Valid Inferences and Valid Arguments

I would like to distinguish between the form of a valid deduction and the validity of an argument. Formal logic deals with the forms of our inferences, and not the validity of our arguments. For example, appealing to the masses is not a valid form of argument, though it could be expressed as a valid syllogism. A valid argument must have a valid logical form; or, at least, it must be expressible in such a form. But having a valid logical form is not enough.

Admittedly, I haven't thought about this distinction before, and I would not be surprised if I suddenly reversed or qualified my position.

This might be better discussed by focusing on examples of logical fallacies.


Example 1: Begging the Question

1) X
2) X or ~X
3) X

This is begging the question by any account. Is it a valid logical form? Perhaps logicians or philosophers have already answered this questions satisfactorily. I don't know. It seems to me that we can accept the logical form here, since (3) follows from (1); yet, we reject the argument as invalid, because (3) is equivalent to (1). Perhaps we should reject the logical form on the grounds that (3) does not follow from one in an inferential sense. That is, a relation of identity may not constitute an inferential relation. It seems we could plausibly regard begging the question as a matter of logical form, and so it may not compel us to distinguish between the valid form of an inference and the validity of an argument.


Example 2: Appeal to the Masses

This is also a logical fallacy, but it can be expressed as a valid syllogism:

1) Everybody knows that X
2) If everybody knows that X, then X.
3) X.

The form is valid. However, the argument is fallacious. This suggests the distinction I would like to draw.

However, one might be able to fend off the distinction by noting that the logical form, while valid, involves necessarily false premises. It might be suggested that (2) cannot be true, because we cannot infer the fact of X on the basis of widespread knowledge. That is, (2) may express the logical fallacy in question. Therefore, while the form of the argument is valid, the argument is not sound, because it rests on a false premise. Thus, the distinction I am making has been thwarted.

This doesn't work, because (2) is plausibly true. If everybody knows that X, then X is true, for knowledge is justified true belief. So (2) cannot be rejected so easily.

We might then try to reject (1), claiming that "Everybody knows that X" cannot be true. We might even say that (1) encapsulates the logical fallacy in question, because whenever we say "everybody knows that X," we are appealing to the masses. Yet, it is not the case that, whenever we use this expression we are making an argument. We might just be observing a commonly known fact. So, again, it is not clear that (1) is false.

Thus, the distinction I am drawing seems plausible, at least.

Any thoughts?

Original Sin

Context: A woman named Tera has made the following claim: Original Sin can only be understood from the heart, not the head. And understood it must be, she says, or else . . . well, I'm not sure how she would have me end that sentence. But apparently it's very important I understand Original Sin with my heart. The problem is, I can't get it past those darn censors in my head. Here's what I wrote:


Hi Tera, thanks for joining in. I understand if you don't want to get into philosophy so much, and I think you put it well in your post: you approach this subject from the heart, not the head.

That said, I'd like to tell you how I interpret Original Sin, since you think it would behoove me to understand it (if only with my heart, and not my mind). I've heard all about this story, but please correct me if I get anything wrong. (Yes, this means I'm using my head - but if you want to touch my heart through words, I'm going to need to use my head to interpret those words.)

God thinks I deserve to be punished for being born, but God is punishing Himself instead. Since God created me, God is responsible for my birth. It seems only right that God would punish Himself.

If God punishes Himself, it is because He wants to. He makes the rules, and he could give Himself a break. He could decide that nobody needs to be punished for sin. But He doesn't. He punishes Himself. That's His choice. God wants to suffer.

But let's consider this suffering. God punishes Himself by killing His son. Though that's not quite right. More specifically, God punishes Himself by letting His son be born--because once Jesus was born, he had to die. Jesus was at least part human, according to this story. And everybody dies.

Now, God created people to die. Does God suffer every time a person dies? Or did He only suffer when Jesus died?

If He only suffered when Jesus died . . . well, does that mean He loved Jesus more than me?

