitimises the inner process picture by using intro­ spective evidence. Reply: Wittgenstein’s use of introspection does not give numerical identity to introspectible entities. It remains within the bounds of our ordinary use of the inner/outer analogy.

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations Phase 4 sets out to show the extent o f this distortion, by bringing out its departures from the inner/outer analogy as that analogy occurs in ordinary language. O nce we appreciate how much distortion is involved in the idea of a private language (and in the ideas of behaviourism, dualism, reasons-ascauses and so on), we will realise, somewhat to our surprise, that we do not really understand them . If W ittgenstein’s claim (in Phase 3) had been that a private language is impossible, it would be at best anti-climactic and at worst inconsistent to spend the rest of PI arguing that we do not really understand what a private language is. T h e end result is that our ordinary concept of inner workings cannot be made to do service in a theory of understanding or meaning. T he Tractatus’ attempt to achieve this (under the term ‘projection’) leads to nonsense of a subtler form than its author realised. T h e problem is not that it tries to say what can only be shown. T h e problem is that it takes what we do say, removes it from its context, stretches some points and suppresses others, and distorts an informal picture into a theory divorced from any genuine application.

C on clu sion T h e post-308 project aims to show that the inner/outer analogy (which we do use) does not confer meaning on the Lockean extension of it. W ittgen­ stein’s central point in PI is that, although we do properly use the picture of inner processes, we do not apply the picture as the Lockean predicts or recommends. In the Introduction I outlined four problems for the post-308 project, and we can now review these (in reverse order). 1 The picture (as extended by the Lockean) becomes meaningful through its role in a developed scientific or philosophical theory. Reply: to the extent that this is true, the terms adopted from ordinary language (or ‘folk psychology*) bring no explanatory potential to the theory. (If this doesn’t seem too serious, try going through a Lockean theory substituting X for ‘belief, Y for ‘schema’, Z for ‘image’ and so on). 2 Wittgenstein himself legitimises the inner process picture by using intro­ spective evidence. Reply: Wittgenstein’s use of introspection does not give numerical identity to introspectible entities. It remains within the bounds of our ordinary use of the inner/outer analogy.

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C onclusion 3 Wittgenstein emphasises the pervasiveness of the inner process picture in ordinary language and so cannot dismiss it as unintelligible. Reply: Wittgenstein does not attack the picture as such, but those (Lockean) applications or extensions of it that distort ordinary language (PI 374). The Lockean equivocates between the ordinary, meaningful sense, and the quasi-technical, meaningless sense of terms such as ‘desire’, ‘image’, ‘rule’, ‘schema*, using the familiarity of the former to disguise the emptiness of the latter. 4 If ordinary language is free to use the inner/outer analogy selectively, why can’t the Lockean extend it selectively? Don’t Wittgenstein’s arguments depend on pushing the Lockean extensions in directions other than the Lockean intends? Reply: in fact, none of the arguments we have looked at (Improvement, Interruption, Speed of Thought, Pre-existence, Co-existence, Description, Pointing, Hypostasis, Countability) attacks the Lockean in this unfair way. C an we therefore declare the post-308 project a success? T h e aim o f this book has been exegetical, to enable readers to decide this question for themselves. But perhaps, in closing, I can sketch out my own answer. T h e first objective o f the post-308 project is to show how profoundly the Lockean extensions o f the inner/outer analogy diverge from normal use o f it, and in this, I think W ittgenstein is very successful. It is all too easy for those calloused by doing philosophy (PI 348) - or psychology or linguistics - to make new uses o f the analogy, without realising how radical their innova­ tions are. T h e arguments we have looked at serve, very vividly, to remind us of the gulf between Lockean and ordinary usage o f the inner/outer analogy. W hy, then, does this gulf exist? W hat is the best explanation of the puzzles and peculiarities, the anomalies of use and experience which beset Lockean applications o f the inner/outer analogy? A Lockean reply might be that our ordinary concept of the inner is insufficiently precise to do the technical, theoretical work of philosophy and science. Ordinary concepts do normally change, after all, in the process of becoming scientifically useful. T h e concept o f an atom, for example, developed from an ordinary concept o f something divisible like a pebble or a grain o f sand, into a concept o f something indivisible, then back to something divisible into sub­ atomic particles. T h e concept of a desire, image or thought, the Lockean claims, might naturally undergo equally radical changes as our under­ standing progresses. W ittgenstein’s explanation would be that the source o f so much nonsense must itself be nonsense. Just as Aristotle pushed the apparent implications of the picture of perception as a wax impression, and created a ‘that which knows* which is not mixed with the body, so we have pushed the apparent

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations implications o f the picture of the inner and created whole realms o f entities, each accessible to only one person. T h e puzzles and peculiarities o f Lockean usage are due to the fact that the Lockean is talking nonsense. It was Descartes who took the medieval concept of existence-in-themind (so-called objective being - already a considerable extension of the ordinary picture) and made its relation to the external world causal in the modern, non-teleological sense (see Steven Nadler’s Amauld and the Cartesian Philosophy of Ideas, pp. 147-65). This commits us to causal relations between public and private terms which, in the vast majority of cases, we cannot conceivably confirm. As Descartes and, more famously, Hume pointed out, the objection that we cannot understand causal interaction between entities metaphysically so different from each other as the mental and the physical is not particularly damaging. What is damaging is that I am expected to believe in five billion causal networks, only one of which I can possibly observe (and that, only if it happens to work consciously). What’s more, no two observers can possibly observe the same network in operation. Now atoms were never like this. In fact, when atoms were only a fraction as elusive (before Perrin confirmed Einstein’s predictions regarding Brownian motion), scientists of the stature of Poincare were arguing that atomic theory is a useful fiction, not a literally true description of reality. T h e Lockean divergence from ordinary use of the inner/outer analogy has been, I believe, a mistake, a blind alley in the history o f ideas - natural and in many ways admirable, but also chimerical and incoherent. This, however, is to go a little further than PI really warrants. W ittgenstein certainly accuses psychology of barrenness and confusion (PI Il.xiv), but he does not marshall the epistemological problems of dualism to demonstrate Lockean incoherence. It may be that these traditional problems are simply taken for granted by W ittgenstein, the only solution to them being, in his view, a return to our ordinary use of the inner/outer analogy. But insofar as we are interpreting PI, I think a weaker conclusion is appropriate. PI, th en , does not show that the Lockean extension of our concept of the inner is im possible to understand. T h ere is no direct argument from the Use theory to this effect (this is my opinion, not W ittgenstein’s, see the section on the U se Argum ent), and in any case, W ittgenstein does not address the possibility o f ‘semantic bootstrapping’ - a kind of gradual, leveraged ascent into intelligibility which may in some circum ­ stances be possible. PI also does not show the Lockean extension to be chim erical and incoherent. It may be b oth o f these but if so, it is for

