Meaning and criteria : with applications to various philosophical problems 9780820488813, 082048881X

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eanin

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riteria

PETER LANG

New York•Washington, D.C./Baltimore•Bern Frankfurt am Main•Berlin•Brussels •Vienna•Oxford

HAIG KHATCHADOURIAN

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rzteria

ITH APPLICATIONS TO VARIOUS PHILOSOPHICAL PROBLEMS

PETER LANG

New York•Washington, D.C./Baltimore•Bern Frankfurt am Main•Berlin•Brussels •Vienna•Oxford

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Khatchadourian, Haig. Meaning and criteria: with applications to various philosophical problems I Haig Khatchadourian. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Semantics. 2. Semantics (Philosophy). I. Title. P325.K464 2007

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2006026418

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Contents Acktiowledgments . . . . . ................................................................................. ix 1.

Overview ..................................................................................................... I

Part I: Linguistic Meaning 2.

The Truth-Conditional Theory of Linguistic Meaning

3.

The Later Wittgenstein on Linguistic Meaning

4.

William Alston's and R.M. Hare' s Illocutionary Act Theory of Linguistic Meaning

75

5.

H.P. Grice on Meaning

93

6.

Conventions and Rules

7.

Language and Speech as Practice

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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17 47

115 137

Part II: Meaning and Criteria 8.

Criteria

9.

''Criterion'' in Recent Analytic Philosophy

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

161 175 195

10.

Criteria of Non-Evaluative Concepts

11.

Criteria and Grading Standards of Evaluative Concepts, Part 1 ............ 229

12.

Criteria and Grading Standards of Evaluative Concepts, Part 2 ............ 251

13.

Criteria! Change and Change of Reference/Meaning

14.

Confusions Concerning Conditions and Criteria of Use, Evidence, and Meaning

281

Index

319

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265

Acknowledgments The author wishes to thank Cornell University Press for one-time nonexclusive English-language world rights for permission to reprint from William P. Alston's Illocutionary Acts and Sentence Meaning. Copyright © 2000 by Cornell Univer­ sity. Used by permission of the publisher, Cornell University Press ; The Roman and Littlefield Publishing Group for permission to reprint, for this edition only, from Robert K Shope's The Nature ofMeaningfulness, 1999; Professor P.M.S. Hacker for permission to reprint from Insight and Illusion, Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1972, and from Insigh t And Illusion, Revised Edition, Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1986; Professor Horace Romano Harre for permission to reprint from ''Concepts and Criteria," Mind, Vol. LXXIII, No. 291, July 1964, pp. 353-363; Professor William G. Lycan for permission to reprint from Ph ilosophy of Lan­ guage, Routledge, Taylor and Francis Group, 2000; and Professor Meredith Williams for permission to reprint from Wittgenstein, Mind and Meaning, Routledge, London and New York, 1999.

I wish to thank Ms. Deborah L. Mulvaney for her expert formatting of the text and her editorial help, and Mr. Richard Atkins of Peter Lang Publishing, New York, for his unfailing help and advice thoughout the complex process of the manuscript' s preparation for publication.

Chapter 1 Overview I Throughout the history of philosophy, philosophers as well as non-philosophers have been interested in arriving at an understanding of a host of questions about epistemological, metaphysical, moral, political, aesthetic and other kinds of fun­ damental concepts of theoretical and practical importance. Central to philosophy itself has been the endeavor to ascertain the nature and so, to arrive at real defini­ tions or, at least satisfactory analyses of these concepts, including their condi­ tions and criteria of application, and the evidence for the truth or falsity of statements in which these concepts occur. A clear understanding of these concepts requires an understanding of (1) the concept of the meaning or signification of linguistic expressions; (2) the concepts of conditions and criteria for the conventional uses or applications, in the relevant contexts, of particular meaningful words, phrases, and sentences; and (3) the different sorts of relations between logically different types of expressions/con­ cepts viz. purely descriptive, non-evaluative expressions/concepts, descriptive­ cum-evaluative expressions, and purely evaluative expressions/concepts and the criteria for their conventional applications, as well as (4) the relation, and the distinction, between criteria and evidence for the truth or falsity of statements formed from meaningful sentences. An example of the importance of (2) and (3), particularly the distinction between necessary and/or sufficient conditions on the one hand and criteria of the application of philosophically important concepts on the other, involves the long­ standing controversy, in the philosophy of law, between the Natural Law and the Positivist conceptions of Law. That controversy illustrates what should be obvious how different necessary and sufficient conditions C of something x (here Law) determine (a) the criteria for the term 'x 's ' correct applications, (b) together with x 's meaning. Another example of the crucial role knowledge of the proper criteria for the application of philosophically important concepts involves the relation to the putative concept of intrinsic value. As I argued in some detail in ''Intrinsic and Instrumental Value: An Untenable Dichotomy,"1 the absence of clear, agreed-upon criteria for the proper application of the concept of intrinsic value makes it very problematic whether intrinsic value has any meaning at all, whether the alleged