Maybe God suffers every time anybody dies. But God created everybody to die. So God did not specifically punish Himself by creating Jesus and letting Jesus die. God punishes Himself by letting every person be born. Jesus' life and death were not special, from God's perspective. Jesus' death was not a special sort of self-punishment for God. It was self-punishment as usual. (That is, unless God loves Jesus more than He loves me.)

Now, let's consider God's plan here. God says somebody has to be punished because people are born into sin. So He created a son, which apparently means Jason doesn't have to suffer. Yet, Jason suffers. Everybody suffers. So God's plan doesn't seem to be working so well.

This is the story, as I understand it: God has created people in His own image, and God has decided to punish Himself (by killing His son, who was the only person whose death meant anything to God, apparently), because people do X, Y, and Z. This punishment is supposed to save people from suffering, but people still suffer every day. So God's plan didn't work.

And why did God decide that, if people do X, Y, and Z, then somebody has to suffer? Why did God put these rules into play in the first place?

Was it a test? God wanted to see if people would do X, Y, and Z. So it was a bet, and God lost. He punished Himself for losing his bet. Now everybody on earth has to suffer, because God couldn't even figure out a way to get us off the hook. He tried by killing His son, but that didn't work.

I'm supposed to put all my faith in such a God, when so far all He's shown is incompetence?

Any intelligent being can make up games and decide to punish himself if such and such happens. And I'm in no position to judge. I've had plenty of failures of my own, so who's to expect God to be perfect?

The question is, why should I think this is anything but a weird story about a masochistic super-being who makes up arbitrary rules which lead him to punish himself and his own creation?

Why should I think this story has any meaning for my life?

I suppose your answer is: because it's God! It's True!

But that's no answer. I'm sure it speaks to your heart, Tera, but it doesn't seem the sort of thing minds are meant for.

Stanley and Williamson on Ryle: "Knowing How"

In "Knowing How" (2001), Jason Stanley and Timothy Williamson (hereafter referred to collectively as "S-W") defend intellectualism against Gilbert Ryle. As I will argue, S-W not only misrepresent Ryle's argument; they misrepresent intellectualism as Ryle understood it, and so fail to make a sound critique of his project. It is therefore somewhat surprising that their paper was selected by The Philosopher's Annual as one of the ten best papers of 2001. This suggests that there has been a widespread and profound misunderstanding of Ryle among academic philosophers.

Despite the problems with their response to Ryle, S-W's analysis of knowledge-how as a species of knowledge-that invites criticism of its own. As I aim to show, a clarification of some relevant issues motivates a rejection of their formulation in favor of a more Wittgensteinian approach.

In section I, I present intellectualism and indicate a problem with S-W's interpretation. In section II, I correct S-W's misrepresentation of Ryle's argument. In section III, I point out an important difference between Ryle and S-W's conceptions of knowledge-that. In section IV, I defend the ability hypothesis against S-W's criticisms. In sections V and VI, I make a case against S-W's formulation of knowledge-how in favor of a Wittgensteinian approach. In section VII, I conclude with some further observations about the significance of S-W's paper and its relation to our understanding of Ryle.


I. The Intellectualist Legend

In chapter 2 of The Concept of Mind, Ryle argues that knowledge-how cannot be reduced to knowledge-that.* This argument is presented within the context of another argument against what he calls the "intellectualist legend." These are two distinct arguments, yet S-W take them to be one and the same, an error which undermines their entire criticism of Ryle's project.

Contrary to S-W's assertion, the intellectualist legend is not "the thesis that knowledge-how is a species of knowledge-that." Rather, the intellectualist legend is framed in terms of intelligent behavior. It is the claim that intelligent behavior is always accompanied or preceded by a mental act, such as an act of theorizing. Intellectualism propagates the "myth" (to use Ryle's term) that what makes a behavior intelligent is its causal relation to a mental act which precedes or accompanies it.