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C onclusion epistemological reasons which W ittgenstein leaves very m uch in the background. PI may show, on the basis of an argument to the best explanation, that we do not in fact understand Lockean extensions of the analogy. In my own opinion, there is a good case to this effect. But what PI certainly and centrally shows is that the Lockean extension is an extension, and a very radical one, of what we normally say and understand. It is true that mere unfamiliarity cannot be used as a criterion o f meaninglessness. But it can be used to remind us how uncertain we really are about the meaning of the unfamiliar claims. We cannot take for granted (as we generally do) an understanding of principles, beliefs, thoughts, cognitive models, images, frameworks, preferences, hypotheses, wishes, rules, intentions, concepts, interpretations, where these are supposed to have numerical identity and a causal role. Our understanding is much more partial and insecure than we tend to think. To give one example: Ronald Langacker writes (in Concept, Image and Symbol: The Cognitive Basis of Grammar), ‘The goal of cognitive grammar is to characterize those psychological structures that constitute a speaker’s linguistic ability* (p. 263). Langacker stresses the ‘psychological reality* of these structures. Indeed, his chief criticism of the generative tradition is that the competence/perform mance distinction has allowed it to disdain the search for psychologically real structures. He writes, ‘a typical speaker uses frequentlyrecurring expressions [like dog-dogs, toe-toes, tree-trees] on count­ less occasions; at least some of them must attain the status of units*. In the generative tradition, by contrast, individual expressions such as these would be produced by knowledge of the general rule for forming plurals in English. They would not be represented indivi­ dually, or causally efficacious, in the speaker’s mental grammar. Here we have two rival explanations of how it is that speakers of English form plurals like ‘dogs’, ‘toes* and ‘trees*. The generative explanation is that the speaker unconsciously consults a general rule for forming plurals. Langacker’s account is that the speaker un­ consciously consults either a general rule, or a specific singular/ plural pair. In both cases, an unconscious act of consultation is supposed to be causally necessary for production. The main thrust of the post-308 project would be that we do not really understand what it means for something to ‘attain the status of a unit*. We have no clear idea of what psychological reality is supposed to be. We do not have a sufficient grasp of what a real schema is to investigate empirically its causal properties. Langacker responds to this problem with a connectionist account (p. 282f.), suggesting that each grammatical construction will be represented

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations in a connectionist network implemented in the brain. Psychologi­ cally real units will then be those schemata or specific instances whose neural implementations in the network are activated in the process of producing grammatical speech. Thus, ‘differences in salience (likelihood of activation) are the device employed in this framework to implement the distinction between productive and nonproductive patterns* (p. 284). But this assumes that we understand ‘schemata’, ‘patterns’ and ‘productivity* well enough to correlate psychological structures with their neural implementations. Now, we can certainly correlate some neural activity with speech, or sensory stimulation. But can we really hope to correlate specific lightning flashes from the maelstrom of brain activity with unconscious mental structures on which the individual cannot report? This seems unlikely enough. And if, in addition, functionalism is true, then we cannot automatically expect the same psychological structure to be implemented in the same way on other occasions, or in other brains. In this case, it becomes hard to see any content at all in the claim that structure S was implemented in the activation of pathway P on a given occasion. More importantly, though, even if we accept this as a genuine claim, and one worth trying to establish, it nevertheless does nothing to improve our understanding of psychological reality. Langacker*s connectionist account takes for granted our ability to make the correlations, and in doing so, it takes for granted a sufficiently good understanding of psychologically real mental structures (see PI U.xi. 139). But this is precisely what was at issue. If, as Searle says, ‘we do not have a clear notion of how the ontology of the unconscious is supposed to match the ontology of the neurophysiology* (p. 172), then assuming that the match can be achieved is not a legitimate way of explaining what a psycho­ logically real mental structure is. We can apply this point more widely. In response to the Interruption Argument for example, it might be argued that we can tell whether a particular mental event (such as deciding whether there are enough screws left to make the shelves) interrupts or merely coincides with a change in a particular train of thought (such as wondering how many shelves to make). Both of these mental processes can be identified with brain processes, it might be said, and in this guise questions of causal influence can be resolved in the usual ways. This simply begs the question. Either it is possible to resolve these questions of causal influence without making the identification or it is not. If it is possible, we would like to see it done. If it is not, we are in the odd position of claiming an empirical identification between events and processes within the causal nexus

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C onclusion (neural firings, for example) and events and processes outside it (decisions and wonderings, for example). The identification of mental events with brain processes takes for granted exactly what the Interruption Argument brings into question. To put the point more generally still, we cannot argue against the post-308 project on the basis of any mind/brain identity thesis (other than a disap­ pearance or eliminative version), without begging the question. Returning to Langacker’s connectionist account, a further pro­ blem is that, on his view, we will know which hypostasised patterns are psychologically real or productive only when we already have a successful neural account of speech behaviour. But in this case, the Lockean stage of explanation is entirely otiose. The supposed causal efficacy o f‘units* cannot even lead us towards neural explanations, if it cannot be established in advance or independently of them. In fairness, Langacker does claim elsewhere that schemas can be identified independently but, in the present context (with the question of psychological reality to the fore), he tends to lean more heavily on the connectionist account. This looks to me like an example of what I earlier called definitional slide. Likelihood of neural activation defines psychological reality. The Lockean entity or process is gradually understood in terms of the neurological entity or process it is supposed to help us discover empirically. Finally, it should be noted that the principal interest of connec­ tionist models is precisely that they seem able to recognise and continue patterns without the causal intervention of rules, schemata or ‘psychological realities* of any kind (see Rumelhart and McClel­ land’s article ‘On Learning the Past Tenses of English Verbs*). It is of course possible, and may be very useful, to describe what the model does in rule-following or schemata-consulting terms. We may even be compelled (for want of a convenient alternative) to say that the model behaves as if it is following rule R or consulting schema S. But Langacker’s stress on the importance of psychological reality for schemas and instances forecloses this uncontroversial option. For him, the human system really does - and causally must - consult schemas and instances, and we are to look into the activity of the brain for the neural implementation of these acts of consultation. The moral of connectionism, however, is that no such consultation really takes place. The schema or rule has no real existence in the model. (For more on why connectionism is congenial to a Wittgensteinian philosophy of mind, see Stephen Mills* article, ‘Wittgen­ stein and Connectionism: a Significant Complementarity*). T h e problematic nature of our understanding of the entities of a Lockean explanation makes it hard to hope even that Lockean explanations might

