13. WITTGENSTEIN AND LINGUISTIC ANALYSIS Having now examined three ways of applying the logical distinction between "analysis" and "synthesis", and having explored in some detail its application to the Geometry of Logic, the remaining task in this second part of our course is to consider some of the ways in which an over-emphasis on either analysis or synthesis has shaped the way some philosophers have developed their ideas. As I mentioned in the very first lecture, among the various developments in western philosophy during the twentieth century, two movements have been most influential: linguistic analysis and existentialism. Most versions of the former have emphasized the importance of analysis, and most versions of the latter, synthesis, so much as to neglect or even explicitly reject the significance of the opposing trend. Yet as we have come to expect, given the complementary relationship between analysis and synthesis, the continued existence of each trend depends on that of the other, for they are complementary poles of a single movement. Hence it should come as no surprise to find that, as we approach the close of this century, both trends are passing away together, and being replaced gradually by other ways of thinking. If we had more time, it would be interesting to examine more recent movements, such as the deconstructionist and hermeneutic schools of thought. But these trends are still in the process of developing, and so would be more difficult to view objectively; hence we shall pass over them in this course. Today we shall discuss the main elements of the philosophical movement which has dominated English-speaking philosophy in this century, known as "linguistic analysis". The same way of philosophizing also goes by names such as "analytic philosophy", "linguistic philosophy", or "philosophy of language", depending on the preference of the philosopher in question. But in general we can characterize this approach as one that regards the analysis of language as the philosopher's fundamental task. The precise way in which language ought to be analyzed, the exact definition of what analysis is, and even the proper delimitation of what counts as language, are all issues of open debate among members of this school. But amidst all their differences, linguistic analysts are united by their common belief that philosophical issues must be approached, first and foremost (if not exclusively) from the point of view of their roots in human language. Many believe that in upholding this belief they are the true heirs of Kant's great limitation of human knowledge--to the extent that the notion of a "transcendental turn" in philosophizing is thought by many philosophers today to be identical to a "linguistic turn". The roots of linguistic analysis are planted in ground prepared by a mathematician named Gottlob Frege (1848-1925). Frege instituted a revolution in (analytic) logic, the implications of which are still in the process of being worked out by contemporary philosophers. He regarded logic as virtually reducible to mathematics, and believed proofs should always be exhibited in the form of clearly expressed, deductive steps. More importantly, he believed logic could perform tasks far beyond anything envisioned by Aristotle, provided logicians could develop ways of expressing linguistic meaning entirely in terms of logical symbols. One of his most influential ideas was to distinguish between the "sense" of a proposition and its "reference", arguing that a proposition has "meaning" only if it has both a sense and a reference. (This idea bears a striking resemblance, incidentally, to Kant's claim that knowledge arises only out of the synthesis of concepts and intuitions.) Frege also developed a new notation enabling "quantifiers" (words such as "all", "some", etc.) to be expressed in terms of symbols. He hoped philosophers could use this notation to perfect the logical form of their arguments, thus making it possible to come far closer than ever before to the ideal of making philosophy into a rigorous science. One of the first philosophers to recognize the profound importance of Frege's new discoveries in logic was Bertrand Russell (1872-1970)--probably the best known English philosopher in this century. Russell, together with A.N. Whitehead, applied many of Frege's insights in writing what must be one of the most important, yet least read, books written in this century, Principia Mathematica. Russell developed many interesting and influential ideas on a vast array of subjects during his long career. Unfortunately, on a number of occasions he changed his views, arguing in one text against a position he himself had defended in previous writings. Since he never developed a single, consistent system of philosophy, it would be too difficult to examine his ideas here. However, the case is quite different for a younger contemporary of Russell's, who began his career in philosophy as one of Russell's students. After studying engineering for several years in Manchester, this German- speaking philosopher sent an essay to Russell in Cambridge, telling him he wanted to study philosophy under Russell's guidance--either that, or he would pursue further studies in the field of aeronautics. Fortunately for the philosophical world, Russell invited this young man to become his student in Cambridge. If Frege can be viewed as the "father" of linguistic analysis, then his greatest "son" was, without a doubt, Ludwig Wittgenstein (1889-1951). Not long after coming to Cambridge, Wittgenstein launched out on his own, to become one of this century's two or three most influential philosophers. The bulk of his influence came through his lectures and tutorials, and through