There’s been a long-running and controversial debate as to whether or not animals are conscious (or have experiences). I believe that it’s most certainly the case that animals are conscious — or at least the “higher animals” are. Of course that claim can’t be proved. That said, I can’t prove that my friends are conscious. So there are no proofs — or even conclusive demonstrations — when it comes to whether any given biological animal — including a human being — is conscious or not.
There’s also the debate as to whether or not animals have beliefs, are intelligent, are capable of thought, etc. This often — mainly — depends on definitions. That is, if the word “belief” (or “thought”) is defined in one way, then animals will be deemed to have beliefs (or to think). If, on the other hand, such a word is defined in another way, then animals won’t be deemed to have beliefs (or to think).
This piece is more basic than all that. It asks this question:
Do animals deploy — or have — concepts?
But what, exactly, are concepts?
What are Concepts?
There are a few philosophical accounts of concepts. That said, in what follows it doesn’t matter (too much) which account is accepted.
It seems that all — or at least most — accounts of concepts involve recognising a level of abstraction. That is, concepts are seen as general notions or abstract ideas which occur in thought, speech or in the mind.
In more detail, concepts are often seen — by philosophers at least — to be mental representations which exist in the mind and brain — either in (as it were) storage (i.e., in the brain) or actually deployed in mental activity (or cognition). In other words, a being’s concepts (like beliefs) needn’t be “used” or deployed at all — they can simply be stored in the brain. However, they do need to be deployable in principle.
In philosophy, concepts have also been seen in purely abstract terms. That’s in the sense that concepts are seen to have no direct relation to mentality or to biological brains — except for the fact that brains (or minds) can gain access to them. (In this sense, concepts are like numbers in mathematical Platonism.) One very specific — but important — take on this is to see concepts as Fregean senses (see sense).
Concepts can also be seen as abilities (or skills) in that they’re measured — or defined — in terms of the behaviour of the animals which are believed to have — or deploy — them. This is clearly related to a behaviourist account of concepts in that, like intelligence, concepts must be manifested in abilities or in behaviour generally. This means that concepts aren’t something hidden in the brain (or in the mind). In other words, concepts aren’t either ghosts in the machine or abstract objects (as with Fregean senses). If this particular position had been entirely adhered to, then the title of this piece should have been: ‘Do Animals Deploy Concepts?’.
More relevantly to what follows, concepts are said to be the fundamental constituent of beliefs, thoughts, languages, etc. It’s this aspect of concepts which problematises the issue when it comes to animals. That’s because concept-use seems to involve a high level of cognitive activity and mental development.
“[h]aving the concept F requires, on some accounts, having the ability to use the linguistic term ‘F’ correctly”.
That depends on what precisely the concept F is taken to be. If the concept is [infinity], then, yes, we would need “to use the linguistic term”. However, this isn’t the case if, say, a dog’s concept is [cat], and [cat] isn’t — at all — tied to the word “cat”.
Of course in the above I’m using the word “cat” within square brackets simply because it’s shorthand for whatever constitutes a dog’s concept [cat]. So perhaps I should symbolise it [C] instead. The problem with this is that readers won’t know what object the dog’s concept is about. Therefore I use the English word within the brackets.
In any case, if Tye had simply said
Having concepts requires the ability to use linguistic terms correctly.
then he would have been, I believe, wrong.
Following on from the first quote above, Tye says:
“On other accounts, concept possession requires the ability to represent in thought and belief that something falls under the concept.”
There’s no problem with the above just as long as the words “thought”, “belief” and “falls under a concept” aren’t taken sententially (or linguistically). And there’s no obvious — or immediate — reason why they should be. A dog must surely “think” that the rattling dog-chain “means” that it will be going for a walk. It will “believe” that a walk will be forthcoming. But, of course, none of this is expressed — or thought about — linguistically by the dog. And, precisely because of that fact, some (or even many) philosophers believe that it’s wrong to use words like “think”, “belief” and “means” when discussing the mental reality of dogs and other animals.
That said, the dog’s chain must surely “fall under the concept” [dog chain] for the dog. Or, again, instead of using the English words “dog chain” — which will be unknown to the dog —the dog’s concept will fall under [C]; where C (again) simply symbolises whatever constitutes the dog’s concept.
On the words “think”, “means”, “belief”, etc. again.
Some — or even many — philosophers are sceptical about animal thought and belief. Take this unelaborated description of a monkey’s behaviour:
“[W]hile we may be prepared to say that it knows [that it’s safe up a tree], we may be less happy to say that the monkey thinks that it is safe.”