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations assist us reliably towards neural explanations. We tend to hypostasise memory, for example, as a persisting and unitary faculty. O n this basis, we expect to find memory localised somewhere in the brain, containing items that are ‘stored’ and then ‘retrieved’. But the research effort based on this reifying picture appears at present to have been fundamentally misdirected. If we therefore reconsider our talk about ‘a memory’ more carefully, we find that it is based on an analogy with internal organs - we talk about having a bad memory by analogy with having a bad liver or a bad heart. But we over-extend the analogy if we take it to imply that somewhere inside the person, there really is a memory. T o sum up, PI does not attack the Lockean picture on epistemological grounds (where it might well be attacked). It does attack employing a sustained and multifaceted Use Argument (from various anomalies o f use to meaninglessness), which I have rejected. In place o f this Use Argum ent we can substitute an argument to the best explanation (based on the same anomalies), which I find persuasive. But even if this argument to the best explanation is rejected, the post-308 project has still inflicted serious damage, in two areas. First, the insecurity o f our understanding o f Lockean entities prevents Lockean theories from importing the explanatory force of common sense homonyms and makes it plausible to suppose that Lockean explanation will tend to make a definitional slide into neural explanation, rather than reliably contributing in any genuinely empirical way. A nd second, in the process o f rejecting the arguments of the post-308 project, the Lockean becomes encumbered with various responses (that some things are too obvious to be worth saying, that various processes occur unconsciously, that certain terms can derive meaning from their theoretical role and so on). Carrying the burden of these responses, even supposing they were indivi­ dually successful, the Lockean picture no longer seems the natural heir to common sense. T h e Lockean extensions o f the inner/outer analogy no longer look inevitable or unproblematic. O n the contrary, Lockean explanations, if they are explanatory at all, look much more like explana­ tions of last resort. In addition to arguments based on anomalies of use, there are (I have suggested) arguments based on anomalies of experience. T h e Lockean predicts experiences that we do not have, and misreports experiences that we do have, then hypostasises a range of unconscious entities and processes to paper over the cracks. W e have already seen some of Wittgenstein’s arguments against this hypostasis, and we shall consider some others in the Appendix. All this connects very closely with Wittgenstein’s metaphilosophy, perhaps the element of his later thinking which has found least acceptance. W ittgen­ stein’s later concept of philosophy is sometimes presented as a rather

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C onclusion doctrinaire and unmotivated afterthought to his own practice as a philosopher. But on the contrary, everything Wittgenstein says about philosophy is perfectly natural, given the interpretation of PI developed above. W ittgenstein’s remarks on philosophy contain a number of superficial contradictions, and perhaps we can best proceed by showing how the present interpretation resolves them. W ittgenstein stresses the ‘non-inter­ ventionist* nature of his philosophical method: Philosophy may in no way interfere with the actual use of language; it can in the end only describe it. For it cannot give it any foundation either. It leaves everything as it is (PI 124). W e should neither refine nor reform ordinary language (PI 132-3), nor can we justify or explain. A s he says at PI 109, ‘W e must do away with all explanation, and description alone must take its place*. This purely descrip­ tive m ethod explains why philosophy merely ‘assembles reminders* (PI 127) and issues no theses with which anyone could disagree (PI 128). But then how is the philosopher’s treatment o f a question ‘like the treatm ent o f an illness* (PI 255)? A doctor does not cure a ‘disease* (PI 593) just by describing it. Again, if philosophy is purely descriptive, why does W ittgenstein devise so many imaginary cases? W hy, for example, does he ask us to imagine people whose yells and stamping can be translated by suitable rules into a game of chess (PI 200)? A nd most of all, how can it be correct to leave ordinary language as it is if, as W ittgenstein also claims, ordinary language is itself the source of our philosophical difficulties? A s he says at PI 115, the picture that ‘holds us captive* lies in our language. T h e bewitchment of our intelligence that philosophy struggles against, occurs ‘by means of language* (PI 109). These pseudo-contradictions arise from Wittgenstein’s claim that philoso­ phy should limit itself to description, as indeed the post-308 project does, in essence. It reminds us, for example, that we say ‘W hat idea does this sentence express?* only in cases of difficulty of understanding, that we do not say ‘I know I am in pain* in the senses the Lockean expects, that we can say ‘I meant you to write 1002* without ever having thought o f that particular step. It describes the ways in which we do actually use these and other expressions. Now these descriptions are obviously intended to highlight the unnaturalness o f a certain alternative understanding o f what we say. T h e Lockean thinks that every sentence expresses an idea, that one’s knowledge of pain is the most secure kind o f knowledge, that some thought must

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations correspond to my having meant such-and-such. It is true that more effort, in PI, goes into the highlighting than into the simple description, and it is also true (I have argued) that W ittgenstein makes genuine use of introspection, in pursuit o f anomalies o f experience as well as anomalies of use. But neither of these points detracts from the essentially descriptive nature o f the post308 project. So how is it possible to cure by describing? It is possible simply because the illnesses philosophy has to deal with are illnesses of the understanding. Philosophical problems - such as the epistemology of mental processes arise when we stray from the ordinary uses W ittgenstein describes. Reminding us o f these uses, therefore, is the best and only cure. T h e situation with W ittgenstein’s employment of imaginary cases is a little more complicated, because they have two functions in his method. O ne (PI Il.xii) is to wean us away from the belief that ‘certain concepts are absolutely the correct ones’, (which is not to say that these concepts are arbitrary). For example, the Lockean thinks the concept of the ‘complete seclusion’ of the mental is absolutely correct, but PI II.xi.207 undermines this. O ur concept o f mathematics would be different if calculations were more subject to disagreement than they are (PI II.xi.232f.). O ur concept of pain would be different if the surfaces o f things around us had ‘patches and regions’ that produced pain when we touched them (PI 312). T h e second function o f W ittgenstein’s imaginary cases is to show the connections between apparently distinct contexts of use, leading to what W ittgenstein calls a ‘perspicuous representation’ of our use of certain words (PI 122). For example, W ittgenstein imagines a series of language-games based on the builders of PI 2 who have only four name-like commands (‘Slab!* etc.) as their entire language. A t PI 8, he adds a means o f counting, two pointing-terms, and a colour-chart. PI 21 adds reporting and ques­ tioning to the imperatives and PI 19 suggests that we could elaborate many more of these language-games intermediary between the four-term lan­ guage-game of PI 2 and our own language. T h e importance of these intermediate cases derives from the philosophical picture of naming as the fundamental language function (Adam’s first language act, and so on). T h e intermediate cases reveal this picture’s true connection with, and true distance from, our ordinary language, and in that way give us a perspicuous representation of what we call ‘naming’. Possessed of this, we will no longer be so inclined to demand that verbs should be construed as names o f events, numerals as names o f numbers, personal pronouns as names of centres of experience, and so on. Here the essential goal remains descriptive - to say clearly what we ordinarily mean by the term ‘nam e’ - but the method involves a range of imaginary cases. T h e method of intermediate cases is one

