Monday, 28 July 2025

Problems With the Faithful Disciples of Wittgenstein

This essay will concentrate on a paper written by the English-American philosopher Gordon Park Baker. He is (or was) an influential Wittgensteinian. And, like most Wittgensteinians, he seemed to believe that almost everyone else “gets Wittgenstein wrong”. Indeed, Baker dismissed all the well-known “interpretations” of the Austrian philosopher. That said, his paper is interesting, and it covers a lot of ground. He also focuses on the nature of philosophy itself, as Wittgenstein himself did.

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“[I]t seemed to us that misinterpretations of passages in the Investigations were so extensive that it would be worth trying to write a detailed analytical commentary. [ ] We talked endlessly about what we had found in Wittgenstein’s manuscripts and typescripts, and debated how it should be understood.”

— P.M. Hacker discussing his work with G.P. Baker. [See source here.]

Typically for a WittgensteinianGordon Park Baker runs through a long list of the ideas of Ludwig Wittgenstein which many people regard as being characteristic of his views, positions and work. However, according to Baker, it’s all “caricature”! To quote Baker directly:

“According to this influential interpretation, we should constantly remind ourselves that words are extraordinarily vague and flexible in meaning, that the patterns for their correct use are always more or less indeterminate, and that there are countless ways of using words and sentences in speech. Natural languages are allegedly chaotic, and therefore Wittgenstein meant to exclude the possibility of constructing a theory of meaning for a natural language. There are only limited opportunities for giving any definite descriptions of concepts, and even when the only legitimate task for a philosopher is still destructive: ‘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 sentences’. Apart from exposing the nonsense of some philosophical pronouncements, one should apparently be content to leave *everything* as it is.

“This interpretation of Wittgenstein’s characterisation of philosophy is a caricature of his conception.”

Gordan Baker’s one-upmanship isn’t really a surprise. Other hard-core Wittgensteinians often say similar things. One wonders, then, what’s left of Wittgenstein once the supposed caricatures are removed. Something “mystical”? Something “unsayable”? Something both mystical and unsayable? Or, more critically, something that only a True Wittgensteinian like G.P. Baker — and P.M. Hacker — would recognise? After all, it was difficult for me personally to find anything left over (i.e., in Baker’s paper) that was distinctively Wittgensteinian and not a caricature.

Wittgenstein’s Metaphilosophy

It’s best to introduce the minutia of Wittgenstein’s philosophy within the context of his metaphilosophy. Or, rather, within the context of Baker’s own metaphilosophy. That’s said because throughout the paper I’ll be concentrating on (φιλοσοφια: εικων και ειδος — ‘Philosophy: Image and Form’) it’s hard to tell whether it’s Baker’s own position being presented, or Wittgenstein’s.

Anyway, Baker wrote the following words about philosophy:

“It has no distinctive subject-matter: there are no indispensable philosophical concepts and no body of philosophical truths. [ ] Similarly, *there are no indispensable philosophical methods and none that are sacrosanct*. Any procedure may be appropriate, even questions, jokes, metaphors, or imaginative invention. Philosophy cannot be ranked alongside the sciences, or above or below them.”

Although many philosophers and laypeople would agree that one can philosophise about any subject-matter whatsoever, they’d still argue that philosophy does have “distinctive subject-matter[s]” (such as metaphysics, epistemology, mind, ethics, etc.). In addition, such philosophers wouldn’t necessarily like to think in terms of “indispensable philosophical concepts”. That’s because the word “indispensable” has an almost modal quality to it. As for “philosophical truths”, it’s hard to say. One would presume that Baker believes they’re dispensable too. However, philosophers with an historical awareness would be careful here — even if they most certainly aren’t Wittgensteinians.

Wittgenstein did once say that it would be interesting to compose an entire work of philosophy made up of jokes. (Jacques Derrida said something similar.) In his own words (although this quote is disputed):

“A serious and good philosophical work could be written consisting entirely of jokes.”