Prima facie, how can the monkey know without thinking?
This writer also includes reasoning, believing, reflecting, calculating and deliberating as examples of thought. I believe that monkeys do all these things. Admittedly, at first I hesitated with the word “calculating”. However, that was only because I over-sophisticated the term by thinking in terms of abstract mathematical calculations. (Since the main topic here is concepts, I can’t go into these broader areas of animal and human thought.)
An interesting question remains, however. Is it an animal’s lack of concepts that excludes it from all these cognitive states? Or is it that animals have no concepts because they can’t think?
This is where the notion of non-conceptual content is helpful. That is, animals may have non-conceptual mental states which still, nonetheless, “contain” what philosophers call (mental) content.
Non-Conceptual Content
In the context of animals, what’s motivating the idea of non-conceptual content is that animals may have “experiences” without necessarily deploying any concepts. Or as the British philosopher Martin Davieswrites:
“[T]he experiences of [] certain creatures, who, arguably are not deployers of concepts at all.”
Davies continues:
“[A] creature that does not attain the full glory of conceptualised mentation, yet which enjoys conscious experience with non-conceptual content.”
All the above depends on which animal we’re talking about and what Davies means by the word “concept”. Indeed it may be difficult to fuse experience and non-conceptual content together in the first place (at least on a Kantian reading). If Davies is talking about floor lice, then what he says may well be correct. However, if he’s talking about dogs, monkeys, etc., then I’m not so certain. (The intermediary animal cases are, as ever, vague.)
Is the simple and obvious fact that animals don’t have a language (or a human language) causing this bias against animal having — or using — concepts? Davies doesn’t say. If one takes Jerry Fodor’s “language-infested” view of “mentation”, then one would probably agree with Davies. On the other hand, if one is a non-Fodorean one may question the linguistic bias of Davies’s position. (As the Canadian philosopher Paul Churchland does — see ‘Paul Churchland on Non-Propositional Animal Thought?’.)
An even more explicit example of this linguistic bias can be seen in the work of British philosopher Christopher Peacocke. He writes:
“The representational content of a perceptual experience has to be given by a proposition, or set of propositions, which specifies the way the experience represents the world to be.”
Peacocke (in the above) is distinguishing representational content (which is propositionally specifiable) from — pure - unconceptualised sensations. And again, later, Peacocke displays his linguistic (or sentential) bias when he writes the following:
“The content of an experience is to be distinguished from the content of a judgement caused by the experience.”
Not only do we have a (sorta) dualism of “sensations” (the “contents of experience”) and “judgement” (which is “caused by the experience”), we also have the specifically intellectualist — and probably linguistic — position on “judgement”. What Peacocke means by the word “judgement” is the application of a “proposition or set of propositions” to a “perceptual experience”.
So if “representational content” is “given by a proposition”, then the implication is that the same is true of concepts. Indeed Peacocke states his own position explicitly here:
“[W]e need a threefold distinction [of experience] between sensation, perception, and judgement.”
Peacocke (in one of his notes) quotes another philosopher to back-up his case. He quotes:
“… ‘[S]ensation, taken by itself, implies neither the conception nor the belief of any external object…Perception implies an immediate conviction and belief of something external’…”
An Evolutionary Argument
If animals (or if certain types of animals) are non-conceptual creatures, then we human beings too (on a evolutionary perspective) might have — or did — started off as non-conceptual creatures. That is, pure phenomenal consciousness is common to both humans and animals. However, for later humans, phenomenal consciousness (or sensations) began to be conceptualised. (See Churchland again — here.)
There is a dualism (yes, another one) here between phenomenal consciousness and conceptual consciousness. If we’re being good evolutionary theorists in accepting that we share phenomenal consciousness with animals, then why can’t we be equally good evolutionary theorists by accepting that — some — animals have concepts too?
Why should concepts be sentence-shaped? (The English philosopher P.F. Strawson once complained of facts — or bits of the world — being “sentence-shaped objects”.)
(1) “perceptual content is the same kind of content as the content of judgement and belief”
and, alternatively,
(2) “perceptual content is a distinct kind of content, different from belief content”.
Passage (1) is very Davidsonian in that judgements/beliefs and perceptual content are seen to be as one. Passage (2), on the other hand, gives us “uninterpreted” mental content, separate (we may say) from “all schemes and science”. Of course we shouldn’t really use the word “science” or even “schemes”. Instead, we can simply say: separate from all concepts.