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C onclusion way of highlighting the difference between what the philosophical theory demands (that every term should be analysed as a name) and what we normally say. It is not much used in the post-308 project because the unnaturalness of the Lockean picture can be highlighted more directly, by decribing actual usage. But examples occur at PI 331, 361, 409, 420, 528f., 653, PI II.xi.203, 209, 237f. T h e case of the yelling and stamping ‘chess-players* anticipates a topic we shall return to in the Appendix. Its tendency, however, is clearly to downplay the importance o f rule-following. T h e fact that behaviour can be brought under the rules of chess does not guarantee that those involved are playing chess. T h e third pseudo-contradiction was between leaving ordinary language as it is and holding it responsible for philosophical problems. This, too, is easily resolved on my account. Ordinary language is responsible in the sense that the inner/outer analogy is inextricably woven into it. T h e inner/outer analogy is a ‘simile that has been absorbed into the forms of our language* (PI 112) so that our language itself seems ‘to repeat it to us inexorably* (PI 115). In this sense, ordinary language is the source of our problems. But the analogy is not in itself harmful. It is rather our mistaken dissatisatifaction with it in its native state that leads to insuperable difficulties. A particular ‘improvement* o f the analogy ‘seems to force itself on one* (PI II.xi.82). W e become victims of ‘misunderstandings concerning the use of words, caused . . . by certain analogies between the forms of expression in different regions of language* (PI 90). In trying to devise improvements, we become ‘as it were entangled in our own rules* (PI 125). T h e remedy, correspondingly, is an accurate and persuasive description of the native state of the analogy, returning us to ‘the actual use of language* (PI 124), bringing words back ‘from their metaphy­ sical to their everyday use* (PI 116). O nce we realise that the problematic ideas we thought ordinary language committed us to, are in fact conse­ quences of these extensions of ordinary usage, we will cease to be troubled by them (PI 133). It is in this sense that we bump our heads ‘against the limits of language* (PI 119) - philosophical problems arise when we push familiar analogies and pictures beyond the limits of their actual use. Thus, the aphoristic presentation and the ‘criss-cross* explorations of PI (PI Preface) are nevertheless imbued with an underlying method (going back always to our actual experience and use of language), and an underlying direction (leading to a re-evaluation of something we thought we under­ stood). In these deeper senses, PI deserves to be called systematic. In my own view, W ittgenstein’s later concept of philosophy cannot do justice to all philosophical problems. But neither can it be dissociated from the post-308 project - the nature of the project makes a descriptive, n on ­

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations interventionist, m ethod inevitable. So if the post-308 project succeeds, as I have suggested, W ittgenstein’s non-interventionist metaphilosophy has to be accepted, at least for the central problems o f the philosophy o f mind. In conclusion, I would like to summarise the main strengths and weaknesses o f the interpretation offered in the present book. It has to be counted a weakness if an interpretation makes some central argument of the text unacceptable, and I am afraid that the present interpretation rejects two such arguments in PI. Wittgenstein clearly does take absence o f real, practical use to be in itself a damaging indication of meaninglessness. He also, correspondingly, gives an important place to the senselessness of doubt regarding one’s own meaning and one’s own sensations. I have suggested that this aggressive use of the Use theory, and the senselessness-of-doubt doctrine, are distractions from the real arguments against the Lockean. O n the positive side, the present interpretation shows how PI attacks behaviourism and dualism at their shared root (in extensions of the inner/ outer analogy which both wrongly take to be intelligible). O n this basis, it is possible to give introspection in PI its proper place. T h e present interpreta­ tion also shows how PI exemplifies and substantiates W ittgenstein’s radical views about philosophy (of mind, at least), as a critical discipline which must yet be descriptive and systematic. PI demonstrates that philosophy within these constraints can be immensely challenging, absorbing and important. Finally, the present interpretation represents PI as a unified work that pursues a coherent line of argument from beginning to end, and as a selfcontained text which is intelligible on the basis of internal evidence alone.

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Appendix : The Rule-following Considerations

In this appendix I hope to explain what W ittgenstein’s discussion o f rulefollowing is supposed to establish, and what its relevance to the discussion of private languages really is. W e may begin with a point about underdetermination. W ittgenstein points out that a given amount of behaviour, including speech-behaviour, will always (if our task is to say what rule underlies it) be open to multiple interpretations. No sample of behaviour, however large, will uniquely determine the correct interpretation of it. This is not a sceptical conclusion for W ittgenstein (see the note to p.14 and PI 87) because our beliefs are further constrained by the fact that we share a common natural history, com m on natural reactions, with other human beings. If I see a child being taught the rule ‘Add 2 ’, watch the child through its first attempts to apply the rule in new situations, see it respond to corrections and encourage­ ments, and observe nothing out o f the ordinary in the child’s reactions, then, when I later see the child write, ‘2, 4, 6, 8, 10 . . .*, I am perfectly justified in saying that the child is following the rule ‘Add 2’, in spite of the fact that those numbers (no matter how far extended) might conform to an infinite number of other rules. But if underdetermination (by behaviour narrowly construed) is not a cause of scepticism, for W ittgenstein, the hypostasis of interpretations certainly is. W e are tempted to think that, because we sometimes arrive at our beliefs about other people on the basis o f hypothesis-formation, weighing evidence and choosing the likeliest interpretation, we must always do so, (only sometimes it happens unconsciously). Against this, W ittgen­ stein wants to insist that interpretation occurs where there is some explicit problem or some unusual difficulty in arriving at a belief. In normal cases, no interpretation occurs. W ittgenstein’s scepticism, I shall argue, is directed at the meaningfulness o f talk about implicit rules (or interpretations), not at the aptness for truth or factuality o f any talk about rules (for more on the

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations question o f rule scepticism, see Kripke’s book Wittgenstein on Rules and Private Language, and the ensuing literature). Just as I may know without any interpretation which rule someone else is following, so I understand how to follow a rule myself, normally without any interpretation (see, for example, PI 17If. on being guided by a written word, or PI 219 ‘I obey the rule blindly'). If there had to be an interpretation at every step, rule-following would be impossible (PI 238). Just as behaviour underdetermines the interpretation of it as rule-following, so the rule underdetermines any interpretation o f the behaviour it requires. W hich goes to show that interpretation isn’t the only way we can connect rules and behaviour (PI 201, 206-11). If it were, scepticism about the efficacy o f rules would follow. This leads directly into the Practice Argument, (and thence, as we saw, into the Verificationist Argument), because the alternative to the mentalistic connection (between action and rule, rule and action) through interpreta­ tion, is connection through existing custom and practice. But I do not believe that there is any other important connection between what Wittgenstein has to say about following a rule and what he says about private languages. In particular, and despite a widespread perception to the contrary, Wittgenstein does not think that any meaningful use of a sign must involve following a rule (PI 81-4). A nd his quarrel with private languages does not therefore turn on the impossibility, asserted at PI 202, of the PLU following a rule. A clear and carefully reasoned example of the contrary view is provided by Malcolm Budd. This is worth discussing as an influ­ ential (and I think mistaken) account of the PLA, and because it will allow us to say more about Wittgenstein’s views about the hypos­ tasis of unconscious rules. Budd writes, ‘I do not believe that it is possible to derive the conclusion of Wittgenstein’s “private language argument” - that a private language for one’s sensations is impossible - from the conclusion of his consideration of the notion of following a rule that “obeying a rule is a practice” and, hence, that it is not possible to obey a rule “privately” [Budd cites PI 202 as crucial] - in the simple manner advanced by the “community interpretation” of Wittgen­ stein’s discussion of rule-following’ [the ‘community interpretation* being the view, put forward by Christopher Peacocke, that Wittgen­ stein held that a practice necessarily involves a community], pp. 578 . 1 agree with Budd that we need some argument to show that there cannot be a private practice (see the section on the Practice Argu­ ment), though I have rejected the claim that Wittgenstein’s real aim is to show that ‘a private language for one’s sensations is impossible’.