There’s no strong reason to be against this idea. That said, it’s hard to know what it means and how it could be done. Moreover, some commentators have argued that Wittgenstein was taking the piss in most of his works anyway. (The same has been said about, yes, Derrida.) Indeed, recently, a George Weeks responded to one of my articles on Wittgenstein by telling me that “[o]ne of my philosophy professors in undergraduate school, thought that Wittgenstein was putting us all on”.

Perhaps the last sentence in the passage above is one of the most characteristic of Wittgenstein’s positions: “Philosophy cannot be ranked alongside the sciences, or above or below them.” This position was held, arguably, in both the Tractatus period and in the Philosophical Investigations. Wittgenstein certainly believed that philosophy is (to use a less judgemental word than “above” or “below”) outside science, and therefore not part of science. During the 1920s, Wittgenstein believed that the philosopher’s job (or one of them) was to dig deeply into scientific propositions in order to see what he can find. In the later work, Wittgenstein didn’t concern himself much with any of the sciences — save, perhaps, psychology. (He retained an interest in mathematics.) He was more interested in the mistakes that philosophers have made, and still make. So, despite Wittgenstein’s “piecemeal approach”, there was always a metaphilosophical strain in all his work. (The word “metaphilosophy” wasn’t used in Wittgenstein’s day.)

Wittgenstein was (to use the melodramatic term) “anti-philosophy” during his Tractatus period and for a long time after that. According to Baker’s Wittgenstein at least, Wittgenstein wasn’t really doing “theory” or offering “theses” because his true enterprise was a series of “attempts simply to clarify the logical syntax of language”. Thus, this wasn’t philosophical creation: it was the philosophical/logical analysis of language. That is, it was an analysis of the language that all philosophical expressions have been, and must be, expressed in. That means that there’s no expositions of idealism, realism, mind-body dualism, etc. here, but simply an analysis of the language in which all these philosophical positions are expressed. This is a metaphilosophical (or metalinguistic) enterprise. All this also meant that, according to Baker’s Wittgenstein,

“the statements of everyday language are in perfect logical order, immune to rectification or modification in the light of philosophical theorising”.

Wittgenstein, Baker and Frege

One can sympathise with late Wittgenstein’s problem with Gottlob Frege’s semantics. After all, Frege believed that “the reference of a sentence is the True or the False”. So Baker understandably asks his readers if Frege “arrive[d] at the idea [ ] by reflecting on the use of the words ‘true’ and ‘false’”. Or, instead, did he “conclude that facts are true thoughts by careful examination of the concept of a fact”? Intuitively, Frege’s positions are astonishing — on par with the crazy metaphysics (such as Meinong’s) that analytic philosophers reacted against in the early 20th century. Frege’s semantics is crazy because it’s essentially stipulative in nature. (Just as Bertrand Russell’s idea that a proper name must refer to an existent or real entity.) To go all Wittgensteinian for a moment, one doesn’t discover what the True and the False are by journeying into the platonic ether and discovering them. Instead, one “reflect[s] on the use” of the words “true”, “false” and “fact”. The problem here, however, is that no conclusion about these words (or concepts) will ever be decisive simply because they’re embedded in “language games”, practices, customs, and “forms of life”.

Baker makes clear that Wittgenstein reacted just as much against Frege and Russell than he did against his own Tractatus. That said, it’s of course the case that the Tractatus owes a lot to the work of Frege. More relevantly, Frege epitomised a way of philosophising which Wittgenstein strongly reacted against in his later works. And there’s a passage from Baker that clarifies this certain style of philosophising very well when he wrote the following:

“In his view, no language-user had known the senses or the references of numerals or of the predicate ‘number’ until he revealed them.”