Ryle summarizes his point (pp. 49-50):

"The central point that is being laboured in this chapter is of considerable importance. It is an attack from one flank upon the category-mistake which underlies the dogma of the ghost in the machine. In unconscious reliance upon this dogma theorists and laymen alike constantly construe the adjectives by which we characterise performances as ingenious, wise, methodical, careful, witty, etc. as signalising the occurence in someone's hidden stream of consciousness of special processes functioning as ghostly harbingers or more specifically as occult causes of the performances so characterised. They postulate an internal shadow-performance to be the real carrier of the intelligence ordinarily ascribed to the overt act, and think that in this way they explain what makes the overt act a manifestation of intelligence. They have described the overt act as an effect of a mental happening, though they stop short, of course, before raising the next question--what makes the postulated mental happenings manifestations of intelligence and not mental deficiency."

Ryle aims to show that intelligence is a matter of behavior, and that it does not always involve an antecedent act or process of intellection.

He regards theorizing as the most exemplary form of intellection, which he describes as "one practice among others" (p. 26). The goal of theorizing, he says, is usually knowledge-that, which he regards as being in possession of facts. Knowledge-how, in contrast, is defined in terms of abilities in general. However, neither knowledge-how nor knowledge-that is specifically identified with intelligent behavior. In fact, Ryle explicitly warns against confusing knowledge with intelligence.

It is an error to frame the intellectualist legend, and Ryle's response to it, in terms of a knowledge-how/knowledge-that distinction. Intellectualism does not simply confuse the distinction between knowledge-that and knowledge-how. It mistakes the relation between intelligent behavior and intellection. By defining intellectualism in terms of a relationship between knowledge-how and knowledge-that, S-W miss the point of Ryle's concern.


II. The Reductio

S-W correctly identify the form of Ryle's argument against intellectualism, which is a Reductio, or "vicious regress." According to S-W, Ryle begins his Reductio by adopting the following two premises:

Premise 1: If one F's, one employs knowledge-how to F.
Premise 2: If one employs knowledge that p, one contemplates the proposition that p.

Yet, Ryle adopts neither of these premises.

Ryle never suggests anything like premise 1. Admittedly, S-W go on to explain that this premise must be qualified, because it would not make sense if F stood for something like digestion, for example. They say F must at least be restricted to intentional behavior. Curiously, they also say that Ryle "hints" that such a restriction is called for. Yet, Ryle hints at no such thing, because he never suggests this premise to begin with. Ryle states explicitly and repeatedly, from the very beginning of his discussion, that he is talking about intelligent behavior. He leaves no room for doubt. He is not talking about intentional behavior in general, nor is he talking about reflexive behaviors such as digestion.

More importantly, Ryle would not accept premise 2. Ryle does not commit to the position that contemplation always employs knowledge-that. He claims that knowledge-that is the goal, not the condition, of theorizing. Still, even if we suppose that contemplation generally employs knowledge-that, contemplation is not the only, or even the most paradigmatic, example of employing knowledge-that. One may exhibit knowledge-that by publicly or privately stating propositions, such as when one recites the rules of chess.

Now, according to S-W, Ryle argues against intellectualism by supposing the following assumption for Reductio:

RA: Knowledge how to F is knowledge that Φ(F).

The claim is that Ryle, by combining his two premises with RA, attempts to produce an infinite regress which results in the conclusion that knowledge-how is not reducible to knowledge-that. Yet, not only does Ryle not postulate the two premises S-W attribute to him, he does not limit his Reductio in terms of a knowledge-that/knowledge-how distinction. S-W's entire reconstruction of Ryle's argument is mistaken.

In contrast to S-W's formulation, Ryle's Reductio can be better understood as follows. As noted earlier, Ryle arguess that acts of intellection, such as theorizing, are one species of intelligent behavior. It follows that, if intelligent behavior must be accompanied or preceded by some other act of intellection, then an infinite number of acts must occur to produce any intelligent behavior. To put it more succinctly, since intellection is itself a form of intelligent behavior, it cannot be regarded as a necessary antecedent to intelligent behavior without calling for an infinite regress.

As S-W correctly note, Ryle maintains that knowledge-how is not reducible to knowledge-that, but they wrongly regard this as a conclusion of his Reductio. The Reductio is rather meant to demonstrate the problem with thinking of intelligence in terms of mental acts which are antecedent to intelligent behavior. It is not meant to demonstrate anything about the relationship between knowledge-how (abilities) and knowledge-that (possession of facts).