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A ppendix : T he R ule - following C onsiderations Budd continues, ‘The connection between Wittgenstein’s assertion that it is not possible to obey a rule “privately” and the conclusion of his private language argument emerges when we focus on the real difficulty that faces the user of a private language. This arises from his intention to introduce a sign “S” as a name of a sensation (in order to be able to record in words the recurrence of the sensation) [Budd cites PI 258]. And the difficulty is obvious. For if “S ” is intended to be the name of a sensation it must have the same grammar as a word for a sensation. Now this grammar has two essential components: that which is characteristic of the third-person use of names of sensations, and that which is characteristic of the first-person use. But in the case of a private language there is no third-person use: nothing provides another with a good basis for using the term “S ” to describe the private language user’s condition, and nothing provides the private language user with a good basis for using the term “S” to describe anybody else’s condition. Hence, if “S” has any claim at all to the title of a name of a sensation, it must be used in the way a name of a sensation is used in the first-person - in particular, in the first person present. And hence, when the private language user thinks “I have S” he has no reason for believing that this is so: his self-ascriptions are criterionless: he uses “S ” without a justification. . . But not only is this insufficient for “S ” to be granted the status of name of a sensation, it is insufficient for it to be accorded the status of meaningful sign or word’ (pp. 58-9). Budd’s argument is that criterionless use is meaningless unless grounded in public, third-person use. But what reason do we have to believe this? Why shouldn’t the PLU’s criterionless dispositions to say or write ‘S* constitute a practice sufficient to give the sign meaning? Budd says, ‘all that his mastery of a private language comes to is the fact that he sometimes, without any particular reason, writes the sign “S ” in his diary. And since his use of “S ” is entirely unconstrained, “S” is not a sign whose use is rule-governed* (p. 60). This brings us to the connection with the rule-following considerations. Budd writes, ‘if the aspirant private language user merely writes “S ” down on a number of occasions, on each occasion only for the non-justifying ‘reason’ that he considers it correct then to use “S ”, there is only what is before his mind on the various occasions (the sign “S”) to give substance to the idea that he is obeying a rule in his use of “S ”. But, as Wittgenstein has shown, this is insufficient to give content to the notion of following a rule. . . Accordingly, it is not possible to use a word as the name of a sensation in a private language because it is not possible to obey a rule “privately” ’ (p. 62). Budd’s argument, in essence, is that criterionless means not-rulegoverned, and not-rule-governed means meaningless. Ordinary sensation language is rescued from this progression because of

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations the rule-governed nature of criterial uses, which is held to ‘carry over* somehow into the criterionless case. (But how could it be shown, on this view, that my criterionless use of the term ‘pain* is not in fact a meaningless homonym of a term that is meaningful when I use it criterially?) We might well challenge the first step in this argument. Suppose a child asks what the word ‘nostalgic* means and we explain that it's a feeling of longing for the past. Isn’t this a rule for using the word and might the child not apply the rule when saying ‘I feel nostalgic* (a first-person psychological ascription)? It is the second step in Budd*s argument, however, that I want to rebut in detail. Wittgenstein does not hold that the absence of a rule implies loss of meaning. We may begin by distinguishing explicit from implicit rule­ following. A certain behavioural output may result from a person’s explicitly consulting a rule, (a shopkeeper consulting a colour-chart to find a sample o f‘red* for example, or counting inwardly up to five, taking an apple for each number). It would plainly be bizarre to suppose that every meaningful use of language involves rule­ following in this sense: only in cases of special difficulty do we apply rules in this explicit way. Some behavioural output may also be such, however, that we can read into it a certain implicit rule, which the person may claim to know nothing about (the rules or principles of transformational grammar, for example). A second, equally rough but equally serviceable distinction is between normative and descriptive rule-following. In normative rule­ following, the rule (whether explicit or implicit) explains the agent’s judgments about right and wrong. If the shopkeeper says of a certain apple ‘That won’t do - it’s not red* by referring to a mental image of the colour-sample, the explicit mental application of the rule explains his normative judgment. But, if the shopkeeper selects apples, for example, by hearkening to a spirit voice (PI 232-6), then, although his behaviour can still be accurately described by means of the rule of the colour-chart, that rule plays no part in explaining how his normative judgments are derived. The shopkeeper acts as if he is following the colour-chart rule, but in fact, he isn’t. Or if we prefer, he is following the rule in a purely descriptive sense. Now, does Wittgenstein hold that we have to be able to read rules into behaviour for it to be meaningful? In the section on the Interpretation Argument, I said that Wittgenstein holds that a certain degree of regularity is necessary for us to recognise verbal behaviour as a language, (this regularity existing within a context of similarity to human life). But it is very natural to equate regularity with our ability to see rules (PI 237), and it would then follow that where we cannot read a rule into verbal behaviour, as, by definition,

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A ppendix : T he R ule - following C onsiderations we cannot in the case of a private language, that behaviour must, for Wittgenstein, be meaningless. In this way we reach the conclusion that behaviour which is not (at least implicitly) rule-following, cannot on Wittgenstein’s view be meaningful. But it is now obvious that Budd’s argument gains in plausibility by a shift from explicit to implicit rule-following. Criterionless self­ ascription involves no explicit rule-following, but it is at best implicit rule-following that Wittgenstein requires as a condition of meaning. And we cannot move from the definitional fact that we could not discover the implicit rule which the PLU is following to the claim that no such rule is operating, without a stronger verificationist principle than the Wittgenstein of PI would accept. More importantly, Wittgenstein does not require even implicit, normative rule-following as a condition of meaning. Not only is there his general hostility to the unrealisable unconscious and his claim that normal human behaviour might emerge out of ‘chaos’ (Zettel 608-13), there are clear statements to this effect in PI itself. PI 81, ‘in philosophy we often compare the use of words with games and calculi which have fixed rules, but cannot say that someone who is using language must be playing such a game’. PI 82, ‘how am I to determine the rule according to which he is playing? He does not know it himself. - Or, to ask a better question: What meaning is the expression “the rule by which he proceeds’’ supposed to have left to it here?* At this point, Wittgenstein clearly suggests that if we cannot determine which rule is in operation, it becomes pointless (or even meaningless) to insist that, still, the speaker must be following a rule. It is possible to interpret PI 81 as attacking only the idea of language as based on a calculus of fixed and definite rules (and this point is certainly important at PI 80 and repeated at PI 84). But PI 82 shows that Wittgenstein’s attack goes beyond this. The more vague and transient the alleged rule is imagined to be, the more difficult it becomes to determine if it is being followed. PI 83, ‘We can easily imagine people amusing themselves in a field by playing with a b a ll. . . And now someone says: The whole time they are playing a ball-game and following definite rules at every throw’ (a claim Wittgenstein takes to be absurd). Again, this analogy shows that Wittgenstein is not concerned only with exact and unalterable rules. Someone who ‘throws the ball aimlessly into the air* is not following any rules at all, not even vague rules subject to easy revision. When people ‘bombard one another for a joke* they are not following rules of any kind (as they are, or may be, when playing catch, for example). Wittgenstein specifically points up the game/language analogy, and the unmistakable implication is that