What about adverbs, rather than numerals? -

“[T]he suspicion is that puzzlement is the product of prior commitment to a philosophical theory. Adverbs do not fit neatly into first-order quantification theory: we have faith that this system of logic must really be sufficient to account for all valid arguments. But why elevate this recalcitrance of adverbs to fit our preconceptions about logic into the allegation that we do not *understand* the role of adverbs in language? It is predetermined by the question, what would count as understanding.”

In terms of the first passage, the senses or the references of numerals, etc. were deemed to be hidden. Yet Wittgenstein later held the position that “nothing is hidden”.

Oddly enough, it’s hard to understand the phrase “know[] the senses or the references of numerals”. What is it to know these things? Was it mathematicians or philosophers who didn’t know these things? Both? It seems that it was both, or at least Baker tells us that “[i]n his view, no language-user had known…” Clearly, not knowing these things doesn’t matter to either mathematicians or laypeople. They still use numerals and practice mathematics.

How did Frege himself know what the true references or the senses of numerals were? How could this be established? Through logical analysis? So how did Frege’s logical analyses take him to numbers as they truly are?

As for adverbs, here’s where “theory” is mentioned. Baker makes it seem as if philosophers tried to fit the round shape of adverbs into the square holes of their “system[s] of logic”. That is, philosophers upheld systems of logic, and they were intent on making adverbs — and much else — fit into them.

Theory vs Descriptions

The phrase “nothing is hidden” is a generalisation, and Wittgensteinians often tell us that Wittgenstein didn’t like generalisations. Many people, not just explicit Wittgensteinians, also tell us that Wittgenstein was against theory. Baker doesn’t seem to buy this. Or, at the least, he raises the possibility that Wittgenstein often generalised in the following passage:

“Although he officially eschewed explanations and encouraged detailed descriptions of differences, his later writings are peppered with important generalisations. He claimed, for example, that inner states stand in need of outward criteria, that the meaning of a word is its use in a language [ ].”

As for theory, Baker continued:

“This might seem to be merely an extension of the practice evident in the Tractatus, for there his views about the descriptive task and prophylactic nature of philosophy did not prevent his constructing a complex and sophisticated theory about the essential nature of any possible language.”

Baker’s final comments on these issues are very direct:

“These observations leave open a range of unflattering conclusions. Did [Wittgenstein] stigmatise others’ pronouncements as theories and label his own ‘descriptions’ solely on the grounds that his were (true) grammatical propositions whereas theirs were not? Or did he fail to practise what he preached? Or were his remarks on philosophy disingenuous — a smokescreen to hide his own theory-building?”

Again, many Wittgensteins, and those who’ve simply sniffed a bit of Wittgenstein, say that “Wittgenstein was against theory”, or that he “wasn’t saying anything”, and I, personally, have never really understood what such phrases mean. Indeed, even when I’ve looked into this issue, it was still not clear to me.

If we’re specific, and pick up on Baker’s opposition between “theories” and “descriptions”, we can see that descriptions do have an almost empiricist ring to them, and that would give them a non-theoretical flavour too. However, why was Wittgenstein describing anything at all, or citing his particular examples? What motivated his selections of things to describe? Perhaps here’s where the theory hides. That is, perhaps there was a theoretical reason why Wittgenstein described the things he described. His carefully chosen examples, too, might have been chosen because there was something he wanted to say. Moreover, what he wanted to say was obviously over and above the descriptions and examples. Indeed, it may even be the case that the descriptions and examples themselves tacitly contain theory.

Baker put the supposedly anti-theory position of Wittgenstein in a later passage when he told his readers that “philosophy consists in purpose-relative clarification of grammar”. Here again it can be asked why on earth Wittgenstein would have wanted to clarify anything at all if it weren’t for prior theoretical (or at least philosophical) motivations which themselves couldn’t have had anything to do with clarifications. Whether or not these prior motivations were examples of Wittgenstein’s theoretical views depends on how we read the word “theory”. Yet it’s still the case that his clarifications of “grammar” aren’t pure and innocent. Indeed, doesn’t one’s conception of grammar itself arise from theory? Even if nothing is hidden when it comes to grammar, that doesn’t also mean that there are no concerns, motivations and even theories “behind” the analyses.

