Saturday, 2 August 2014

Syntax as a Basis For Language & General Intelligence






Some say that syntax is the basis of both human intelligence and consciousness itself. Others say that language is the basis of both these things. Yet syntax, of course, is the basis of language.

William H. Calvin describes syntax as “structured stuff”. Syntax is essentially about structure or the juggling about of things (as in sentences and words). His examples of “structured stuff” include “multistage contingent planning [whatever that is!], chains of logic, games with arbitrary rules” and so on.

I mentioned language being syntactical earlier. According to Calvin, language “might make a child better able to perform non-language tasks that also need some structuring”.

In other words, the juggling around of words (i.e, language) helps young children juggle other things around, such as literal physical objects. Thus actions using physical objects may be seen syntactically. 

For example, a child will use the same shapes to create different patterns or even to replicate real objects or animals. In this instance, shapes are like words and the final patterns or objects are like sentences.

The syntactical abilities of infants and young children is detailed by William H. Calvin. He chronicles the growing syntactic abilities this way:


i) “In the first year, an infant is busy creating categories for the speech sounds she hears.”

ii) “By the second year, the toddler is busy picking up new words, each composed of a series of phoneme building blocks.”

iii) “In the third year, she starts picking up on those typical combinations of words we call grammar or syntax.”

iv) “She soon graduates to speaking long structured sentences.”

v) “In the fourth year, she infers a patterning to sentences and starts demanding proper endings for her bedtime stories.”

As for i), I'm not entirely sure what Calvin means by “creating categories for the speech sounds she hears”. Does that simply mean recognising who or what is making the speech sounds? That is, one such “category” will be the mother?

Interestingly enough, even though in iii) it is said that the child picks up “what we call grammar or syntax”, it's clear that even before that (in ii)) that the baby has already become a syntax machine in that it is “picking up new words, each composed of a series of phoneme building blocks”. So, in this case, phonemes are juggled around to create new words; just as later words themselves are juggled around to create sentences (or at least proto-sentences). That means that just as phonemes are to words, so words are to sentences – both are equally syntactic. However, it seems possible from iii) that the child combines words without as yet “speaking the long structured sentences” of iv). That is, perhaps words are combined without thereby creating proper or meaningful sentences. This seems to be a kind of syntactic preparation for those later meaningful sentences.

It would seem to follow from all this that if a being doesn't have language, then there'll be lots of other things it can't do. Indeed that may even be true of language-less human beings.

This appears to have been the case when it came to a young boy who was deaf and who never learned a language – not even Sign Language. According to Oliver Sacks (quoted by Calvin), this boy


“seemed completely literal – unable to juggle images or hypotheses or possibilities, unable to enter an imaginative or figurative realm.... He seemed, like an animal, or an infant, to be stuck in the present, to be confined to literal and immediate perception”.

Clearly, juggling images, contemplating hypotheses and possibilities are all syntactical abilities. That is, one can juggle images one has seen in order to create new images. Similarly, known realities or facts can be juggled around to create possibilities or new hypotheses.

What's more, without syntactical skills, a being would also lack imagination and be unable to think figuratively. In the end, “like an animal, or a infant” (i.e., without syntactical thinking), a being would “be stuck in the present and confined to literal and immediate perception”.

As Calvin says, then, when a child gains syntactic skills, it ends up with the situation in which if it “[i]mprove[s] one”, it “improve[s] them all”.

All this syntactical playing or manipulation has its neurological underpinning, of course. The more the syntax engine of the brain is used, the stronger the neuronal connections which underpin such syntactical manipulations become. 

Calvin says that “prenatal connections” are strengthened or weakened “depending partly on how useful a connection has been so far in life”. The other thing is that the neurological underpinning is as it most “plastic” (or responsive) very early in life (which is why psychologists and behavioural scientists emphasis the importance of education in the early years). However, babies and young children are being well “connected” (neuronally) even if they aren't being stimulated (or educated) by their parents. In a certain sense, babies are programmed to learn.

Friday, 1 August 2014

Rationalism in the 17th Century




What, exactly, was so wrong with reason in the post-Enlightenment era?