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations quite extended language activities might occur, which it would be absurd to describe as rule-governed. Now, we could certainly devise a (very complex) rule that describes what happens when someone is throwing the ball aim­ lessly into the air. And we can insist, if we wish, that the person is following this rule (just as a bird, for example, ‘follows* very complex rules of aerodynamics). This seems to me to stretch our normal usage of ‘follows*, but as long as we are clear that it is only rulefollowing in the descriptive sense, perhaps it is harmless. In this descriptive sense, rule-following (or some of it) seems equivalent to the regularity Wittgenstein regards as essential. And if this is so, rule-following in the descriptive sense would be necessary for us to interpret behaviour as language. But as already argued, the fact that we could not discover descriptive rules does not imply that none exists, and the fact that we could not interpret behaviour as linguistic does not imply that it isn’t linguistic (see the section on the Interpretation Argument) without stronger verificationist premisses than Wittgenstein would accept. It is also clear that the kind of rule Budd has in mind is normative, not merely descriptive. His concern is with what makes it ‘correct* to use a term, or gives someone a ‘good basis* or ‘justification* for using it. Against this, my claim is that Wittgenstein did not regard normative rules as an essential precondition of meaning. PI 84, ‘the application of a word is not everywhere bounded by rules*. Here, Wittgenstein does not say that an application which is not fixed by an existing rule requires a new rule, or an extension of the old one. He says (as at PI 80) that there are possible applications which are not governed by rules (see also the first sentence of PI 133). Further remarks attacking the alleged connection between rulefollowing and meaning can be found at PI 31, which asserts that someone might even master a game such as chess without knowing any rules, and PI 292, which warns against supposing that describing - an explicitly linguistic activity - must always be rule-based. PI 237 describes a case in which we might concede that someone is guided, but without the intervention of any rule. (See also PI 653, On Certainty 47, 95, Zettel 295, 303, 612, Remarks on the Foundations of Mathematics VII.49f.) PI 81-4 appear to derive from Blue Book p. 25, where Wittgenstein argues that we think there must be such rules because we mistakenly suppose that our words have exact meanings. The hypostasis of rules is a consequence of the same exaggeration of the precision of language which motivated Logical Atomism. Consis­ tently with the post-308 project, Wittgenstein wants to attack the

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A ppendix: T he R ule - following C onsiderations idea of an unconscious rule, operating as it were by itself to produce overt behaviour, as a Lockean extension of our ordinary, harmless, concept of following a rule. Let’s now consider some counter-evidence. At PI 54, Wittgenstein seems to accept rules read into the players’ behaviour (but not known to them) as a sense in which we can say that a game is being played according to definite rules. There is a significant precursor to PI 54 at Philosophical Grammar p. 86, significant because Wittgenstein there seems to regard rules read into the players’ behaviour and not explicitly used by them, as a hypothesis and therefore merely uninteresting for a grammatical investigation. At PI 54, his immediate reaction to the hypothesis is the more aggressive ‘verificationist’ query - could the observer verify that a particular move in the game was the result of the hypothesised rule and not just a slip? He gives the observer an answer to this question - that there is behaviour characteristic of making a slip - but PI 162 ignores this (suggesting that the way to show that someone really is following an implicit rule is by finding a way to see it being followed explicitly). And even without PI 162, I don’t think we could regard this behaviour characteristic of a slip as sufficient to remove the ‘verificationist’ doubt once and for all. The player might often fail to notice the slip until later, for example, and so produce puzzled or ‘trying-toremember’ behaviour. And, of course, the behaviour characteristic of a slip would not occur if the move were made on the advice of a spirit guide, or on the basis of a sudden hunch, or as an act of homage to a great player who once made a similar move, or as a bluff. Like the case of making a slip, these cases would have to be distinguished from cases of acting on the basis of a rule, and yet none could be as readily distinguished by means of characteristic behaviour. At PI 197, Wittgenstein says, ‘chess is the game it is in virtue of all its rules (and so on)’. This certainly seems to equate the mean­ ingfulness of the practice with its rule-governed nature. Does it imply that a practice must be rule-governed to be meaningful? I think Wittgenstein is here talking about chess as it currently exists in our community. We have books of explicit rules, international bodies to control the game and settle disputes, experts and so on. But just as there are ‘calculating prodigies who get the right answer but cannot say how’ (PI 236), there might be chess players who move correctly, without explicit or even implicit, normative rules (a group composed of players like the learner of PI 31). They would follow rules, if we choose to call it that, in a purely descriptive sense. In short, it obviously does not follow from the explicit nature of our chess rules, that any community of chess-players must be following rules.

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations In note (b) to p. 147, we read, ‘without these rules the word [“not”] has as yet no meaning; and if we change the rules, it now has another meaning*. Wittgenstein is here discussing double negation, which is explicitly defined in logic as equivalent to the related affirmative. And as above, we cannot safely infer from a case in which an explicit rule does exist, to a general requirement that a normative rule must exist. At PI 558, Wittgenstein allows that there is a rule forbidding the substitution of an equals sign for ‘is* in the sentence ‘The rose is red*. The existence of the rule shows that ‘is* here has a different meaning from the ‘is* in the sentence ‘Twice two is four*. This rule forbidding the substitution does not seem to have been explicit (until Witt­ genstein made it so), though neither is it entirely clear that the rule is implicit, because the equals sign will have been introduced in explicit connection with numerical symbols. Nor is it clear that Wittgenstein regards the rule as normative rather than descriptive. But even if this is an implicit normative rule determining meaning, it by no means follows that all other meaningful uses of words must be rule-governed too. And this possible admission of an implicit normative rule is in any case rather exceptional in PI. The balance of evidence is very much against such an admission. For example, at PI 201 Wittgenstein insists that it must be possible for a rule to be ‘exhibited in what we call “obeying the rule** and “going against it** in actual cases*. The word I want to emphasise in this much-quoted passage is ‘exhibited*. Wittgensteins point is that rules must have some explicit func­ tion, and this is why he ends PI 201 by saying that ‘we ought to restrict the term “interpretation** to the substitution of one expres­ sion of the rule for another*. This clearly asserts that we ought to restrict interpretations to the explicit case. But, if we should restrict interpretations to exhibitable cases, why not rules, (and, though there is less textual evidence for this, criteria too)? We are not to hypostasise unconscious interpretations or unconscious rules, (as Chomsky does, or as Davidson does in ‘Radical Interpretation* for example). An interpretation takes place, a rule is followed, a criterion is applied (for Wittgenstein), only where there is something explicit to indicate it, such as the rule-follower’s explicit substitution of one expression for another. This interpretation is entirely consistent with Wittgenstein’s warnings against the ‘constant danger of producing a myth of symbolism, or mental processes* (Zettel 211, and see PI 598). It is also consistent with the fact that connectionist models can produce output closely resembling a practice, without the intervention of rules. Interpreted as I suggest, Wittgenstein might almost be said to have foreseen this interesting result.