Ned Block’s Phenomenal Consciousness
The American philosopher Ned Block also makes his own distinction between “representation” and “intentional representation” (note 4, 1995). He argues that that an animal has an experience that is “representational”. However, that experience is not an “intentional representation”. This is how Block makes his distinction:
1) intentional representation = “representation under concepts”2) representation = “representation without any concepts”
Block’s mistake here seems to be obvious. The mistake is found in Block’s quoted words in the following:
The animal in question “doesn’t possess the concept of a donut or a torus”.
We can accept that. However, the animal may “represent space as being filled in a donut-like way”. Again, that’s acceptable. So, yes, this animal won’t have our concept [donut] or our concept [torus]. (It certainly won’t have our word “donut”.) However, it may have its own concept [C] of the donut and likewise its own concept [C] of the torus. That is why Block allows the animal its own representations. (The animal “represents space as being filled in a donut-like way without any concepts”.) However, the animal’s experience has “representational content without intentional content”. Apparently, the animal has representations because its experience is of something “donut-like”. However, it isn’t intentional — or conceptual — simply because it doesn’t have our concept [donut]. Yet surely it may have its own concept of the thing we call a “donut”.
Block’s position seems wrong. It displays both a linguistic bias and basis for all concepts. And therefore excludes — by definition! — all animals from having conceptual content of the said experience. Yet, logically, this stance would mean that a fellow human being without the concept [donut] (or the word “donut”) would only have a representation of the donut, not an intentional representation of it.
To give more (Kantian) detail.
Even someone who does have the concept [donut] must have previously experienced a donut under other concepts. (That is, before he applied the concept [donut] to donuts.) And not just the basic Kantian concept [object] or [thing]. (These are atomic concepts which are the building blocks of later concepts.) In other words, before the object we call a “donut” fell under the concept [donut], and after it fell under the concept [object] or [thing], other concepts would have been applied — or “belonged to” — the donut. For example, perhaps the concepts [white thing], [round thing], [small round thing], etc. Even an animal without the concept [white thing] etc. would still have its own alternative non-linguistic (or non-human) alternatives to our concepts of a donut.
There’s also a problem with Block’s use of the term “representation”. Can’t a being only represent something as something? That is, the concept [C] is a representation of something. Therefore one needs a concept (not necessarily linguistic) of that something; as well as a concept of that thing as a something.
The problem here may be accounted for by what Block himself says (again in note 4). He states that “phenomenal-consciousness isn’t an intentional property”. I agree. He also says that “P-conscious content cannot be reduced to or identified with intentional content”. Again, I agree. Block also qualifies these distinctions by saying that “intentional differences can make a P-conscious difference”. He also says that “P-consciousness is often representational”. However, Block is still hinting at something which is problematic when it comes to animals: that PC (phenomenal consciousness) can always exist without intentional or representational (that is, conceptual) content. The distinctions he makes are possibly real and worthwhile. However, PC is like a finger which can’t exist without a hand. And the hand, in this case, is conceptual content (or concepts). Of course a finger is distinct from a hand; though — as yet - I haven’t seen a functioning finger without a hand.
Raymond Louis Wilder was born 1896 and died in 1982. He was an American mathematician who specialised in algebraic topology and the theory of manifolds. Wilder was professor at the University of Texas, Ohio State University and at the University of Michigan. He was also vice president of the American Mathematical Society and its president from 1955 to 1956. (He was the Society’s Josiah Willard Gibbs Lecturer in 1969.) From 1965 to 1966, Wilder was the president of the Mathematical Association of America. (This association awarded him its Distinguished Service Medal in 1973.) Wilder was elected to the American National Academy of Sciences in 1963.
Evolution of Mathematical Concepts
Raymond L. Wilder called for mathematics to be analysed by the social sciences. He therefore predated elements of George Lakoff and Rafael E. Núñez’s book Where Mathematics Comes From; which was published only twenty years ago (in 2000). Wilder himself suggested that we should
“study mathematics as a human artefact, as a natural phenomenon subject to empirical observation and scientific analysis, and, in particular, as a cultural phenomenon understandable in anthropological terms”.
“The major difference between mathematics and the other sciences, natural and social, is that whereas the latter are directly restricted in their purview by environmental phenomena of a physical or social nature, mathematics is subject only indirectly to such limitations.”
In terms of the word “Platonism” in the title above, Wilder went on to say that
“Plato conceived of an ideal universe in which resided perfect models [however] the only reality mathematical concepts have is as cultural elements or artefacts”.