It can easily be forgotten (especially by postmodernists) that rationalism was - among other things - a rejection of both tradition and authority. However, perhaps it was indeed the case that many rationalists merely wanted to replace such examples of power and authority with their own power and authority. In that case, rationalists would run the new authorities and the new traditions in a rationalist manner.

But both Descartes and Kant later believed that the mind had been held in tutelage by philosophical tradition and religious authority. That’s why Descartes retreated to the silence and loneliness of his private room to analyse his private mind. He wanted to clear his mind of the fluff and nonsense that emanated from the philosophical tradition and the various secular and religious authorities. He wanted to discover the a priori nature of the mind as it is in itself. As it was before it was encumbered with useless information and unsound philosophical theories. He asked himself this:


What is the mind like, and what can it do, when it is stripped bare of all these external excrescences?

Had the/his mind been led up numerous wrong paths simply because it put its faith in tradition and authority? How would it work, what would it think, and how would it reason if it were not only free of tradition and authority; but also free of the lies that the external world tells it?

So if the philosopher truly “stands alone intellectually”, what prizes would he find that hadn't been found before? Not only that: in such a state of philosophical, and perhaps social, isolation, perhaps the individualistic philosopher could discover the true workings of reason. And only after such a discovery could he make “proper use” of reason.

Here were possible solutions to all those Scholastic perennial philosophical problems and also answers to all those unsolved questions. The solution, in part, was to “overcome the tradition” and start afresh. To begin with utterly new foundations that were themselves the result of the purification of the mind of its weighty - though ultimately useless/ pointless - baggage.

Though why should the mind or reason be perfectly attuned to getting such pure and unadulterated knowledge?

Why should the ability to acquire knowledge be presumed to be built into our brains and minds?

Perhaps we don’t need knowledge of this epistemological variety in order to survive. Perhaps we have permanently hard-wired limitations to what we can truly know. Perhaps the essentials of the mind-brain were not built for context-free knowledge; but for survival and the propagation of the human species.

The world’s “true nature” may be forever beyond us. Or perhaps we're wrong to think in terms of the world’s “true nature” in the first place. The world may have many natures each cognised by different human beings in different ways and by different species in different ways. The “cognitive All” may only be available to God himself. And even then it may make little sense to think in such terms.

And wasn’t all this why Descartes’ own mind attempted to effectively play God way back in the 17th century? To Descartes and other rationalists, our reason is essentially God within us. It was His gift to us. We should, therefore, use it wisely and correctly. And, according to Descartes, the way to do that was to dispense with tradition and authority when it comes to philosophising – that is, to the utilisation of reason.

So through reason we contacted God and His works. Or, in certain extreme cases of rationalism, we become God (or at least gods). The pure a priori workings of reason and the mind were necessary and fundamental. The contents of mind or reason, on the other hand, was purely contingent and in many respects quite arbitrary. What we truly need is what God gave us at birth. Not what the world thought fit to give us throughout our lives.

Like Plato and the Platonists, we were going back to the beginning – to arché. Or, in the colloquial, we must get back to the basics of the mind or reason. That is, what is always there and always has been there within the mind; despite its tempestuous relations with the external world.

Keith Donnellan on Causal Reference

This essay is mainly about Keith Donnellan’s paper ‘Speaking of Nothing’, and its defence of a causal theory of reference.

The American philosopher Keith Donnellan (who died in 2015) believed that the statement

“Santa Claus will come tonight.”

isn’t actually a genuine proposition.

Keith Donnellan

In his paper ‘Speaking of Nothing’ (1974), Donnellan asked the following question:

[C]an one even speak and be understood when using a singular expression with no referent?”

However, Donnellan did accept this paraphrase:

“According to the legend, Santa Claus will come tonight.”

Donnellan deemed that statement to be true.

So, according to the legend, Santa will come on that night. However, the legend doesn’t also say, “Santa Claus doesn’t actually exist [or he does exist]”.

At an intuitive level, it’s hard to see what Donnellan’s problem was.

The legend itself doesn’t really have any position on Santa’s actual existence…

But so what?

Why does that make a kid’s statement (i.e., “Santa Claus will come tonight.”) not understandable? Indeed, why does it make it non-propositional? Why impose ontological rectitude onto meaning, and the very acceptance of a proposition qua proposition?

What is the connection here?