the students and other philosophers who shared in these discussions with him. For Wittgenstein himself published only one book during his lifetime, written while he was still a young man. When he died, however, he was nearly finished writing a second book, which was finally published two years after his death. Each of these two books laid the foundation for a major new version of linguistic analysis. For the remainder of today's lecture, let's take a look at each of these trends in turn. Wittgenstein's book, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus (1921), came to be treated as a manifesto for one of the earliest versions of linguistic analysis, called "logical positivism". It begins by defining the limits of the linguistic world in terms of the following set of foundational propositions: 1 The world is all that is the case. 1.1 The world is the totality of facts, not things. 1.11 The world is determined by the facts, and by their being all the facts. 1.12 For the totality of facts determines what is the case, and also whatever is not the case. 1.13 The facts in logical space are the world. 1.2 The world divides into facts. 1.21 Each item can be the case or not the case while everything else remains the same. Throughout the book Wittgenstein uses the same kind of rigorous, mathematical form, as he does in this introductory passage, numbering each successive paragraph in such a hierarchical order. This logical form reflects the overall aim of the book, which is to construct a set of analytic propositions that can be used as a framework for understanding all "facts" (i.e., meaningful propositions) about the world. The analytic focus of Wittgenstein's concern is evident when, for example, he states that each of these facts "can be the case" (+) "or not the case" (-). After setting up in the above passage a fixed boundary line between what counts as "the world" and what does not--i.e., between "facts" and "things"-- Wittgenstein weaves an intricate web of logical propositions in sections 2-6 of his book. These propositions are supposed to establish a philosophical framework for understanding any legitimate fact which the world (i.e., the world of meaningful propositions) presents to us. He then concludes with a passage that is worth quoting at length: 6.522 There are, indeed, things that cannot be put into words. They make themselves manifest. They are what is mystical. 6.53 The correct method in philosophy would really be the following: to say nothing except what can be said, i.e. propositions of natural science--i.e. something that has nothing to do with philosophy--and then, whenever someone else wanted to say something metaphysical, to demonstrate to him that he had failed to give a meaning to certain signs in his propositions. Although it would not be satisfying to the other person--he would not have the feeling that we were teaching him philosophy--this method would be the only strictly correct one. 6.54 My propositions serve as elucidations in the following way: anyone who understands me eventually recognizes them as nonsensical, when he has used them--as steps--to climb up beyond them. (He must, so to speak, throw away the ladder after he has climbed up it.) He must transcend these propositions, and then he will see the world aright. 7 What we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence. Analytic philosophers have debated long and hard over the proper interpretation of the enigmas in this surprise ending to Wittgenstein's Tractatus. But if we keep in mind the distinction between analytic and synthetic logic, then the meaning of these claims can be seen quite clearly. Relating the distinction between "facts" and "things" to the distinction between analytic and synthetic logic, especially as depicted in Figure 10.2, suggests the following way of picturing the main structure of Wittgenstein's argument in the above passage: [Figure 13.1: Wittgenstein's "Ladder"] Wittgenstein is saying that any philosophy based solely on the rigorous foundations of analytic logic must limit its scope of inquiry to questions arising within the resulting "world of facts", even though this requires us to treat many traditional philosophical questions as if they did not exist. He quite rightly recognized that this metaphysical realm (i.e., the realm of "things"), which is outside of analytic logic, is a mystical realm. For synthetic logic has always been a favorite tool of mystics. However, because of his firm belief in the universal and exclusive validity of analytic logic, Wittgenstein was forced to conclude that the proper response to this mystical realm is to remain silent. If he was correct when he said talking about such "things" is not a proper part of the philosopher's task, then the kind of philosophy I am teaching you in this course is not actually philosophy at all, but merely disguised nonsense. In fact, as we shall discover in the fourth part of this course, silence is a very appropriate response to a mystical experience. However, as word-using animals, we humans inevitably attempt to describe such experiences in words. Wittgenstein was describing this attempt when he referred to those who use analytic propositions as a "ladder" in hopes of climbing beyond facts to a direct apprehension of things. He is quite right to say that in such a case analytic logic turns out to be "nonsensical"; and so his advice, that such a person should "throw away the ladder after he has climbed up it" is quite appropriate. He was also entirely correct to insist that we must "transcend these propositions" in order to "see the world aright", for mystics are interested far more in changing the way we see the world than in changing the way we describe