III. Knowledge-That

Given Ryle's dispositionalism, and the way he clarifies the knowledge-how/knowledge-that distinction, it is clear that he regards knowledge-that in terms of abilities. For example, Ryle explains the knowledge-how/knowledge-that distinction with the example of learning how to play chess (p. 40-41): being able to recite the rules of chess is not the same as being able to play the game.** He also refers to knowledge-that with the phrase "propositional competence" (p. 49), a phrase which draws our attention directly towards abilities. While Ryle does regard knowledge-that as being in possession of facts, this should be regarded dispositionally, as a set of abilities to do with the use of a language.***

Yet, S-W introduce Ryle's distinction by claiming that knowledge-that "is not an ability, or anything similar." They attribute to Ryle a more nebulous, though perhaps more common, view of knowledge-that as "a relation between a thinker and a true proposition." As it is not clear what it means for a person to stand in a relation to a true proposition, S-W have some leeway to negotiate our understanding.

After presenting a complex, semantic and syntactic analysis, they conclude that statements about knowledge-how contain embedded questions the answers to which take the form of Russellian propositions, even if those propositions are only entertained "under a practical mode of presentation." In other words, if we can say that somebody knows how to do X, we are saying they know that w is a way to do X in a practical way which entails, but is not identical with, "the possession of certain complex dispositions." S-W conclude, knowledge-how entails propositional knowledge, or knowledge-that.

While S-W's formulation of knowledge-how poses no apparent threat to Ryle's Reductio against intellectualism, it does challenge his dispositionalism by claiming that knowledge-how and knowledge-that entail non-dispositional relations between persons and propositions. S-W's formulations of knowledge-how and knowlege-that are therefore at odds with Ryle's general approach to epistemology.

In the remained of this paper, I present a comparative analysis of how S-W's and Ryle's formulations of knowledge-how play out, both in general and in specific relation to the ability hypothesis. I begin by defending the ability hypothesis against S-W's objections.


IV. The Ability Hypothesis

In addition to critiquing Ryle and defending intellectualism, S-W use their analysis to defend Frank Jackson's knowledge argument against the ability hypothesis (hereafter "AH").

Briefly put, the knowledge argument claims that a scientist called Mary is able to learn every physical fact about color vision without ever living in the world of colorful objects, and that she learns some new facts about color when she finally enters that world and sees colorful objects for the first time. The conclusion is that Mary's newly aquired facts are not physical facts, and so physicalism (the view that all of the physical facts are all of the facts) is false.

AH responds to this challenge by arguing that Mary gains new abilities--specifically, the abilities to recognize, remember, and imagine color experiences--and not new factual knowledge. This is sometimes expressed by saying that Mary gains know-how, and not propositional knowledge, or knowledge-that. However, considering the confusion over how to define terms such as "knowledge-how" and "knowledge-that," this may not be the best way to formulate AH.

S-W argue that AH depends upon the mistaken belief that knowledge-how is distinct from knowledge-that. Yet, AH need not reject the view that Mary's new abilities are propositional knowledge "under a practical mode of presentation." It need only reject the claim that the facts involved are new to Mary. AH may thus stipulate that Mary knew the same facts while inside her black-and-white room, though under a different mode of presentation. Thus, even if S-W's formulation of knowledge-how is adopted, it does not force a rejection of AH. (See Yuri Cath, "The Ability Hypothesis and the New Knowledge-How" [2009].)

S-W also attempt to undermine AH by rejecting the claim that knowledge-how can be understood in terms of abilities. For example, they claim that a concert pianist who loses her arms may still be said to know how to play the piano, even though she has lost the ability.