Isn’t it only the belief that a non-existent is an existent that’s at fault here? However, does that render this statement itself non-propositional?

So readers should focus again on Donnellan’s idea that the sentence “Santa will not come tonight” isn’t a proposition.

Why?

According to Donnellan, a proper name (in this case, “Santa Clause” or “Santa”) must have one of two things:

(1) It must be causally connected to its referent. 
(2) It must have “descriptive content”.

It seems that Donnellan believed that the name “Santa” has neither. That is, if that scare-quoted “name” has no “historical connection” to its referent (which it can’t have because Santa never existed), then the proposition “Santa will come tonight” can’t be a proposition. And it can’t be a proposition because of the problematic proper name.

Yet isn’t it simply a stipulation (or even a diktat) to argue that “Santa will come tonight” isn’t a proposition?…

In logic, however, all propositions must be either true or false.

Philosophical Realism?

The thing which seemed to be motivating Keith Donnellan was his attempt to save philosophical realism. In other words, if we can have a causal theory of reference which evidently excludes names like “Santa”, then we can distinguish real propositions like “Brad Pitt will come tonight” from “Zeus is angry with us”.

[The statement about Brad Pitt is a future contingent, which is also problematic — if for different reasons.]

There’s another realist move in this game.

Donnellan — and many other philosophers (such as Saul Kripke) — argued that proper names shouldn’t rely on being tied to “descriptive content”. They believed that this would give individual minds (as it were) too much power, and direct causal reference less power.

Associating descriptive content with proper names has also been deemed to be idealist by some philosophers. (“Subjective” is a better term than “idealist” in this context.) A causal connection to Brad Pitt (or the “Brad Pitt” relation to Brad Pitt) is concrete. “The rubbish [or great] actor in Hollywood” is subjective, or at least dependent on an individual mind (or on individual minds in the plural). Similarly, the definite description that I’ve personally tied to the name “Santa” may be very different to the one you’ve personally tied to that name.

So what would secure us an identity of reference here when it comes to the names “Santa” and “Brad Pitt”?

Donnellan’s causal theory of reference (which excludes Santa) is the realist’s way of avoiding not just idealism (or, better, subjectivity), but also relativism.

Conventions, conceptual schemes, identifying descriptions, etc. were also deemed to be “subjective” by Donnellan. Causal processes, on the other hand, impose themselves on us. In other words, they tie us firmly to the world.

Bertrand Russell, God and Sherlock Holmes

Bertrand Russell

To finish, let’s now agree with Keith Donnellan’s rejection of Bertrand Russell’s view on this matter.

Donnellan argued that the statement

“God does not exist.”

isn’t an abbreviation for Russell’s

“There is no entity such that…”

So why does “failure of a complex reference simply make a proposition false”?

What is a failure of reference?

For example, can’t we refer to something non-spatiotemporal?

Indeed is, say, Santa or Sherlock Holmes really a non-spatiotemporal entity at all?

Perhaps we can say that Santa or Holmes exists in minds, on the page, in letters, on the screen, in pictures, etc. All these are spatiotemporal things.

However, aren’t these examples simply representations of Santa and Holmes?

That would be the case if he were something other than Santa’s or Holmes’s representations.

In any case, in the works of Conan Doyle, Holmes is meant to be… Holmes: he isn’t a representation of Holmes.

So reference needn’t be to something that’s spatiotemporal in the strict sense of Holmes being made of flesh and blood…

We refer to numbers after all.

We refer to the number 2. The number 2 isn’t concrete. It isn’t (on most readings) spatiotemporal .

So is a negative statement like “John is not here” a reference to something spatiotemporal?

Well, in one sense, yes.

Part of the referent is the space not filled by John. In addition, even though John is not there, John himself is still a spatiotemporal entity.

What about the non-spatiotemporal nature of historical facts?

Can we simply say here that at on point historical events were spatiotemporal? So historical facts are parasitical on these past spatiotemporal events.

Peter Strawson on Statements About God

P.F. Strawson

Now take Peter Strawson’s position.

According to Strawson, the statement

“God is in heaven.”

is neither true nor false, because Strawson deemed the statement

“There exists something which is God.”

to be false.