R.L. Wilder informed his readers that both “the Platonic” and practical approaches to mathematics could be found at one and the same time in ancient Greece.He wrote:
“[M]athematics was considered to be an attempt to describe the forms, quantitative and geometric, that one finds in the environment.”
On the other hand, mathematics was also seen as a
“description of an ideal world of concepts existing over and above the so-called real world”.
These two approaches weren’t always in conflict — even if for Plato himself they were indeed in conflict.
So it’s possible that there wouldn’t have been a pure — or Platonic — mathematics if it weren’t for prior mathematics “describing the forms — quantitative and geometric, that one finds in the environment”. On the other hand, it might have been the other way around. That is, there might not have been a practical mathematics without a prior Platonic — or Pythagorean — mathematics which described “an ideal world of concepts existing over and above the so-called real world”. More likely, however, perhaps both pursuits always existed in tandem — even if particular mathematicians or philosophers chose one approach or the other.
If we bring all that up to date.
Theoretical research (as in physics) in mathematics has often led to practical advances and applications in both science and technology. Wilder cites various examples of this in the following:
“The cases of Faraday and his researches in electricity and magnetism (making possible the electric motor) and of Clerk Maxwell and his equations (revealing the existence of radio waves) are classical instances. There are matched by the history of mathematical logic — the utmost in abstraction, one might say — and its ultimate importance in the computing industry (von Neumann, was originally a worker in the foundations of mathematics…).”
We can even see that pure mathematics has an effect on the hallowed“real world” we hear so much about. As Wilder put it:
“[I]t appears that no matter how abstract and seemingly removed from physical reality mathematics may become, it works — it can be applied either directly or indirectly to ‘real’ situations — as witness radio, air travel, and the like, none of which would have been possible without mathematics.”
One may initially wonder why Wilder singled out radio and air travel particularly. He probably did so because mathematics is the (as it were) distillation (or, to use an ugly word, abstractification) of radio and air travel in that it captures what is truly important and fundamental (from a scientific and technological point of view) in these concrete cases.
We can also see the close relation (or, indeed, unity) of physics and mathematics in the history of classical mechanics. Wilder wrote:
“When the basic postulates of classical mechanics were established by Galileo and Newton [] classical mechanics was []regarded as a branch of applied mathematics.”
Wilder then stated that “as a result of the theory of relativity, we know that the classical postulates do not correspond to physical reality”. Wilder made this conclusion because this (as it were) qualification of classical mechanics made it the case that it could no longer be seen as a branch of applied mathematics. He believed that it must be seen, instead,“as an abstract doctrine pertaining to pure mathematics”.
All this simply means that applied mathematics must be, well, applicable to “physical reality”; whereas pure mathematics needn’t be. Nonetheless, classical mechanics — as a branch of pure mathematics — has survived. Yet classical mechanics can also be said to have survived as a purely physical theory — despite being added to (not “overthrown”!) by the theory of relativity. The English mathematical physicist and mathematician Roger Penrose, for example, argues that classical mechanics retains its status in physics — though only “as a limit”. He wrote:
“Current physics ideas will survive as limiting behavior, in the same sense that Newtonian mechanics survives relativity. Relativity modifies Newtonian mechanics, but it doesn’t really supplant it. Newtonian mechanics is still there as a limit. In the same sense, quantum theory, as we now use it, and classical physics, which includes Einstein’s general theory, are limits of some theory we don’t yet have.”
On Wilder’s reading (as stated), on the other hand, classical mechanics — qua pure mathematics — now has an independence from application and indeed from the nature of the physical world.
Despite all the above, we shouldn’t get too fixated on the prefixes “applied” and “pure”; at least not when we take into account the history of mathematics. Wilder himself wrote:
“[W]hat is considered ‘applied’ mathematics today may… become ‘pure’ mathematics tomorrow. And, at any given moment in time, there is no clear distinction between what is ‘pure’ and what is ‘applied’. Even the ‘purest’ of mathematics may suddenly find ‘application’.”
Wilder then cited some further examples in the following:
“A problem of great importance to an electrical industry, which had failed of solution by its own engineers, has been solved by using methods of set-theoretic topology. Topics in matrix theory, topology, and set theory have been applied to production and distribution problems; abstract concepts of modern algebra find application in electronics; and mathematical logic is applied to the theory of automata and computing machines.”
To state the obvious. It can be seen from the above that mathematics — in its many forms — has had many technological applications. Nonetheless, these applications were often not apparent to either the mathematicians themselves or to anyone else at the time the various mathematical areas were created. (A layperson may now wonder how set theory crosses over “to production and distribution problems” or how modern algebra crosses over into electronics.)