There is something strange and uneasy about insisting that the pianist still knows how to play the piano but is just unable to do so. We cannot in full confidence say that she knows how to play the piano in the ways she once knew. Surely she still knows something of what it is like to play the piano; she can remember it in some respects; and she can probably use her toes or other devices to pick out a tune. She has retained some abilities, but not others. There is no apparent reason to conclude that she retains the know-how, but not the ability. (See Laurence Nemirow, "So This Is What It's Like: A Defense Of The Ability Hypothesis" [2006]).****

The relevance of S-W's analysis to AH is independent of its relation to both Ryle and intellectualism. While S-W may not have successfully critiqued Ryle, they may still be said to have furthered our discussion of AH. However, it is not clear that they have done so in a way which is of decisive value. Even if one accepts S-W's formulation of knowledge-how, one may still retain AH. Yet, there are reasons for rejecting their formulation--reasons which may provide a clearer understanding of AH.


V. Knowledge-How

According to S-W, when we say that Hannah knows how to ride a bicycle, we entail that Hannah knows that w is a way to ride a bicycle. We are implying that some w is a way to ride a bicycle. For this knowledge-how attribution to be justified, we must have some way of indicating that w is a way to ride a bicycle. We must have knowledge-how of our own. We must stand in some relation to the proposition that w2 is a way to indicate that w is a way of riding a bicycle. Furthermore, if we are justified in thinking that we have correctly attributed knowlege-how to Hannah, we must know that we have the requisite knowledge-how. We must know how to identify the correct way to attribute knowledge-how to Hannah. Thus, we must know how to indicate that w2 is a way to indicate that w is a way of riding a bicycle. This requires a w3, which in turn implies a w4.

By S-W's formulation, for any knowledge-how attribution to be justified, another knowledge-how attribution must exist which itself calls for justification. If one must stand in relation to some rule or proposition which grounds their knowledge-how, then there can be no justified knowledge-how attributions without one's standing in an infinite number of such relations. It would seem that S-W have gone wrong somewhere.

We have little trouble specifying ways of riding a bicycle, and so it is not difficult to imagine ourselves thinking about those ways when we say that Hannah knows how to ride a bicycle. We may thus be tempted to accept S-W's analysis on the grounds that we do sometimes think about ways to ride a bicycle, and that we would not attribute the relevant know-how if we did not ever think about these things. However, the relation S-W are postulating between a person and a proposition is not a mental act of intellection, and so has nothing at all to do with whether or not we think about it. The fact that we do sometimes think about ways to ride a bicycle does not entail that knowing how to ride a bicycle is standing in some relation to a proposition that some w is a way of riding a bicycle.

The problem here may become clearer if we examine more difficult cases. Activities like bicycle riding are quite advanced and involve some degree of intellectual awareness. This is why we have little trouble describing and analyzing them. As Ryle says, "intellectual development is a condition of the existence of all but the most primitive occupations and interests" (p.317). For more primitive cases of knowledge-how, it is impossible to specify ways as S-W's formulation requires.

VI. Achievements and Tasks

Knowing what it is like to see the color red is a good candidate for knowing-how which is not based on intellection. According to AH, knowing what it is like to see red (phenomenal knowledge of redness) is having the abilities to remember, recognize, and imagine the color red. We have these abilities, and know that we have these abilities, but we cannot specify ways of performing these actions. While we can say somebody remembers, recognizes, or imagines red, we cannot indicate any way of doing so. We cannot even identify the way we do these things ourselves. Which is to say, nothing counts as a way of seeing red.

In Ryle's terms, the verbs "see," "remember," "recognize," and "imagine" are achievement verbs, not task verbs. For Ryle, task and achievement verbs differ in their "logical force" (p. 150). Unlike task verbs, achievement verbs imply abilities which are not identified by indicating specific events or processes. In Rylean terms, it is a category error to suppose that, when one observes the winning of a race, one observes two distinct events: the crossing of the finish line and the act of winning. Achievement verbs "do not stand for perplexingly undetectable actions or reactions, any more than 'win' stands for a perplexingly undetectable bit of running, or 'unlock' for an unreported bit of key-turning" (p. 152). What is observed is one's crossing of the finish line before the rest of the competitors, and this is interpreted as an act of winning. So with seeing red, what is observed is the act of identification, and--based on its relationship to other observations--this is interpreted as an act of seeing, remembering, recognizing, and/or imagining.