it. What Wittgenstein failed to take into consideration, however, is that this realm of vision might have its own kind of logic, in which words that were formerly regarded as nonsense can now make sense after all: they make sense because they shock us into seeing the world in a new way! Unfortunately, the philosophers who first followed Wittgenstein's lead were not interested in exploring the implications of his enigmatic references to "things" which somehow "manifest themselves". Rather, they were intrigued by his idea of constructing an analytic foundation upon which philosophy could become, for the first time, truly scientific. The most influential of his followers was A.J. Ayer (1910-1989), who, at the age of 26, wrote the book, Language, Truth, and Logic, popularizing a positivist interpretation of Wittgenstein's ideas. Far from leaving open a space for silent appreciation of "mystical things", Ayer argued that the nonsensical character of mystical experiences, together with all metaphysical ideas, should lead us to discard them as utterly useless. Thus, near the beginning of the first chapter, called "The Elimination of Metaphysics", he writes (p.34): For we shall maintain that no statement which refers to a "reality" transcending the limits of all possible sense-perception can possibly have any literal significance; from which it must follow that the labours of those who have striven to describe such a reality have all been devoted to the production of nonsense. The knife Ayer used to cut away all such illusions came in the form of what he called the "verification" principle. He described this principle in the form of a question, which we are supposed to ask about any proposition put forward as a possible "fact" about the world: "Would any observations be relevant to the determination of its truth or falsehood?" (p.38). If the answer is "no", then, reasoned Ayer, there is no way to verify the truth or falsity of the proposition in question; and in any such situation, the proposition must be literally meaningless. So, if I were trying to defend the truth of a proposition such as "God exists", Ayer would require me to point to some object or empirical situation which, if it were to change, would cause me to give up my belief in God. For example, if I were to say that I would give up my belief in God if my mother were to die a tragic death, then he would admit that my belief has some meaningful content; but it is now primarily a belief about my mother, not a belief about God. A person who claimed to have an unshakable faith would simply be regarded as believing utter nonsense. Ayer argues along these lines in the remainder of his book, employing the knife of verification to carve away most of what have traditionally been regarded as the most important areas of philosophical inquiry. Not only metaphysical propositions as such, but also most of the nearest and dearest propositions of moral, religious, and aesthetic value are also explained away as, at best, a mere expression of a person's emotional state (and hence, as irrational). However, there is a serious problem with Ayer's program, as with any such attempt to establish on logical grounds a set of so-called "positive" limits to philosophical inquiry. The problem is that the very principle upon which this whole school of thought is based cannot pass the test of verification. In other words, if Ayer were here today and we asked him to point to some observation--any observation--that would count as evidence against the principle of verification, he would be unable to do so! Why? Because this principle is not merely a "logical tool", as Ayer thought; it is itself a metaphysical belief every bit as much as those he tried to discard as nonsense. This means either the principle is true, in which case the principle itself is meaningless, or else the principle is false, in which case the very foundation of logical positivism falls to pieces. We can express the self-contradictory character of the verification principle in a more rigorous form as follows (assuming "VP" stands for "verification principle" and "-v" stands for "a proposition not verifiable by some observation"): All -v's are meaningless. (= VP) VP is a -v. \ VP (if true) is meaningless. Although logical positivism did experience a period of hopeful support among many philosophers, mainly during the 1930s and 1940s, it was not long before the self-contradictory nature of its basic claims became undeniably evident. Indeed, it became so evident that Ayer himself eventually stopped trying to defend such an extreme, positivist form of philosophy. The lesson we can learn from the relatively brief life of this philosophical experiment is that presuppositions of some sort are essential for any philosophical endeavor, and that such presuppositions, like the myths we examined in Part One, always transcend the realm of "knowledge" they serve to define. Without such a transcendent principle, which generally must be accepted on faith, since it cannot be proved from within the system it supports, there would be no boundary lines in the system, and hence no knowledge at all. In other words, logical positivism may have succeeded, in a sense, in making philosophy into a science; but the price it had to pay was to affirm the basic incoherence which plagues so much of modern science: the belief that knowledge can be gained without being rooted in some underlying myth. Once we recognize the futility of such a belief, we will recognize that Wittgenstein's "things" are just as important as his "facts": without the former we could not even speak about the latter! One of the most interesting contrasts in the history of twentieth-century philosophy is that between