Let me add an extra philosophical point here.
Mathematics can’t contradict the world. It can only confirm its basic (as it were) form. (Just as Wittgenstein’s logic — in hisTractatus — attempted to capture “the form of the world”.) More accurately, mathematics can’t contradict the world; though elements of mathematics may not have any role when it comes to describing the world — at least not at present! To cite Roger Penrose again, he gives various actual examples of this:
“Cantor’s theory of the infinite is one noteworthy example [] extraordinary little of it seems to have relevance to the workings of the physical world as we know it. [See the discussion of singularities at the very end of this piece.] The same issue arises in relation to [] Gödel’s famous incompleteness theorem. Also, there are the wide-ranging and deep ideas of category theory that have yet seen rather little connection with physics.”
“most mathematicians of prominence concur in the doctrine that modern algebraic and geometric theories are true only in the sense that they are logical consequences of the axioms that form their bases”.
Did Wilder mean that these mathematical theories aren’t — strictly speaking — true? Or did he mean that the theorems (or propositions) found within modern algebra and geometry aren’t — strictly speaking — true? In other words, perhaps mathematical theories aren’t true in the same way in which individual theorems (or propositions) are true. Alternatively, perhaps neither mathematical theories nor individual theorems can be taken to be true.
According to Wilder, what make things true in mathematics is that they’re the “logical consequences of the axioms that form their bases”. Clearly other philosophical notions of truth (such as the correspondence theory) aren’t applicable to things which are true simply because they’re the logical consequences of particular axioms. (This is partly why the — late — Wittgenstein preferred the word “correct” rather than the word “true” — see here.) In any case, Wilder definitely denied the honorific true to Euclidean and non-Euclidean geometries. He wrote:
“No mathematicians who is familiar with the modern situation in mathematics will argue for the ‘truth’ of either Euclidean or non-Euclidean geometry, for example.”
However, Wilder did make an exception to this when he continued with these words:
“But in the case of those parts of mathematics that depend on the natural number system and its extensions, as well as on logical derivation therefrom — and this ultimately includes a good part of mathematics — there are those who argue for the absolute character of their conclusions.”
As stated, Wilder didn’t use the word “true” (or “truth”) in this context. He talked, instead, of the
“absolute character of [the] conclusions of the natural number system and its extensions”.
One must now ask what the vital difference is between Euclidean, non-Euclidean geometry, algebra and geometry and what Wilder calls “the natural number system and its extensions”. It seems (though Wilder didn’t say this explicitly) that truth is relevant for the natural number system and its extensions.
Mathematics & Reality
R.L. Wilder also discussed mathematical constructivism within these contexts. This movement is very relevant when it comes to discussing the relation between mathematics and the world.
The ironic thing about mathematical constructivism is that it doesn’t (or didn’t) believe that mathematics must abide by the (as it were) dictates of reality. Instead, it sees mathematics as being free to journey wherever it likes. According to Wilder, this is because mathematics is a human construction and each mathematical concept is itself an individual mental construction.
Wilder saw the rise of this new mathematical freedom in the context of developments which came to fruition in the 19th century. He wrote:
“Following the 19th century developments, the mathematical world came to feel that it was no longer restrained by the world of reality, but that it could create mathematical concepts without the restrictions that might be imposed by either the world of experience or an ideal world to whose nature one was committed to limited discoveries.”
Wilder then put the pure mathematician’s position when he continued with these words:
“One is reminded of the mathematician who, disgusted by the uses to which a backward and laggard world was putting scientific concepts, explained, ‘Thank God that there is no danger of my work ever being put to practical use!’ He was giving expression to that kind of ‘freedom’ that the mathematical world came to feel during the past century.”
This freedom from “the world of experience” (or from physical reality) may make one think in terms of a Platonic conception of mathematics. That said, if one is a Platonist, then one must be equally committed to Plato’s ideal world. Yet this is also a world and it too must inevitably “limit [one’s] discoveries”. So it’s no wonder that that the Platonic conception of mathematics is implicitly — or even explicitly — committed to a correspondence theory of truth for both numbers and equations. That is, mathematicians must be both committed to — and make their numbers and equations correspond to — the abstract mathematical entities in Plato’s ideal world. And surely this is just as much of a limitation as making one’s mathematics abide by the dictates of physical reality (or the dictates of experience).