2

Meaning and Criteria

concept of intrinsic value has any content, or whether anything can be meaningfully said to be intrinsically valuable or good at all. In light of the preceding it is not surprising that a major theme that runs through the history of philosophy, including 20th century analytical and continental philosophy, is the quest for clear and deep understanding of the meanings and uses, roles or functions of philosophically important linguistic expressions, or of the concepts they convey, sometimes culminating in ''real defmitions." It is not sur­ prising therefore that attempts to gain a clear understanding of the nature of linguistic meaning and of the criteria connected with linguistic expressions has become a central theme of contemporary analytical philosophy, resulting in a variety of theories of the nature of meaning, particularly of sentential meaning. Clarity about the nature of linguistic meaning and the conditions and criteria for the proper application of linguistic expressions is obviously important in all areas and facets of human existence; but it gains special importance to the phi­ losopher from the fact that, since its beginnings, Westem philosophy has been dedicated to the above-mentioned analytical tasks. The fact that many philosophi­ cally interesting concepts are quite complex makes the task of their understanding and analysis, and proper employment, anything but simple or straightforward, and a frequent object of disagreement and controversy. Mental concepts, such as those of thinking, remembering, feeling, and imagining and the concept of mind itself to mention but a few, are good examples. The fact that perhaps all ordinary as well as scientific concepts are ''open," and that value concepts are, in the words of W.B. Gallie, ''essentially contested," complicates the task of their proper understanding and analysis. Thus various confusions about many of these concepts continue to plague philosophy. Close examination of many of these confusions shows I believe that they arise from a lack of proper understanding of the precise relation(s) between the meaning of the expressions, or the contents of the concepts they convey, and the conditions and, especially, the criteria for their proper appli­ cation. A good deal depends on the utilization of the right (and the right kind of) criteria for the particular expressions/concepts. The famous question of whether criteria can be ''private'' or whether they are necessarily ''public'' in some impor­ tant sense (the later Wittgenstein), is one facet of the question of nature of criteria and their relation(s) to meaning and to the things to which the relevant expressions apply. Despite the great volume of frequently excellent writings on these and related concepts and topics, misconceptions, confusions and other errors regarding the preceding and related concepts abound. The present inquiry endeavors to address these issues and, it is hoped, will help correct some of the misconceptions and errors. The attempt to understand the connections between meaning and criteria requires a grasp of linguistic meaning on the one hand and of criteria on the other.

Overview

3

To the extent that the present inquiry is successful, a main part of its value would lie in its intensive examination of linguistic meaning in Part I, and, in Part II, the connection or connections between meaning and the conditions and criteria for their application. In addition, the different analyses of a concept of such a funda­ mental importance, and their critical examination, should be of value in their own right. Part I of the book examines the fundamentals of four major theories of linguistic meaning: the theories of Donald Davidson, the later Wittgenstein, William Alston, and H.P. Grice. The analysis of linguistic (mainly sentence) meaning they undertake illuminates the relation of linguistic meaning to other important concepts, including the concepts of necessary and sufficient conditions, criterion, rule, practice, intention, and truth. Although I shall argue that none of these theories succeeds in capturing the meaning of ' linguistic meaning,' telling us what linguistic, i.e., semantic, meaning consists in or is, they perform an important type of philosophical analysis known as ''exhibition analysis," the ''mapping'' of different or overlapping parts of the ''logical terrain'' of language, in Gilbert Ryle's picturesque expression: each mapping a somewhat different, though some­ times overlapping parts of the ''terrain.'' In A Critical Study in Method, 2 I de­ scribed it as one major form of ''semantic analysis''; adding that ''for most, if not all of its present-day practitioners, that constitutes ... the whole of 'exhibition analysis'." In relation to the concept of meaning, I described the method as ''aiming at the discovery and analysis ... of the meanings of ordinary, mathematical, scien­ tific or other kinds of expressions, through an analysis of the ways in which these expressions are actually employed. This involves or includes the discovery and analysis of the syntactical relations between individual expressions in sentences, and the logical relations between different sentences. It also includes the discovery and analysis of the possible relations between the different meanings or senses of one and the same expression, whenever an expression has more than one sense or meaning, and between each of them and the meanings of other expressions."3 In general, exhibition analysis provides insight into important connections between the concepts mapped. Thus Donald Davidson's truth-conditional theory gives us a better understanding of the relation between sentential meaning and truth-conditions, while Wittgenstein's theory as a whole (importantly including his criteriological view) gives us insight into the criteria and rules that determine the meanings of verbal expressions, together with the concept of ''language-games'' as practices; and so on. Again, Alston's theory illuminates the relation between illocutionary speech acts and speaker meaning, and, through that, illuminates the relation between illocutionary acts and sentence meaning. Davidson speaks of the ''obvious connection between a definition of truth of the kind Tarski has shown how to construct, and the concept of meaning. It is this: the definition works by giving necessary and sufficient conditions for the truth of every sentence, and to give the truth conditions is a way of giving the meaning of