Tuesday, 22 July 2025

A Few Problems with the “Magic” of Emergence and Supervenience

It’s been argued that the concepts of supervenience and emergence lack “explanatory power”. They’ve even been classed as “magic” (e.g., by Mark A. Bedau). It’s certainly the case that they’re problematic. However, perhaps they’re no more problematic than many of the other options in the philosophy of mind. This piece focuses on some problems, as particularly seen through the philosophy-of-mind positions adopted by the philosophers John Searle and Jaegwon Kim.

[All the quotes in the following are taken from John Searle’s The Rediscovery of the Mind.]

Those who believe in emergence, whether of the mind/consciousness or anything else, don’t escape from the physical. Hence the actual terms “emergence” and “supervenience”: i.e., emerge from the physical, and supervene on the physical.

Although emergence and supervenience may be viewed as “magic”, the emergent phenomenon is still regarded as being utterly dependent on the physical. Mind-body dualism, on the other hand, has it that the substance that is mind is independent of the physical. That means that one of its biggest problems is that it must account for the interaction between the physical and the non-physical. That said, the emergentist must also account for the emergent property even if it is utterly dependent on the physical. In other words, simply arguing that the emergent phenomenon is “dependent on the physical” doesn’t really tell us what kind of relation the one has to the other. After all, the emergent phenomenon usually bears little relation to the physical elements that give rise to it.

In detail. The American philosopher John Searle gives a technical account of supervenience in the following passage:

“Intuitively, what is meant by the claim is that mental states are totally dependent on corresponding neurophysiological states in the sense that a difference in mental states would necessarily involve a corresponding difference in neurophysiological states.”

So even if this exact parallelism (although this isn’t parallelism in its historical garb — see here) shows us that mental states are “totally dependent on corresponding neurophysiological states”, and changes in the physical bring about changes in the mental, that still doesn’t really explain the emergence of mental states or the supervenience of mental states. So, although it isn’t presented as a kind of dualism, perhaps it is.

In very simple terms, then, how do we get from a neurophysiological state to a mental state?

John Searle on Causal Powers

One answer to the questions above is to argue that it’s wrong to think in terms of physical states causing mental states.

For one, it may be assumed that if x causes y, then y must have (to use John Searle’s term) “causal powers” too. y doesn’t need to display causal powers immediately after being caused by x. However, surely it must have causal powers (as it’s often put) “in principle”. In other words, isn’t it difficult to imagine a causal x having a relation to a non-causal y? More relevantly, a causal brain having a relation to a non-causal mental state seems intuitively odd. And, as is well known, the causal nature of mental states is much discussed and controversial.

That is why the philosopher Jaegwon Kim asks questions about epiphenomenalism [see here].

Firstly, Searle puts Kim’s position in the following way:

“[ ] Kim claims that we should not think of the relation of neural events to their supervening mental events as causal, and indeed he claims that supervening mental events have no causal status apart from their supervenience on neurophysiological events that have ‘a more direct causal role’.”

An immediate reaction one may have to that passage is to state that if “the relation of neural events to their supervening mental events” isn’t causal, then perhaps we actually have an identity instead. In other words, if an epiphenomenal y has no (independent) causal role to play, then perhaps that’s because it is x. Now saying that “y is x” still doesn’t tell us why x and y are deemed to be different. More basically, it’s hard to know what the causal relation between x and y is. More relevantly, why is the word “cause” used at all in this particular case?

Searle himself doesn’t have a problem with causation in this respect. He writes:

“It seems to me obvious from everything we know about the brain that macro mental phenomena are all caused by lower-level micro phenomena.”