Ryle notes that achievement verbs differ from task verbs also in so far as that they do not admit of the qualifications, "correctly" or "incorrectly." One cannot see, imagine, recognize, or remember redness correctly or incorrectly. One can, however, remember orange and mistakenly identify it as red. One can see red and mistakenly identify it as orange. One can correctly or incorrectly identify instances of redness. Care of Wittgenstein, identification must be a publicly observable act (in principle), or else it could not be held in relation to a criterion of correctness.

The ability to identify redness is a behavioral disposition, and it is implied when a person says, "I know what it is like to see red." Saying "I know what it is like to see red" does not indicate anything it is like to see red at all. It does not pick out anything about a separate act of seeing as distinct from the act of identification.

To take another example, Ryle notes that being able to tell jokes does not entail knowing that there is any particular way of telling jokes. When we say somebody knows how to tell jokes, we do not imply that there is any particular way of telling them. We do not imply that, when he tells a joke, he is employing any particular method which he applies to joke-telling in general. We could not indicate any such method if pressed, and neither could the person who knew how to tell jokes.

Instead of suggesting that the person who knows how to tell a joke knows that some w is a way to tell jokes, we might rather say that the person who knows how to tell jokes knows that one act of telling a joke is an example of telling jokes. But, then, in attributing knowledge-how to the person, we are claiming only that they know that one particular joke-telling exercise is a joke-telling exercise. Clearly this is not what we mean when we attribute knowledge-how.

S-W's formulation of knowledge-how ignores Ryle's careful distinction between achievement and task verbs. They take "Hannah knows how to ride a bicycle" as a paradigmatic case of knowledge-how attribution, even though "ride a bicycle" is a task, not an achievement. This profoundly limits the scope of their analysis.

One can know how to tell jokes well without there being any fact of the matter about what defines good joke-telling. Similarly, one can know what it is like to see red without there being anything one could identify as what it is like to see red. This counter-intuitive fact has made resolution of the knowledge argument rather difficult.


VII. Conclusion

Intelligent behavior, including intellection, is predicated upon forms of knowledge which are not dependent upon propositional competence, and which cannot be described as one's standing in relation to a rule. A person can know how to do something without there being any identifiable ways of doing it. Contrary to S-W's formulation, knowledge-how does not always entail knowing that any particular w is a way to X.

In those cases where we do attribute knowledge-how as an ability to act in accordance with a rule, we need not be in a knowing relation to the relevant rule. For example, when I say that somebody is capable of following the rules at her school, I need not be able to specify what those rules are, or how they might be followed. I might only assume the rules are reasonable, and that she is a person who tends to follow reasonable rules.

S-W approach a Rylean understanding of knowledge when they discuss Carl Ginet. Following Ginet, they note that "it is simply false that manifestations of knowledge-that must be accompanied by distinct actions of contemplating propositions." Ryle makes exactly this point, and it is why he rejects the intellectualist legend. Yet, S-W use Ginet's observation as a point against Ryle. This is explained by the fact that they have fundamentally misunderstood Ryle's project.

Perhaps a better appreciation of Ryle is in order, both with respect to his relationship to Wittgenstein and in regards to their combined relevance to contemporary debates.


Notes
* Stanley and Williamson reference another of Ryle's texts, originally published earlier though now available in a collection published in 1971. I unfortunately do not have this other text at my disposal. However, that text seems to be in line with what can be found in The Concept of Mind, and S-W do not draw attention to any significant differences between the two texts.

** If this is not clear, imagine a person who can recite all the rules of chess, but who demonstrates no strategic competence whatsoever. When they play, they follow the rules, but do not make any moves which might be regarded as intelligent. For example, they might only move their pawns. This sort of playing is what we would expect of somebody in the very beginning stages of the learning process; and, if such a student were asked if they could play chess, they would reasonably respond, "No, I'm just starting to learn."

*** We might suppose that knowledge-that is a species of knowledge-how, though Ryle does not put it this way. He regards knowledge-that as a peculiar sort of ability which does not easily translate into the language we use for knowledge-how. For example, he notes that we normally speak of a person having only slight knowledge of how to perform actions, but not of having slight knowledge that something is true. So knowledge-how and knowledge-that could be construed as two different sorts of abilities, in which case knowledge-how should not be understood as a blanket term to refer to all intelligent abilities. I do not think Ryle is clear on this point; in any case, it is not a question which needs to be answered here.