Meaning and Criteria

4

a sentence. To know the semantic concept of truth for a language is to know what it is for a sentence any sentence to be true . ''4 It should be emphasized that although these theories fail to capture the mean­ ing of '(linguistic) meaning' in my view, their failure is significantly different from the failure of the classical referential, ideational (image or concept) and behavioral theories to capture the meaning of word-meaning. For while the latter aim at providing ''real definitions'' of (word-)meaning, the theories examined in Part!­ irrespective of their authors' intentions do something not only different but nega­ tively as well as positively, much more useful. Although their authors consider their analysis as capturing, in some sense, what sentence meaning consists in or is, these accounts in reality are explications not of the meanings of verbal expres­ sions which they presuppose but a variety of their uses, in the sense of their usability to express and communicate. Among these uses are the expression and communication of thoughts, feelings and emotions, desires, intentions, ends or purposes, and thereby to affect or influence (or try to affect or influence) others in certain ways, including their attitudes and actions. For example, Grice's analysis of so-called speaker meaning does not provide an account of sentence meaning but a speaker's employment of sentence meaning to communicate a variety of different things to the hearer, with the intention of influencing her behavior. Compare and contrast this with the fact that in J.L. Austin's or John Searle's speech act theory the perlocutionary phase of the total speech act is not thought of as providing an analysis or account of sentence meaning itself. Similarly, unlike Alston, neither Austin nor Searle supposes that the illocutionary phase of the total speech act provides the meaning of sentences(-in-use). The absence to date of any satisfactory analytical definition of the expression's (linguistic) meaning in what the dictionary calls its primary meaning of significa­ tion, either in terms of equally fundamental concepts or reductively, in terms of putatively less complex, more basic concepts, after so many attempts by philoso­ phers throughout the centuries to define word meaning, is I think not unexpected. The reason, I am inclined to believe, is that 'meaning,' as applied to individual words, is logically simple or ultimate, hence that word-meaning cannot be reduc­ tively analyzed, for example, a la G.E. Moore; a form of reductive analysis that would ultimately yield a ''real definition'' of the concept analyzed. Moreover, as I shall argue in Chapter 4, it cannot be reductively defined in the sense William Alston uses the term in his recent Illocutionary Acts and Sentence Meaning. But to say that word meaning is logically ultimate is not the end of the matter. Apart from exhibition analysis, a direct analysis of concept of meaning in its primary sense reveals a good deal about it. To begin with, it is noteworthy that the same meaning of 'meaning' is involved in both words and sentences; which stands to reason since a sentence is a complex of grammatically related words and phrases. That is, the word meaning is univocal in relation to both words and .

.