It was no surprise, then, that somemathematicians (or at least some metamathematicians or philosophers of mathematics) rejected the infinite. They did so because they emphasised the point that there are no actual infinities in the physical world (or in the world of experience). Indeed, in the 20th century, it was seen that the laws of physics“break down”when it came to the ostensible infinities found at black holes and other singularities. (This occurs when mass is believed to have an infinite density or when spacetime has an infinite curvature.) More clearly, the ostensible infinities of physical singularities are the mathematical result of problematic and incomplete physical theories.
I always had a problem with the term “meaningless” as it was used by the logical positivists in the 1920s, 1930s, and 1940s. My problem existed even though I sympathised with (some of) the spirit of logical positivism. (I still do.) It seemed to me that classing statements as “meaningless” is problematic and somewhat pompous. And even when I came to realise that the word “meaningless” had a highly-technical meaning, I still found it suspect.
Still, once the details are out of the way, it can be seen that the use of word “meaningless” is not as problematic as it initially sounds.
“The metaphysician tells us that empirical truth-conditions [for metaphysical terms such as ‘the absolute’] cannot be specified; if he asserts that nonetheless he ‘means’ something, we show that this is merely an allusion to associated words and feelings, which however, do not bestow a meaning.”
It’s certainly the case that there’s something stipulationary about the passage above.
For a start, there are clearly no “truth-conditions” for countless acceptable statements in the English language (as well as in all languages). That said, the logical positivists only had certain statements in mind. That is, they weren’t referring to exclamations like “Shut that door!” or even value judgments like “Mozart’s 40th Symphony is a great piece of music”. They were referring to what some philosophers call assertoric statements — i.e., those statements which are (seemingly) capable of being either true or false. Thus the positivists argued that such suspect statements assert nothing. That is, they can be neither true nor false. Yet such statements still gave the (as it were) impression of being acceptable statements.
Carnap himself stressed the importance of what he called “empirical truth-conditions”. Such things alone can’t supply the meaning of any statement or sentence. For a start, individual words don’t have truth-conditions. And, arguably, if some of the individual words which make up a statement don’t have truth-conditions (or, more correctly, referents orextensions), then the entire sentence can’t have a truth-condition either.
In any case, Carnap was saying that if a sentence doesn’t have an empirical truth-condition (or an empirical truth-condition that “cannot be specified”), then it can’t have a meaning. Thus empirical truth-conditions were tied to meaning.
It’s also worth noting here that, at one point in his career, Ludwig Wittgenstein expressed virtually the same position as Carnap when he wrote the following words in 1929 (i.e., some three years before Carnap expressed his own position):
“The other conception, the one I want to hold, says, ‘No, if I can never verify the sense of a proposition completely, then I cannot have mean anything by the proposition either. Then the proposition signifies nothing whatsoever. In order to determine the sense of a proposition, I should have to know a very specific procedure for when to count the proposition as verified.”
This is odd really when taken within the context of the hard work the Wittgenstein Interpretation Industry has carried out earnestly attempting to distance Wittgenstein (or at least the Wittgenstein of this particular period) from the logical positivists. Such people are also very keen to stress that the logical positivists didn’t (truly) understand Wittgenstein’s work. However, if we take Wittgenstein’s words above alone (or as they stand), then they almost perfectly square with Carnap’s position.
If we return to Carnap himself.
Carnap also mentioned “associated words and feelings” in the passage above.
Does it follow that because there are associated words and feelings (as it were) attached to a statement, that it can’t also have empirical truth-conditions? That may be the case if the given statement has only associated words and feelings attached to it. But why can’t those associated words indirectly (as it were) supply the empirical truth-conditions?
For example, the statement “God is good” may not have any empirical truth-conditions. However, the words — and arguments — associated with it may well do so. The problem then would be that the statement isn’t taken as it is. That is, we’d need to decipher which other words — and arguments — are associated with it. Having said that, isn’t that also the case with virtually all other statements in a natural langue? In other words, are any statements genuinely freestanding?
And why can’t “feelings” also “bestow a meaning” on a statement?
What I mean by that is this.
What if those feelings are given a linguistic (or verbal) expression? In other words, feelings alone can’t have meanings. However, the sentences which express those feelings may have meanings. Indeed feelings are — at least partly — empirical (i.e., behaviour and physical) phenomena even if they’re not truth-conditions in themselves. This means that if someone says “God is good”, then the feelings associated with that statement can be expressed in words and those words may have meanings. In addition, words can be used to explain why these feelings gave rise to the expression “God is good”. And those words, in turn, may have meanings. Again, the problem here is that we’re moving further and further away from the bare statement “God is good” — even though it’s theempirical truth-conditionsof that statement which we’re supposed to be considering (i.e., not the truth-conditions of “associated” words or statements).