**** Nemirow (2006) identifies Noam Chomsky and Torin Alter as supporters of this argument against AH. However, Alter has recently recanted his position on the matter. See Alter, "Phenomenal Knowledge Without Experience" (2008), footnote 14.

Philosophy Blog Post Competition: Voting is Now Open

The nominations are in for the 3 Quarks Daily philosophy blog post competition. Now it's time to vote.

I'm rooting for my "Wise on Intelligent Design in the Classroom" post. It may have the most interesting and original content of my entries, and it's a hot topic, so it may make an impression on the judges.

Unfortunately, the initial round of voting will be largely influenced by popularity and networking. Since I'm not well-known, I don't have much of an edge there. So I'll be surprised if I make it to the semi-finals. But I'm still hopeful.

Vote: The Best Philosophy Blog Post

A blog called 3 Quarks Daily is holding a competition for the best philosophy blog post, and Daniel C. Dennett has agreed to be the final judge. The top prize includes a thousand American dollars. You can go and nominate any philosophy blog post you like. (Remember, you have to nominate a specific post, and not an entire blog. Also, nominations have to be for posts created after Aug. 23, 2008.)

I'd be honored if anyone voted for any of my posts, but I'm not expecting anyone to even nominate me. So, seeing as how I'd really like to win--the money would mean a lot, as would the recognition--I've decided to nominate some of my own posts. Is twelve too many?* They didn't say there's a limit, but I think I may have gone a little overboard. But it's for a good cause, right?

Anyway, go and nominate what you like. And don't forget to vote when the time comes!

*Edit: Apparently, the answer is, yes, twelve is too many. Self-nominations are encouraged by the editors, and no limit was stated. However, since several people have commented about the excessive self-nominations, and one said they were indecent, I've decided to ask the editors to reduce my self-nominations to three. Hopefully that will appease those I've offended.

Logic and Reference

I want to better explain why I reject the idea that logic refers to something, such as abstractions or Platonic forms.

Words and sentences, of themselves, do not refer to anything. Rather, people can use words and sentences to refer to things. (This should be clear when we remember that the same words and sentences can refer to different things, depending on the context of utterance.) Furthermore, the meaning of a sentence is not always its referent; for we can understand sentences even when a referent is unspecified, and also in cases where the referent is non-existant. (E.g., "The King of France is bald.") From these points it follows, first, that the referent of a sentence depends on how it is used in a particular context; and, second, that sentences can be meaningful even if they have no known referent.

When we look at the meaning of a syllogism, we may easily find referents. For example,

1. All men are mortal.
2. Socrates is a man.
3. Therefore, Socrates is mortal.

Taken by themselves, each of these sentences can be (and normally would be) used to refer to things, namely men, mortality, and Socrates. However, they can also be used to illustrate a certain logical form, known as modus ponens. The fact that there are referring terms is incidental. We could easily replace "Socrates" with "Alfred," and the logical validity would remain intact, even if nobody had any idea who (or what) Alfred might be.

The use of these sentences as an illustration of a valid syllogism is not their usual referring use. We can say that the meaning of each sentence, in this illustration, is based on their grammatical form, and not on what extra-linguistic entities they might be used to point to. We most clearly present rules of inference when we use symbols which have no referring use in our common language. We thus can say,

1. All members of A are members of B.
2. x is a member of A.
3. Therefore, x is a member of B.

By taking out words like "men" and "Socrates," we help avoid the confusion of thinking that the meaning of our logical demonstration somehow depended on the referring use of our terms.

Of course, some students of logic might ask, "What does 'x' refer to?"

The correct answer is, nothing. The letter 'x' is a place-holder, and anything could be substituted for it. This does not mean that 'x' refers to anything, as though anything were something specific we could point to. And it doesn't mean that 'x' refers to some abstract category of 'logical thingness' or what have you.