Overview

5

sentences. Nevertheless, although 'signification' is synonymous with 'word meaning,' we speak of a sentence as being about some state of affairs and as saying or stating something or other about some state of affairs, rather than of signifying this or that state of affairs. And that obviously makes sense, given the grammatical and logical differences between sentences and words. Still, just as grammatically many types of words are referring-type expressions, naming certain kinds or classes of things, we also speak of any given sentence as referring to something or other; for example, as in the case of ''It is raining this morning," which refers to rain and raining as well as ''this morning.'' More importantly, a little reflection shows that the concept of linguistic meaning is non-scalar and closed. We cannot meaningfully speak of degrees of linguistic meaning(fulness); and although a word, phrase or sentence can have a precise or a vague meaning, and there can be degrees of vagueness and of precision of meaning, this should not be confused with the fact that a shape or sound either has or lacks a meaning, simpliciter. There are no degrees and it makes no sense to speak of a word's, phrase's or sentence's meaning something. In addition, as I said, the concept of linguistic meaning is a closed concept: there are no possible borderline cases of an expression's or sentence's meaning. An expression or a sentence either means something x or does not mean x, period. It follows from this that the criteria of linguistic meaning are what I call D-criteria; i.e., part of the defmition, are defming characteristics of the concept of linguistic meaning. With respect to the class of referring-type expressions, one obvious criterion of meaning is reference; 5 while non-referring expressions, such as 'is,' 'but,' 'and,' and the like have syntactic criteria of meaning. The fact that the concept of linguistic meaning is closed and non-scalar is important in relation to the fundamental expressive and communicative functions of language, in making the use of language more efficient or effective, sparing speakers the possible disputes or confusions that might otherwise arise. I think one reason for the attractiveness of defming word meaning as reference, image, or concept is the fact that in one sense or another they are involved in the meaning of certain other members of the extended family of which words and sentences language as a whole is a prominent member. I mean in relation to symbols, signals and body language. We speak of certain man-made shapes or sounds as symbolizing some type or kind of thing or other, as well as designed to stand for some general idea (concept or conception) or represent some kind of thing; while some symbols may, in addition to standing for some general idea, represent some individual thing as well. (For Christians, for example, the cross symbolizes the last agony of Jesus of Nazareth and the Christian religion and its teachings and beliefs.) Linguistic meaning itself consists of a small family of its own, which besides literal, figurative (especially metaphorical) and symbolic meaning, includes alle-

6

Meaning and Criteria

gorical and anagogical meaning. Again, there is a special use of 'mean' (but not of 'meaning') in such statements as ''I mean you! (pointing to someone present)'' and ''I mean (I am referring to) George W. Bush, not his father!''. Other meanings of 'meaning' are involved in such expressions as 'the meaning of this poem,' 'the meaning of this painting (work of music, etc.),' 'the meaning of this morning's news,' as well as 'the meaning of life' and 'the meaning of my life.' One might try to find common ground between these different meanings of 'meaning,' through an analysis of the genus Meaning (as we might call it) of which they are different species. But if, as is likely, the members of the family of meanings are related to one another by crisscrossing family resemblances, not by a set of common charac­ teristics, the analysis would not carry us very far. What is distinctive about, say, linguistic meaning as a member of that family would remain to be discovered. The fact that grammatically many kinds of words, from nouns to adjectives to main verbs and adverbs, refer to or name some kind of thing or other, and that we learn the meanings of many words by learning what they name or designate, is clearly one main reason why the referential theory of word meaning has had so much vogue. Given the close family relations and possible crisscrossing family re­ semblances between linguistic meaning and the meanings of its various relations, it is, alternatively, tempting to try to ground them all in some one kind of meaning. Thus Grice attempts to ground non-natural meaning (meaning-NN), including linguistic meaning, on a natural sense of meaning, and then analyze linguistic meaning in terms of the intentions of persons. The consistent failure of the traditional attempts to date to defme 'meaning' in relation to individual words as either reference, image or concept or to define it behaviorally, as their most recent criticism in Alston's Illocutionary Acts and Sentence Meaning shows, has tended to lead contemporary analytical philosophers to focus on sentence meaning as ''primary'' in some sense. That is the approach of the philosophers whose accounts we shall consider in Chapters 2 through 4, with the notable exception of Wittgenstein, and as we shall see in relation to the truth­ functional and Alston's accounts, an attempt is made to illuminate the meaning of words and phrases as subsentential units of sentences, in terms of their contribu­ tion to sentence meaning. II I now turn to a brief overview of the theories mentioned in Part I. Starting with Donald Davidson's theory of meaning6 in Chapter 2, and Robert Shope's7 elaborate truth-functional theories of meaning, which attempt to under­ stand what a given statement means by knowing its truth-conditions, I argue that, pace Davidson and Shope, even in the highly restricted case of statements to