To state what may be obvious: the logical positivists didn’t mean ungrammatical by “meaningless”. Indeed the supposedly meaningless statements they had in mind were perfectly grammatical. Moreover, the perfectly-acceptable grammatical form of these statements was what made them problematic in the first place (at least in part). In addition, it was usually only philosophical (or “metaphysical”) statements which the logical positivists had their eyes on.
So if someone writes (or says) “Cat colours when they are at it bad”, then that’s clearly meaningless. However, the statement “God is perfectly good” is grammatically acceptable. And that (again) is precisely why the logical positivists had a serious problem with it. This means that they believed that many people were (to use Wittgenstein’s words) “misled by the grammar” of such statements.
That said, problems with this logical-positivist position were quickly spotted.
“One may disagree as to the truth-value of the proposition ‘Pegasus exists’ but one would have to have attained an exceptionally high degree of sophistication to content that the expression was meaningless.”
“Quine does not think that empty noun-expressions are meaningless just because they do not designate anything. He allows for the use of such words as ‘Pegasus’, ‘Cerberus’, ‘centaur’, etc…”
As can be seen, the words above are actually about W.V.O.Quine’s philosophical position on the the status of “empty noun-expressions” (or non-referring proper names). That said, they’re still perfectly apt for this discussion. Quine himself, however, was never a logical positivist — not even when young. Yet he was indeed influenced by logical positivism and he even attended sessions of the Vienna Circle (see here).
In this specific example, Lejewski (at the very least) disentangled truth from meaning (i.e., without also denying that they’re strongly related to each other).
Put at its most basic: it may seem that the logical positivists — and many others — simply meant false when they used the word “meaningless”. So because they deemed the sentence (say) “God is omnipotent” to be false, then they also deemed it to be meaningless. That is, that statement ismeaningless because it is false. But that’s an obvious conflation. In other words, it is false to claim that a false statement must also be meaningless. Indeed even the sentence “The Hobbit is six-miles tall” isn’t meaningless.
It’s not just that the logical positivists — and others — deemed a given statement p to be meaningless because it is false. They also deemed p to be meaningless because their philosophical (or semantic) position — alone — rendered it meaningless. This meant that the statement “God is omnipotent” (or “Pegasus exists”) was only meaningless to someone who’d already adopted a philosophical (or semantic) position that displays (to use Lejewski’s words) “an exceptionally high degree of sophistication”. To put that simply: if a person had no idea whatsoever about the exceptionally-sophisticated philosophical (or semantic) position of the logical positivists, then there was no reason on earth why he should have believed that the statement “Pegasus exists” (or “God exists”) is meaningless. False…perhaps. Meaningless… absolutely not!
In specific reference to Quine’s case (as commented on by Czesław Lejewski).
Empty noun-expressions within a statement don’t render that statement meaningless. They may render it false. However, even that claim is problematic when it comes to statements about fictional characters and situations. As Lejewski himself hints, it’s possible that even statements about fictional characters and situations may be deemed true if they correctly abide by the pre-existing fiction about those characters and situations. (This is another issue entirely!) The relevant point here is that statements about Pegasus (or God) aren’t automatically meaningless simply because there’s never been such a thing as Pegasus (or God) outside of mythology (or religion).
Let’s go back further than the logical positivists of the 1930s. I’ll do so because it can be seen that some of their views (at least in a variant form) had a history dating back to 1918 and probably before that.
Russell — in his 1918 paper ‘Existence and Description’ — believed that in order for names to be (genuine) names, then they must name — or refer to — things which exist. Thus Russell’s theory was an attempt to solve that problem by arguing that if a named x doesn’t exist (or have being), then that name of that given x must be a“disguised description”. (In the case of the name “Pegasus”, the description could be “the fictional horse which has such and such characteristics”.)
Now take this remarkable passage from the aforementioned paper:
“The fact that you can discuss the proposition ‘God exists’ is a proof that ‘God’, as used in that proposition, is a description not a name. If ‘God’ were a name, no question as to existence could arise.”
Personally, I don’t have much time for Russell’s argument above. It seems to have the character of a philosophical stipulation — as with the logical positivists’ use of the word “meaningless”! It’s primary purpose is logical and philosophical. At the time Russell was reacting to the “ontological slums” (as Quine later put it) of the Austrian philosopher Alexius Meinong (1853–1920). However, this semantic philosophy (as stated) simply seems like a stipulation (or a normative position) designed to solve various perennial philosophical problems.