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A ppendix: T he R ule - following C onsiderations To sum up: Budd's version of the PLA claims, first, that no rules would govern the PLU’s utterances (no explicit rules because his or her utterances would be criterionless, and no implicit rules because the definition of a private language makes the discovery of any such rule by anyone other than the speaker impossible), and second, that utter­ ances which are not rule-governed (even if only at one remove, as in the case of ordinary sensation language) are meaningless. First-person psychological ascriptions, however, might very well involve explicit rules. Also, the impossibility of our discovering implicit rules does not imply that no implicit rules are operating, without a stronger verificationist premiss than Wittgenstein would accept. Again, the idea of being rule-governed ‘at one remove* seems hard to work out in detail. And finally, Wittgenstein did not hold that all meaningful utterances must be rule-governed. His tendency is very much to be suspicious of the meaningfulness of talk about unconscious rules (that is, implicit normative rules which the agent sincerely disavows). But if this is correct, he can hardly object against the PLU, as Budd would have him do, that no normative rules govern his or her verbal output. If the rule-following considerations do not contribute directly to the PLA , why do they seem particularly ‘resonant1? O ne reason is their relevance to the epistemology of foundational and mathematical knowledge - but that is a topic for another day. In the present context, I think there are four main reasons. I said above that Wittgenstein does not attack the private language model on epistemological grounds, but it is not difficult to see how the rule-following considerations might be pressed into service here. I f meaning is conferred by an inner act that no one else can directly observe, then it is possible that a language user’s outer performances could be correct in spite of a deviant inner correlation. For example, someone might correlate the spoken or written rule ‘Add 2* with the understanding we would express by ‘Add 2 up to the first twenty-digit number, thereafter add 4* and yet go through life undetected. T h e possibility of an infinite number of deviant correlations which we might never detect certainly dramatises the epistemological problems of the private language model. In this sense, the rule-following considerations do raise a general sceptical problem - for the Lockean. A second possible application of the rule-following considerations is to demonstrate the failure of behaviourism narrowly understood (Remarks on the Philosophy o f Psychology vol. 1, 314), because the behavioural output ‘2, 4, 6, 8, 10 . . .* would not be sufficient to justify a claim we can justifiably make (and so would also lead to scepticism). W ittgenstein’s response to this failure is to broaden the evidential base to include all the facts which show that the child shares our form o f life.

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W ittgenstein’s P hilosophical Investigations T h e third reason for the special interest of the rule-following considera­ tions is that they reinforce the attack on the Tractatus’ demand for determinacy o f meaning. W ittgenstein’s remarks strongly suggest that, even in a case which seems to have an exact meaning (such as the rule ‘Add 2’), we cannot give an account o f the meaning that will be proof against deviant or unorthodox interpretations. A nd we can’t give such an account, not because we have to interpose the imperfect medium of language between our own perfectly clear understanding and the child’s ignorance. W e can ’t give it because we don’t have it (PI 208-11, PI 503-4). Lacking this (hypostasised) perfectly clear understanding, we are nevertheless able to do everything we want to do, even in an area of language that seems a paradigm o f exactitude. T h e demand for determinacy o f sense was therefore a mistake. T h e fourth possible application o f the rule-following considerations is against hypostasis (see, for example, PI 213), and here various lines of argument are possible. We considered a development of the Hypostasis Argument above (p. 87f.)» It might also be argued that the underdetermina­ tion of rules by behaviour itself attacks any attempted hypostasis of rules: if alternative rules are always possible, how can we hypostasise with any confidence? T o this an obvious answer is that if the kind o f broadening of evidence described above is sufficient to tell us what (conscious) rule someone is following, it must also be sufficient to allow hypostasis of unconscious rules. But it could be argued in reply that the agent’s confirma­ tion (in the case of conscious rules) is a peculiarly important part of the broader evidence. W ittgenstein says, or is reported as saying, in the second Lecture on Aesthetics, that it is the subject’s recognition o f the unconscious influence, when suggested by someone else, which validates explanation by reference to the unconscious. T h e same importance is attached to the subject’s acknowledging the unconscious influence at Culture and Value, p. 68, a passage dated as late as 1948, (for more on this see Wittgenstein reads Freud, by Jacques Bouveresse). It is not implausible to suggest, for example, that to disregard the agent’s explicit statements about the rules he or she is following is to place the agent to some extent outside our form o f life. If we see the agent as a laboratory subject rather than as a person, the broader evidence appealed to above may not consistently be available. A nother line of attack against hypostasis would be based on a regress argument. If a rule must be hypostasised in order to account for mastery of some feature of language, must there not be further rules to account for mastery of that rule? (O f course, if the rule is hypostasised merely as a descriptive device, to summarise rather than explain mastery, no demand for further rules is created). There are two ways, in reply, to stem the regress. We can try to stop it at once, by holding that the hypostasised rule does not

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A ppendix : T he R ule - following C onsiderations itself require the kind of explanation provided for overt language mastery. We might say, for example, that it is a mental rule and therefore comes with mastery, as it were, built in (see, for example, Ray Jackendoffs book Semantic Structures, p. 123). O r we can say that further rules are indeed required but that the hierarchy o f rules has a (probably neural) terminus. T h e first option seems obscurantist (not to say false because we can of course fail to understand things we mentally consult). T h e second seems to presuppose a better understanding than we have o f what a psychologically real mental rule might be. If we don’t really understand what it means to say that N ’s speech is produced by unconsciously following a real mental rule R , how can we be confident that unconsciously following R breaks down into unconsciously following S, T and U? A nd how will it be possible to frame a genuine hypothesis that unconsciously following S consists in the occur­ rence of brain processes B, C , D and E (see above, p. 11 If. and p. 126f.)? T h e idea that the meaning resides somehow in the uninterpreted text (so that the rule itself determines how it is to be applied - see, for example, the contrast between PI 189 and 190) is also rejected in the course of the rule­ following remarks. But this is a minor concern. W ittgenstein asks of this idea, ‘how would it help?’ (PI 219), because the basic question is how we come to know what the rule demands (that is, how we explain our understanding o f it). A nd the answer to that question is that we rely, ultimately in some blind way, not only on the text, but on all the facts that constitute our belonging to a certain form o f life (PI 241). W ittgenstein’s underlying concern throughout PI is to show that Lock­ ean theories, of meaning or understanding, like theories of truth, are based on a mistaken dissatisfaction with the existing inner/outer analogy. Pressing the analogy ever further in the direction of unintelligibility, all they can do is increase that initial (mistaken) dissatisfaction. Thus, if the present interpretation is correct, the most important o f the various possible applications o f the rule-following considerations is against hypostasis. T h e tem ptation to hypostasise interpretations o f which we are not conscious is very strong: ‘He understood, so he did interpret/follow a rule/apply a criterion, though he wasn’t aware o f it*. Against this, W ittgenstein holds that there might be nothing at all (nothing mental, that is) ‘behind* understanding. We say a person understands a series, for example, when he or she can continue it correctly, teach it to others, construct analogous series and so on (PI 692). A nd there’s an end of it (until we reach neurological explanations). W e don’t need implicit interpretations or rules, and correspondingly, we can’t genuinely make sense of them. W ittgenstein’s scepticism about the meaningfulness o f implicit rules and interpretations is not fully worked out in PI (or elsewhere). He seems to