Overview

7

which, with any show of reason, the theory can be applied, truth-value does not provide a sentence's meaning qua meaning but only a necessary and sufficient condition of a declarative sentence's meaningfulness. Indeed, as we shall see, Davidson himself uses the concept of meaning in an obviously strained sense in speaking of truth-value as providing the meaning of a declarative sentence's meaning(fulness). I therefore argue that one does not learn the meaning of declara­ tive sentences in general by knowing their truth-conditions. What one does learn is that, by virtue of its particular meaning, a particular asserted declarative sen­ tence will be true or false, will satisfy or fail to satisfy its truth-conditions. Or more precisely but quite obviously, its truth or falsity as a particular statement only partly depends on its particular meaning. It also partly depends on the fact that it is asserted by someone with a particular purpose or intention, in a particular situation or circumstance. But even if we suppose that the truth-conditional theory provides a declarative sentence's meaning, I believe that attempts to extend the theory to (i) other types of sentences, such as questions and commands, and/or to (ii) individual words and phrases, such as Stephen G. Williams' attempt in ''Meaning and Truth,"8 are bound to fail. The same is true of attempts to work backwards from the meaning of declarative sentences to the meaning of individual words and phrases. But even if these attempts were successful, what would they tell us? They would tell us how truth-conditions indirectly and rather remotely determine the necessary and/or sufficient conditions and the criteria for the application of expressions that together compose declarative sentences (hence also in questions, commands, etc., with the same expressions in their different grammatical arrangements). It would not tell us what word or sentence meaning consists in. To come closer to word meaning in general, we need to find (1) the precise relation, if any, between the truth-conditions of any indicative sentence-in-use, S (or M, F ) hence the truth­ conditions of any illocutionary speech act of assertion or denial together with (2) the logical conditions C and the criteria CR for the words composing S (or M, F... ). It might be thought that one may be able to do so by starting from (1) and (2) and thence proceeding to the truth-conditions, T. But I think reflection shows that such a logical connection between (1) and (2) on the one hand and the relevant truth-conditions on the other cannot be found, even with respect to purely non­ normative words and leaving aside evaluative words unless, that is, the mean­ ing/conditions for any given non-evaluative word 'w ' in any sentence-in-use S, included or determined the logical relations between 'w ' and all other possible words of the same type a clear impossibility! The situation is not better, I believe, with regard to contingent statements, where the relations between the place-holders and substantives in these statements may be related in any number of contingent ways. .

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8

Meaning and Criteria

For a resolution of the general problem what we need to know is not just the particular syntactical relations possible in a given language, but the universal logical relations between the words in any declarative sentence(-in-use). The trouble is that the meaning of a noun, say, does not determine whether it will be, for example, the subject or the object of a sentence. In one declarative sentence, the word 'man' can be the subject, as in ''The man (or a man) is in the room," and an object, as in ''Lightning almost struck a (or the) man." The result is that a word's meaning-conditions, the conditions for its application as det ermined by its defming features, do not help determine the contribution of the word 'man' to the truth­ conditions of the sentence-in-use, ''The man is in the room," or ''Lightning almost struck the man." Chapter 3 critically examines various important aspects of the later Wittgen­ stein's conception of language, including language-games, rules and criteria, and linguistic meaning. Much of what Wittgenstein maintains concerning these con­ cepts is important and sound not least his emphasis on the public, conventional character of criteria and the conceptual connection between the meaning of an expression and the criteria for its application; his view that word meaning is governed by rules; and his seminal analysis of the concept of a language-game, as a practice. The areas of my disagreement with him are essentially two. (1) Witt­ genstein appears to maintain that the meaning of an expression is always deter­ mined by its public criteria; and (2) that, for a large class of expressions, the meaning of a word is its use in the language. With regard to (1), I agree that a word x becomes part of a language-game, hence in a language which is necessarily public if and when it is acquires general currency in a linguistic community. That is, if and when x has (acquires) a conventional meaning. But I maintain that though a group of people's or a community's adoption or use of a given public criterion Cor a set of public criteria C, E, D, etc., is what gives a particular shape or sound, x, a linguistic meaning, makes it a word in some language, that, as I point out, is not necessarily always the case. A new word y ' may sometimes be coined by a single individual or a small group of individuals and given a (public) meaning together with its settled criterion or criteria; or agreement about y 's ' criterion or criteria may be reached if at all only later, sometimes after debate and controversy. (In fact, in some cases neither y 's ' meaning nor its proper criteria may ever be agreed upon.) But however an expression 'z' may acquire a conventional meaning, historically speaking, a central point in the later Wittgenstein is that once that occurs, a conceptual connection is established between 'z 's ' meaning and its criteria. In fact, we shall see in Part II, Chapter 10, that with closed purely descrip­ tive, non-evaluative expressions, the defining features of the class of things called Zs logically entail the criteria for 'z 's ' application. The kind or kinds of connec­ tions that obtain between meaning and criteria in the case of logically other kinds, including evaluative, expressions, is explored in Chapters 11 and 12.