Again, the meaning of these sentences, as they are used, is to demonstrate a form of logical deduction. That function does not depend on any references (except perhaps a reference to logic itself; but this reference is not found in any of the three sentences used in the syllogism). The very reason we use arbitrary symbols without referential meaning is to make this clear.

So, when people say that logic must refer to something, such as Platonic forms, not only is it not clear what they are getting at; it is not even clear why they feel the need to get anywhere.

The Language of Consciousness

There is no good definition of "consciousness"--at least, not in any rigorous philosophical or scientific sense. There are just lots of ways we use the term in everyday life. For example, we use it to distinguish between sleep and wakefulness, or to indicate that we are focusing our attention on something, or that we remember something, or that we know something. These aren't all the same, or even necessarily similar, processes. So the idea that there is some unique thing called "consciousness" is perhaps an error. And so the idea that there are "conscious processes" in the brain is also perhaps an error.

The word "consciousness" does not pick out anything specific, but has meaning only in so far as it provides some structure to our discourse--specifically, our discourse about ourselves. It is a grammatical construction without extra-linguistic referent.* Once we've understood the language, we've understood consciousness. There is nothing left to understand. Thus, as Dennett says, there is nothing to understand about consciousness beyond verbal reports. (But this does not mean there is nothing else to understand about brains or behavior.)

If a person says "I am hungry," we know what they mean, because we've learned the language. And no investigation into their brain or stomach will explain the meaning any better to us. Of course, by looking at their brain and stomach we can get a better idea of why they've expressed that sentiment. But the meaning of the sentiment is no better understood by such an investigation.

Consider, if I say "John has malaria," you can understand me a little bit, even if you don't know who I am talking about. But if we are engaged in conversation, you will want to know who I'm talking about so that you can understand me fully. You assume that "John" refers to somebody specific.

With words for consciousness and feelings, we may similarly be tempted to look for hidden referents. Yet, this is a mistake. Not all nouns are names for things. In my understanding, the language of consciousness (notions of mind, thought, and feeling) is used to indirectly refer to unknown causes of behavior. The meaning of these terms is rooted in behavior, and yet it does not directly refer to the behavior itself, nor does it refer to any identifiable causes. They are floating signifiers, meaningful but without discernible referents.

With neuroscience, we can greatly improve our understanding of the brain and human behavior. But we won't understand consciousness any better, because there is nothing about consciousness hidden in the brain (or anywhere else). The word "consciousness" doesn't point to the brian. It doesn't point anywhere. It is not an extended finger, but more like a waving hand.

Consider an example. I am focusing on writing this post. That is a fact about my mind, right? Now, by studying the brain we can better understand how a human being goes about writing and thinking about philosophy. We can analyze the behavior. But we won't gain a better understanding of what it means to focus on writing something. We won't improve our understanding of that, because that is something we already understand by verbal report. The meaning of the expression "focusing on writing" is found in the act itself, in the behavior, which anybody can observe.

We can use verbal reports to guide our study of the brain, just as we can use any other behavioral cues. But in so doing, we are using the behavior to understand the brain, and not vice versa. It is only because we understand verbal reports that we can use them to analyze the brain. So how could analyzing the brain help us understand the reports any better?

Again, it can help us understand what caused them, but that does not help us understand what they mean.

* Edit: I should clarify this. Verbal reports, such as "I am hungry," are usually not references to observable behavior, but nor are they references to anything hidden behind observable behavior. They are not usually references at all. When I said that "consciousness" is a grammatical construction without extra-linguistic referent, I was ignoring the way we can use that term to analyze human behavior. The language of consciousness can be used to analyze behavior, and so "consciousness" can refer to things like wakefulness, readiness, and so on; however, the term "consciousness" is usually taken to mean something hidden behind those observable behaviors. This is what I reject. While the language of consciousness directly involves observable behavior, it is thought to indirectly point to something else. In my view, we couldn't possibly be pointing to anything else. So, words like "consciousness" can be taken to refer to observable behavior, but when we take them to refer to something else, such as a sense of self, or an "immediacy of experience," we are referring to linguistic constructions, and nothing outside of our discourse.