It’s not obvious what the words “It seems to me obvious” are doing here. Isn’t it the case that even if we knew everything about the brain, any causal relation between the brain and “macro mental phenomenon” still wouldn’t be obvious? What is obvious, however, is that there’s a relation of some kind between the brain and mental phenomena. Indeed, those much-mentioned “mere correlations” between mental states and brain states offer us that. However, is it correct to view these correlations in terms of causation? That said, it’s difficult to think of any alternative to causation in these respects. After all, if the relation between brain states and mental states isn’t a causal one, then what, exactly, is it? So perhaps not even epiphenomenalism escapes from this problem. Moreover, an epiphenomenalist accepts that brain states cause mental states and still argues that mental states are incapable of causing anything.

According to Searle’s take on Kim, the latter argues that “the relation of neural events to their supervening mental events” isn’t causal. Thus, it’s not a case of brain states being causal, and mental states not being causal. It’s a case of not thinking in terms of causality at all. Again, does lead to some kind of identity theory? Alternatively, and as already stated, simply deeming mental states to be supervenient upon brain states doesn’t give us much. What is a supervenient mental state? What is its role and nature?

Downward Causation?

Just to be clear. Searle himself does believe that “mental features” have a causal nature. (An example of downward causation?) He writes:

“[T]he fact that the mental features are supervenient on neuronal features in no way diminishes their causal efficacy. The solidity of the piston is causally supervenient on its molecular structure, but this does not make solidity epiphenomenal; and similarly, the causal supervenience of my present back pain on micro events in my brain does not make the pain epiphenomenal.”

Isn’t the comparison between mental features and the solidity of a piston, and neuronal features and the molecular structure of a piston, just inaccurate? For a start, the molecular structure of a piston constitutes its solidity. Do neuronal features constitute the mental features? In other words, there’s a literal identity between the molecular structure of the piston and the solidity of the piston. Is there a literal identity between neuronal features and mental features? Perhaps there is. However, wouldn’t this make Searle an identity theorist of some kind? Yet he can’t be an identity theorist because he stresses the “causal efficacy” of mental features in distinction to the causal efficacy of neuronal features. An identity theorist, on the other hand, couldn’t argue that “mental features are causally efficacious”, and also that “neuronal features are causally efficacious”, because that would almost amount to a tautology because they’re one and the same thing.

One way around this would be to adopt a position of conceptual dualism and ontological monism (à la Donald Davidson). This means that a given x can be seen under two very different concepts, with the two concepts referring to the same thing. But adopting this position would commit Searle to also believing that mental features have no emergent properties — even though they do fall under concepts which neuronal features don’t fall under. Isn’t it the case, then, that adopting a position of conceptual dualism alongside ontological monism rules out any physical or ontological (rather than conceptual) emergence? In other words, there may well be conceptual “emergence” if that word is used loosely. However, there is still neither physical nor mental emergence.

Wednesday, 16 July 2025

Is Wittgenstein’s Language Games Idea Both Conservative and Relativist?

The word “conservative” is used because if a language game (to quote Ernest Gellner) “constitutes [its] own automatic vindication”, then surely there’s little room to criticise the status quo. In terms of the word “relativism”. Again, if our language game is the “foundation of the legitimacy of our ideas, in morals, science, politics, anywhere”, then that must apply to all other languages games too. What’s more, isn’t this stance a “kind of romantic communalism, a view that the spirit of the community (expressed in its language) is the only foundation one can ever have for the basic principles of one’s activities, whether moral, aesthetic, scientific or any other”?

There’s been quite a debate on whether or not Ludwig Wittgenstein’s concept of “language games” is relativist in nature. Oddly enough, some commentators simply ignore the possible relativist implications of Wittgenstein’s philosophy. It’s as if it would besmirch his name to even bring up the possibility of relativism. The philosopher and social anthropologist Ernest Gellner (1925–1995) picked up on this when he wrote about what he calls “Wittgenstein and his intellectual progeny”. (As found in his paper ‘Three Contemporary Styles of Philosophy’.) In technical terms, one way in which our philosophical problems are “dissolved” (a word that has often been used) is with

“the idea that our verbal custom could be the foundation of the legitimacy of ours ideas, in morals, science, politics, anywhere”.