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W ittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations have been inclined to demand some method of making a hypostasised rule explicit (such as the subject’s explicit acknowledgement), but taken at face value, this demand seems too strict. Someone under post-hypnotic suggestion may follow the rule ‘Cluck whenever you hear the word “chicken” *, though sincerely and consistently denying all knowledge of the rule. In this case, we can elicit behaviour which (having seen the hypnotist induce the belief) can only be explained by means of the unconscious rule, and which may therefore count as making the rule explicit. But what this shows is that we need more detail on what is to count as exhibiting or making explicit. Lacking a detailed account of this, we cannot safely ascribe to W ittgenstein anything more than a tendency to be sceptical of the meaningfulness of implicit rules. But in the context of PI, this is not an im portant omission, because none of the arguments against the hypostasis of unconscious entities depends on this scepticism. W ittgenstein has suggested that hypostasis is uncontrollable, that it will in some cases require an infinite number of unconscious acts or entities, that it involves simultaneously viewing the subject as a human being and as a mechanism, that it is not explanatory because regressive, and that it tries to provide an explanation where none is needed. None of these arguments turns on a demand that hypostasised entities or acts be realisable in some sense. T o sum up: the rule-following considerations are part of a wider discussion of following and being guided (see above, p. 121). T h e aim of that wider discussion is to show that behaviour is not made ‘understandingful’ by something that happens in the agent’s mind, such as mental consultation (conscious or otherwise) o f a rule or interpretation. T h e rule-following considerations contribute another example o f behaviour that is not made ‘understanding-fill’ by any mental process, and so lead, with the other examples, into the Practice Argument and the attack on hypostasis (to which they make a special contribution). T h e rule-following considerations also remind us of the epistemological problems of the Lockean picture, show the inadequacy o f behaviourism narrowly con­ strued, and suggest that our grasp of meaning is not perfectly determi­ nate. They do not show that a private language is impossible, nor argue for scepticism about rules in general. A nd they do not claim or imply that language must be rule-governed if it is to be meaningful.

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Index

action, 97-107 agreement, 20-2 analogy, argument from, 43, 57 inner/outer, 3, 61, 69-71, 81-3, 92-5, 100, 116-18, 124-6, 132 Anscombe, Elizabeth, 114 Aristotle, 108 associationism, 1-2, 88-9 Atomism, 1-2, 115-19, 120, 139 attitude, 98 behaviourism, 39-40, 50-4, 65-71, 101-3, 116-17, 142 Berkeley, George, 11 bipolarity, 30, 52, 93-4 Blackburn, Simon, 18-19, 40 Blue B ook , 80, 99, 139 Bouveresse, Jacques, 143 Budd, Malcolm, 68-9, 135-42

essentialism, 1-2, 54, 122 explanation, 105, 110, 126-9 expression (natural), 7, 28, 37, 76-80 Feyerabend, Paul, 54-5 Fodor, Jerry, 25, 35, 113-14 grammar, 35, 76, 116, 136, 140 Hacker, Peter, 23, 44, 95, 99-101, 103 Hintikka, Jaakko and Merrill B. Hintikka, 102-3 Hobbes, Thomas, 17, 55, 62 hypostasis, 48, 83-8, 143-5

I (non-referring), 95-7 identification, 26-30 image, 11, 110, 114-15 innate ideas, 17, 36 intention, 20, 104-6 causality, 6, 35-6, 72-3, 83, 88, 105, 113, 126-8 interpretation, 24-5, 68, 104, 116, 121, criterion, 26, 44, 76-80, 99-102, 136, 141 134-5, 141 Culture and Value , 143 interruption, 63-4, 127-8 custom, 17-24, 121 introspection, 4, 64-71, 80-3, 89-90, 107, 110, 123, 131, 133 Davidson, Donald, 22, 113, 141 Descartes, Rene', 12-13, 125 Jackendoff, Ray, 144 Donagan, Alan, 102 Johnston, Paul, 22-3, 39-41, 76 doubt, 94, 97-9; see also error (esp. pp. 29-30) justification, 105-6 dualism, 3, 53-6, 79, 100, 116, 121 Kosslyn, Steven, 110-11 Dummett, Michael, 19, 46-8 Kripke, Saul, 19, 59, 135 error (impossiblity of), 26-30, 43-4, 57, 78, Lakoff, George, 10-12 94, 115-16, 133

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W ittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations Langacker, Ronald W., 87, 126-8 language (ordinary), 3-4, 50, 56, 108-9, 111, 118, 122-4, 130-3 learning, 17, 32-3, 36-8 Lectures and Conversations, 143 Locke, John, 8, 11-12, 17 McClelland, James L., 128 McGinn, Colin, 19 McGinn, Marie, 59 Malcolm, Norman, 19-22, 76-80 meaning, 1-2, 36-7, 43-4, 45-56, 122 practical, 52-6, 58-60 memory, 14, 26, 33-6, 44, 68, 129 mental accompaniments, 50-1, 73-6 metaphilosophy, 59-61, 129-33 Nadler, Steven, 125 naming, 1, 16-17, 43, 65, 73, 96 nonsense, 44, 49-56, 57-8, 69, 74-5, 118 object'designation model, 43, 79-80 On Certainty , 139 perception, 108-14 perspicuous representation, 131-2 phenomenalism, 13, 41-2 Philosophical Gram m ar , 140 Pinker, Steven, 85-6 Plato, 73 pointing, 7, 80-3 Pomerantz, James R., 110

private language, 2, 7-13, 56-9, 121-2, 135-42 projection, 114-19 psychological reality, 126-8 Putnam, Hilary, 10, 86, 115 regularity, 21-5, 137-42 Rorty, Richard, 30 rules, 17-24, 114, 128, 134-45 Rumelhardt, David E., 128 Rundle, Bede, 48-9 Russell, Bertrand, 13 Saussure, Ferdinand de, 8-10 scepticism, about rules, 134-45 Cartesian, 12-13 Searle, John, 86, 113, 127 seeing an aspect, 109-10 sense (determinacy of), 1-2, 114-18, 120, 143 sense-data, 13, 42 Sterelny, Kim, 110 Stern, David, 6, 53 thinking, 3-4, 12, 50, 58-9, 63-71, 73-80, 115-18 Tractatus, 100, 114-19, 143 verification, 30-42 will, 106-7 Zettely 6, 98, 138-9, 141

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