the first and second of Wittgenstein's two great books. No sooner had he developed the framework for a positivist philosophy than he began working towards quite a different way of conceiving the philosophical task. He set out his new views in the posthumously published book entitled Philosophical Investigations (1953), which has come to be treated as a manifesto for another version of linguistic analysis, called "ordinary language philosophy". The different character of these two books is evident even in their titles: whereas his Tractatus is rigorously logical and utterly analytic, Wittgenstein's Investigations is written in a much looser, more synthetic, style--not unlike a detective story. The foundation-stone of ordinary language philosophy (replacing logical positivism's verification principle) is the principle that the meaning of a word or proposition is determined by its use. Armed with this principle, analytic philosophers turned their attention to the task of examining the way words are used in ordinary language, in the belief that all metaphysical problems can ultimately be traced back to a misuse of some of the key words involved. In addition to the principle of use determining meaning, Wittgenstein suggested a number of other guidelines for how ordinary language ought to be investigated by philosophers. Two of these should be mentioned here before we conclude our discussion of linguistic analysis. The first is that words get their meaning by participating in a particular "language-game". Just as different games have different rules, yet all can be called "games", so also different ways of using language have different rules, yet meaning can arise within all of them. This means that science, which is the only admissible realm of knowledge for the logical positivist, is now regarded as just one of many possible language-games. The words we use in non-scientific contexts, such as in moral reasoning, in forming aesthetic judgments, and even in constructing systems of religious belief, can be regarded as having legitimate meanings after all. In each case, though, we cannot understand such meanings from the outside, but must participate in the game in order to appreciate what is going on. For this reason, understanding the concept of a "game" is crucial for ordinary language philosophers. Indeed, while I was studying in Oxford, I once attended a series of lectures by a philosopher who had been one of Wittgenstein's students. Believe it or not, he spent the entire term discussing with us the question "What is a game?"--yet we never came up with a set of defining principles which we could apply to all games! Another guideline introduced by Wittgenstein was again based on an analogy-- namely, that groups of words sometimes bear "family relationships" to each other and to other groups of words. By tracing these relationships and becoming aware of the intricate patterns exhibited in ordinary language, he believed philosophers could avoid making many of the mistakes made by past philosophers. To try to use a word as if it were a member of a family to which it is unrelated in ordinary language is to break the rules of language-games; so it is no wonder that seemingly unsolvable problems arise as a result. Using these and other guidelines, Wittgenstein managed to detect numerous errors in the way philosophers tend to treat words. Although such detective work sometimes ends with conclusions not unlike those of the logical cogitations of Tractatus (e.g., that philosophical problems are due to a misuse of language), its open and flexible tone is a far cry from the rigidity of the work of his youth. If logical positivism tried to make philosophy into a science, ordinary language philosophy tried to make it into an art. In this way linguistic analysis in some of its forms has actually come to appreciate more fully the importance of synthesis--though still treating analysis, of course, as having priority. This emphasis on analysis has had the benefit of calling to the attention of philosophers the importance of clarifying language. One of the most serious problems with this whole movement, however, is that in many cases analytic philosophers who claim to be saying "we are just trying to help clarify what you are already doing when you use language", are actually implying another, quite different claim as well. Some analytic philosophers do philosophy in such a way that they seem to be saying that, in fact, "we know what was wrong with the whole tradition, and we don't need it any more!" And this, of course, is always a dangerous thing to say, since our philosophical tradition constitutes the very soil from which the metaphysical roots of our philosophical tree draws its nourishment. QUESTIONS FOR FURTHER THOUGHT 1. Why do mathematical divisions so often correspond directly to natural divisions? 2. Could there ever be a language that was entirely analytic? 3. What function, if any, does synthesis have in linguistic analysis? 4. Is there any difference between the meaning and the use of a word or proposition? RECOMMENDED READINGS 1. Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, tr. D.F. Pears and B.F. McGuinness (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1961), especially sections 1, 6.1- 3, and 7. 2. Alfred Jules Ayer, Language, Truth and Logic2 (New York: Dover Publications, 1952[1938]), especially Chapter One, "The Elimination of Metaphysics", pp.33-45. 3. Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, tr. G.E.M. Anscombe (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1953), especially paragraphs 1-25. 4. John Hospers, An Introduction to Philosophical Analysis (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, 1953).