Thus, the statement “God is in heaven” must be neither true nor false because there’s no God to be in heaven… or to be anywhere else. Of course, the statement “There exists something which is God” is making a claim about existence, not about the whereabouts of an existent.

Thus, according to Strawson’s atheistic ontology, the sentence “God is in heaven” is plainly suspect. How can it be true that “God is in heaven” when (it is supposed that) there is no God? Yet how can it be false that “God is in Heaven” for exactly the same reason?

On this picture, then, the subject, God, doesn’t exist. Thus, the predicate phrase, “is in Heaven”, can be neither true nor false of the subject term.

Yet perhaps we can still say that the statement “God is in heaven” is false without indulging in (or adding) existence-claims. If it’s false that there is God (and heaven), then it’s also false that God is in heaven. Thus, the whole statement is false. Or, rather, you can say it’s false (or true) because of one’s prior position on God’s existence. However, you shouldn’t thereby deny its status as a proposition.

If we do deny the propositional status of “God is in heaven”, then perhaps we can also call that sentence meaningless! Indeed, roughly speaking, this was the position of some logical positivists in the 1930s and 1940s. [See my ‘The Logical Positivists’ Use of the Word “Meaningless”: A Retrospective’.]

Yet we can’t allow this for the simple reason that the statement “God is in heaven” isn’t meaningless! It may well be philosophically problematic. However, the statement clearly isn’t without meaning.



Thursday, 31 July 2014

Robert R. Provine's Neo-Behaviourism?



This short essay isn’t really about laughing. It’s about behaviourist explanations of all sorts of different human actions. It’s just that Robert R. Provine is an expert on laughing and he chose that phenomenon to concentrate on.

Is Spontaneous Laugher an Argument for Behaviourism?

Robert R. Provine

Neurobiologist and professor of psychology Robert R. Provine argues — no doubt correctly - that laughing isn’t under our control. However, he concludes that our explanations for why we laugh are “usually wrong”. He even describes them as “confabulations”. Or as “honest but flawed attempts to explain one’s actions”.

That seems to be a false conclusion.

Surely if someone says something funny, and I laugh at it, then even if my laughter is automatic (i.e., not under my consciousness control), then it still doesn’t follow from this that my saying that his joke caused me to laugh is false. Why can’t my automatic response be explained as a reaction to the joke - even if it is automatic?

Is Provine’s position a resurrection of radical behaviourism?

Again, Provine may be correct to argue that “subjects incorrectly presume that laughing is a choice under conscious control”. Sure. However, why does that also mean that saying that I laughed because “she did something funny” (Provine’s example) is a “confabulation”? The laugher was automatic; yet still a response to this person saying something funny.

So because laughing is automatic, Provine concludes that we can’t give a true reason for our laughing. Does that simply mean that we don’t know the unconscious neurobiology (Provine’s other expertise), brain mechanisms, etc. which subserve our laughing (more of which in a moment)?

One other reason Provine gives for this is that when people are asked “to laugh on command, most subjects couldn’t do so”. We can accept that possibility too. Nonetheless, why does it follow from this that our giving a reason for laughing is a confabulation? The joke made us laugh; yet the laughing wasn’t under our control. So?

Neo-Behaviourism?

All this boils down to Provine emphasising unconscious (brain) mechanisms.

Perhaps Provine isn’t a behaviourist. So he’s no doubt correct to argue that “we vastly overestimate the amount of time we are aware of our actions”. However, none of that should lead us to accept his thesis that our reasons for laughing are false. That simply doesn’t follow.

Now it can be provisionally accepted that Provine isn’t an old-style behaviourist (or, alternatively, a denier of consciousness) because he happily limits his position to the following claim:

“The argument is not that we lack consciousness but that we overestimate the conscious control of behaviour.”

Yet perhaps the old-style behaviourists (or some of them) just alluded to might have put the situation that way too. They too might have said this:

Consciousness exists, sure; it’s just that it’s not needed in science precisely because we overestimate the conscious control of behaviour.

In other words, when we explain our behaviour (as in the laughing example), we don’t really know what we’re talking about. Only an observer, a third person or a scientist (like Provine) can know the real sources (or causes) of our behaviour.

Consciousness lies.