As for Quine, he had no problem at all with the naming of non-beings or non-existents (though non-being and non-existence aren’t the same thing). In his 1948 paper, ‘On What There Is’, he dismissed Bertrand Russell’s position. Quine, however, put Russell’s words in the mouth of McX and used the name “Pegasus” rather than the name “God”. Quine wrote:
“He confused the alleged named object Pegasus with the meaning of the word ‘Pegasus’, therefore concluding that Pegasus must be in order that the word have meaning.”
So to sum up: a name — like a statement — can have a “meaning” (or, more accurately, “sense”) without it referring to something which exists (or even something which has being). Quine thus untied meaning from reference; whereas Russell only thought in terms of reference (or, at the least, he tied meaning to reference).
By “empirical truth-conditions” the logical positivists (or at least Carnap) meant that which we experience — or can experience — with our senses.
The problem here is the often-commented-upon one of logical positivism’s self-referential self-destruction (which is a mouthful). The American philosopher Peter van Inwagen, for example, puts the point perfectly. Firstly he expresses the logical positivists’ general position:
“The meaning of a statement consists entirely in the predictions it makes about possible experience.”
And then van Inwagen gleefully notes its self-referential flaws:
“Does this statement make any predictions about possible experiences? Could some observation show that this statement is true?… It would seem not… And, therefore, if the statement is true it is meaningless; or, what is the same thing, if it is meaningful, it is false.”
The problem with van Inwagen’s analysis is that although many logical positivists might have accepted the statement “The meaning of a statement consists entirely in the predictions it makes about possible experience”, what van Inwagen says about this statement may still not be the case. Logical positivist might have taken the statement — indeed some did! — as a second-order (or a meta) statement. Either that or as a principle (normative or otherwise). In other words,
“The meaning of a statement consists entirely in the predictions it makes about possible experience”
is a statement about a statement, not a metaphysical statement. That is, it’s not a statement about the nature of the world: it’s a statement about a statement about the world. Another way of putting that is to say that it’s an epistemological take on a statement about the world.
The failure to make this kind of distinction is summed up by the science journalist John Horgan when he recalled an interview with Karl Popper. Firstly Horgan quotes Popper. He writes:
“[]‘The first thing you do in a philosophy seminar when somebody proposes an idea is to say it doesn’t satisfy its own criteria. It is one of the most idiotic criticisms one can image!’[].”
Then Horgan adds his own take:
“Falsification itself is ‘decidedly unempirical’; it belongs not to science but to philosophy, or ‘metascience’, and it does not apply to all science. Popper was admitting… that his critics were right: falsification is a mere guideline, a rule of thumb, sometimes helpful and sometimes not.”
Having said all that, we can now return to Carnap’s own words and apply what’s just been said to them.
Specifically, what sensory experiences (as it were) belong to the following statement?-
What the metaphysician states is merely an allusion to associated words and feelings, which, however, do not bestow a meaning.
Did the logical positivists experience (with their senses) a metaphysician alluding to “associated words and feelings” when he stated something? The logical positivists might well have experienced the metaphysician’s words if he had verbally expressed— or written — the fact that his own words were associated with various other words and feelings. However, what if the metaphysician didn’t do so? If the metaphysician didn’t do so, then the logical positivists weren’t relying exclusively on their own sensory experiences (or on empirical truth-conditions) to state what they stated. In fact they might not really have had any (empirical) idea that the metaphysician was doing any of the things they were (as it were) accusing him of.
In addition, did the logical positivists experience the “bestow[ing] of meaning” on statements? Does the act (if that’s what it is) of bestowing meaning itself have empirical truth-conditions? Indeed even if the logical positivists were correct when they stated that meaning is tied to empirical truth-conditions, is that tie itself empirical? Did the logical positivists experience that tie with their senses? More pedantically, does the word “meaning” have a referent or an extension?
We can also accept the Frege’s context principle is which a word only has a (semantic) place within a sentence. But even then we can still ask what legitimacy the word “meaning” has from an logical positivist point of view.
To change tack.
Is a word, concept or statement automatically“pseudo” if it “asserts nothing”? This might of course be a circular argument. That is, if a word, concept or statement didn’t abide by the rules of logical positivism, then, by definition, logical positivists will have deemed it to be a pseudo word, concept or statement. But no one was ever required to accept the rules of logical positivism. And even if they were required to do so, wasn’t the word “pseudo” — like “meaningless” — still a little rhetorical?