That position, at least on the surface, certainly has a relativist timbre to it. So it’s not surprising that Gellner saw “our custom [as a] problem and not a solution”. He didn’t mean his or our particular custom. He meant any custom at any time is bound to create philosophical and otherwise problems. (It’s worth noting that Gellner never actually mentioned relativism.)

Gellner cited “morals” in the quote above, and later in his essay he went into more detail. Interestingly, he tied his discussion about language games to John Rawls’s thought experiment about the “veil of ignorance” (which is, in my view, an unexpected link). Gellner wrote:

“Are [the values] chosen in this imaginary situation because they are good values, or are they good values because, by definition, anything chosen in this situation is good? Do you *know* that other people, who are unlike yourself, would also choose them?”

It does seem very odd — or at least very radical — to argue that “verbal custom[s] [are] the foundation of the legitimacy of our ideas, in morals, science, politics, anywhere”. Thus, the Wittgensteinian argument must be that whenever a supposed “problem” does arise, then we must consult verbal customs for an answer. Not only that, once we do that, then we’ll quickly realise that it’s not, in fact, a problem at all.

As already stated, this is a very radical — or extreme — position. It also has clear relativist implications. However, many Wittgensteinians have strongly denied this. Gellner puts the almost-obvious case against this denialism when he wrote the following:

“[T]he morality of any given age may indeed be embodied in its verbal behaviour, but obviously this doesn’t mean that we must uncritically accept the morality of any given age or culture.”

At first sight at least, the Wittgensteinian position seems wrong. So perhaps those Wittgensteinians who deny that Wittgenstein was a relativist are right. Yet many people have indeed held this position or similar ones, whether postmodernists, social constructionists, or whoever. That said, the Wittgensteinians who don’t deny this may now ask the following question:

If the “morality of any given age” is not to be found “in its verbal behaviour” (or “verbal custom”), then where, exactly, is it to be found?

Well, one need to do a lot of philosophising to offer an alternative to this. And it can be argued that Wittgenstein himself didn’t like this kind of philosophising.

Gellner offered his readers a reason why (some?) Wittgensteinians have accepted this relativist position. He argued that such people

“did expressly embrace a kind of romantic communalism, a view that the spirit of the community (expressed in its language) is the only foundation one can ever have for the basic principles of one’s activities, whether moral, aesthetic, scientific or any other”.

Gellner quotes the philosopher Stanley Cavell putting this position in even stronger and simpler terms. In terms of Wittgenstein’s “forms of life” at least, Cavell told his readers that “[h]uman speech and activity, sanity and community, rests upon nothing more, but nothing less, than this”.

Gellner’s words (i.e., above the Cavell quote) come across as if he’s expressing a Heideggerian position — or even a National Socialist (Nazi) one. This is made even clearer in a later passage in which Gellner tells us that language-games theory “has a most exaggerated sense of and respect for cultural systems, their autonomy and incommensurability”. Indeed, such Wittgensteinians “endorse[] and love[] them all”. It also “assumes that [language games] are somehow self-contained and authoritative”. Of course, when you scratch the surface, one often finds that even hardcore self-described relativists (the few that there are) don’t accept at least some “forms of life” or “cultural systems”. (For example, the Nazi form of life, the racist form of life, etc.)

Is the Wittgensteinian point here that philosophers, or anyone else, can never transcend (or rise above) “the spirit of the community (expressed in its language)” in order to formulate (or discover) an alternative position on moral, aesthetic, scientific, etc. problems or issues? After all, such people will be doing their transcending in the language — and even in the “spirit” — of the “community” they’re questioning. That said, there’s nothing inherently contradictory about criticising a language with that language, or criticising a community from within that community.