Then again, if Provine were to say that “consciousness lies”, then that would be a tacit acceptance that consciousness exists. That, therefore, is a step beyond what some old-style behaviourists might have accepted…

Provine also fleshes out his position by offering a classical position on scientific theories.

Provine claims that his own theory (i.e., we don’t know what causes us to laugh or what causes us to do many of the things we do because they’re out of our “conscious control”) “makes the fewest assumptions”. And, as scientists often tell us, simplicity is a virtue in science (see here).

The complex theory, on the other hand, is an example of what Provine calls the “philosopher’s disease” of

“the inappropriate attribution of rational, conscious control over process that may be irrational and unconscious”.

Well well! Provine clearly hasn’t read many 20th and 21st century philosophers. However, he might well have read many pre-20th century philosophers. Yet even in that case, it’s still a generalisation.

For example, I’ve mentioned scientific behaviourism and that some philosophers of the first half of the 20th century were the fiercest adherents of various forms of behaviourism: from Ludwig Wittgenstein (at least at one point in his career) and Gilbert Ryle to the logical positivists. Indeed many philosophers of the second half of the 20th century were behaviourists too. Not only that: even when they weren’t (strictly speaking) behaviourists, some philosophers strongly played down consciousness. Indeed other philosophers rejected it entirely! So, being a psychologist and neuroscientist, Provine clearly hasn’t had the time to read much — or indeed any — 20th and 21st century philosophy.

Provine carries on with his neo-behaviourist theme (if that’s what it is) by arguing that the

“complex social order of bees, ants, and termites documents what can be achieved with little if any conscious control”.

Yes indeed! That said, it depends on what Provine wants his readers to conclude from this (i.e., that laughter doesn’t need “any conscious control”). What about other aspects of what we do take to be conscious action? Are we confabulating about them too? It can be supposed that it will depend on examples. And because in this piece Provine only gives the example of laughing (which he has studied in much detail), it’s hard to extrapolate from that. Then again, it can be argued that he still makes mistakes in logical reasoning even if his scientific data is perfectly correct.

Crude Anti-Introspectivism

Another of Provine’s arguments — or scientific claims — is that a

“neurological process that governs human behaviour [is] inaccessible to introspection”.

Provine also makes the obvious point that “we are not conscious of our state of unconsciousness”. Here again there’s a logical mistake being made by Provine.

Of course we don’t have introspective access to neuronal (or brain) processes. Yet it doesn’t follow from that that we don’t have introspective awareness of our actions. That’s like saying that because we aren’t fully aware of the internal mechanisms of a coke machine, then we can’t know that when we put money in and press the correct buttons, a coke can will be delivered.

We don’t need to know all — or perhaps even any — of the internal mechanisms of a coke machine. Similarly with our own brains. Nonetheless, when we put money in a coke machine, then we know what usually happens. Similarly, when we decide to do something: we can be in control of what we do regardless of our ignorance of the brain mechanisms which subserve such conscious actions.

All this also partly depends on what exactly Provine means by the word “introspection”. How strongly does he take that word? This is asked because introspection was an important aspect of old-style philosophy of mind in the 19th and 18th centuries and before. Nonetheless, philosophers are much more careful nowadays when they use that word.

Indeed in the first of the 20th century Martin Heidegger and Gilbert Ryle made a distinction between “knowing how” and “knowing that”. The latter requires conscious linguistic expression; whereas it’s argued that the former simply requires “skill”. Regardless of the intricacies of this distinction, both knowing how and knowing that require conscious awareness.

When you hammer with a hammer (Heidegger’s own well-known example) you need to be aware of the hammer even if you aren’t expressing (vocally or sub-vocally) sentences about that hammering. Now is that hammering the same as Provine’s spontaneous laughing? Surely not. There’s nothing spontaneous about picking up a hammer to hammer in a nail and even to carry on hammering. It’s not (in Heidegger’s words) “intellectualist”. But it’s not the equivalent of a spontaneous laugh either. You can’t control laughing. Clearly you can and must control your hammering.

Of course much of this — at least partly — depends on any further examples (i.e., other than the laughing) which Robert R. Provine has in mind when he advances his (what I take to be) neo-behaviourist position.

Reference

This piece is a response to the book What We Believe but Cannot Prove, pages 147 to 149.

[I can be found on Twitter here.]