Gellner puts this language-games position in basic terms when he says that if one accepts it, then one must also accept that “cultures are self-legitimating, and validate the norms of conduct and sanity found within them”. Put in another way, Gellner told us that each language game “interacts with the world only in part referentially, but in the main socially, and each of which constitutes its own automatic vindication”.

Thus, surely languages games would include head-hunting cultures, Nazi culture, etc., just as much as they would include the cultures of Sweden and France in 2025, or the United States in the 1960s. (One can ask here is there’s even such a thing as — in the singular — the culture or the language game of any given country at any given time.)

Where is the World?

In terms of Wittgenstein himself, Gellner tackled Wittgenstein’s (possible?) relativism within the context of him rebelling against his Tractatus position. In simple terms, Gellner sees both the Tractatus position and the language-games position as being equally extreme. Talking about Wittgenstein himself, Geller says that

“[i]t was as if he knew how to do two things only, either observe linguistic custom, or project logic onto the world — and having got tired of the former, there was nothing else to do but return to the latter”.

In response to those words one can even say that, at one point, Wittgenstein — among many other philosophers — wanted “the world” to tell us what to say about it. What’s more, philosophers and everyone else must simply be faithful to “the world’s own logic”. This project is suspect in that, even if philosophers were obedient to the world (or at least tried to be), what was to stop them getting it wrong? Perhaps late Wittgenstein realised that philosophers couldn’t really get the world right or wrong because the world itself isn’t made up of statements and theories which can simply be repeated (or communicated) by diligent philosophers. Thus, the ball was always in the “linguistic custom” corner.

So Where is the world within language-game theory?

Gellner didn’t actually believe that (to quote Richard Rorty) “the world is well lost”. At least not when it comes to, of all technical terms, “reference”. He told us that when it comes to language games, “each of which [ ] interacts with the world only in part referentially”. What of the other parts? Language games “interact with the world [ ] in the main socially, and each of which constitutes its own automatic vindication”. Readers may now wonder why a language game needs to be referential at all. (We’d need to flesh out the notion of reference to answer that question.) Can’t a Wittgensteinian language game be built on fictions, untruths, fantasies or hallucinations? For example, why wouldn’t, say, a Harry Potter language game also “constitute[] its own automatic vindication”?

Reference is said to (quoting Keith Donnellan) “tie us to the world”. So, is (to use Gellner’s example) “the nature of things” the source of that tie? Yet, according to Gellner’s Wittgenstein, the nature of things is also an “artefact[] of customs of linguistic communities”. Moreover, this position is directly linked to another of Wittgenstein’s ideas — “meaning is use”. Thus, “[i]f you want to know what a given expression means, don’t ask what it refers to, ask what it does”. In addition, one must “[e]xplore the social context in which [the expression] operates and the multiform purposes which it serves”.

Earlier, Gellner was quoted arguing that a language game “interacts with the world only in part referentially”. Here that referential part of the equation seems to be eliminated too. Yet isn’t it counterintuitive to eliminate reference entirely when one asks what something means? After all, and to state the obvious, no one asks what a given expression “does”… Perhaps, then, it doesn’t matter if no one asks that because words do things even if the questioner doesn’t look at things that way. Most people, in other words, do have a referential position on many words and meanings — even though they don’t use the word “referential” either. So perhaps a given expression refers to something, and it also does something within a language game. Perhaps it does something precisely because it refers to something. Alternatively put, perhaps a meaning has a use because it’s also tied to a word with a meaning which has a reference. Yet one can easily imagine a Harry Potter language game which doesn’t require reference, at least if reference is deemed to be metaphysically realist in nature. However, even here some philosophers have argued that you can refer (in the technical sense/s of that term) to fictional entities. Thus, if that’s the case, one can see why a language game based on fictions, untruths or fantasies could constitute its own vindication. Still, there seems to be a binary opposition set up between reference and use in all the previous words. As already stated, perhaps reference and use (or reference and “doing things with words”) can — or even must — work together.