Overview

9

With regard to (2), I argue contra Wittgenstein that word meaning is never identical with use in the language not only because the concept of use is, in differ­ ent ways, both too broad and too narrow, and far from precise enough, but most importantly because an expression's actual use and its usability are logical consequences of, hence are themselves determined by, an expression's meaning. For instance, at a minimum, knowing how to use a word 'w ' includes, in ter alia, knowing 'w 's 'meaning. The difference between this and saying that word-meaning is use in the language either in the sense of actual use or in the sense of usability­ is, as I said, that what determines use is the particular word's meaning in both of the preceding ways or senses. Perhaps more importantly, I argue that the defmition of word meaning as use in the language is ultimately circular and therefore in that sense uninformative. In terms of the speech act theory this criticism of the use theory of word meaning is, essentially, a main criticism of William Alston's and R.M. Hare's illocutionary act theory of sentence (and consequently of word) meaning, in Chap­ ter 4. As in the preceding chapters, Chapter 4 continues the attempt to arrive at a clear understanding of the nature of linguistic meaning, through a critical examina­ tion of William Alston's and R.M. Hare's claim, as Alston puts it, that a sen­ tence's having a certain meaning consists in its being usable to perform illocutionary acts of a certain type; or more concisely, sentence meaning is illocu­ tionary act potential in John Searle's special use of 'illocutionary act.' For just as, con tra Wittgenstein, a word's meaning does not consist in its use, so too, a sen­ tence's meaning does not consist in its illocutionary act potential. Rather, a word's use, and a sentence's illocutionary act potential, are but logical consequences of their having a particular meaning. (And, I might add, if sentence meaning does not consist in a sentence's illocutionary act potential, it would also be true that sen­ tence meaning does not consist in a sentence's perlocutionary act potential.) Chapter 5 analyzes and examines certain important aspects of H.P. Grice's earlier and later theories of meaning. In such writings as ''Meaning'' and ''Meaning Revisted,"9 he develops an account of ''the relation between what an expression means and an account of what a person means, attempting to reduce the former to the latter." He argues that ''linguistic meaning ... is a species of a more general theory of meaning which he terms nonnatural meaning ... Nonnatural meaning, however, is to be grounded on a natural sense of meaning." What a person means to do is, roughly, what he intends. 10 Thus linguistic meaning is analyzable in terms of the intentions of persons. However, in ''Utterer's Meaning, Sentence-Meaning and Word-Meaning," Grice analyzes a second concept of speaker-meaning which differs significantly from the preceding concept of speaker-meaning, since it is not, I argue, analyzable in terms of the speaker's intentions.

10

Meaning and Criteria

In addition to the preceding, the chapter explores the possible connections between Alston's theory of sentence meaning and Grice' s analysis of meaning(s): the latter sense(s) of 'meaning' being especially relevant to an understanding of language in general and communication in particular. Stephen Schiffer puts the question Grice attempts to answer thus : (1) ''What is it for someone S to mean-s something?'' (2) ''What is it for somethingxto mean­ x something?''11 He maintains that Grice offers an account of S-meaning ''which is not in terms of any semantic notions. What Grice offers us is an account of what it is for someone to mean something by (an utterance) x."12 ''And Grice first suggests that: [S] meant something by xis (roughly) equivalent to ''[S] intended the utterance ofxto produce some effect in an audience by means of the recogni­ tion of this intention.''13 I myself will argue that Grice is perfectly correct in his analysis of e.g., (a) ''In saying x S meant to produce some effect in an audience . . . '' (leaving aside here the question whether producing some effect is always the case in relation to meanings14). For the sense of ' mean' involved here is synonymous with ' intend' : ''In saying x S meant to produce . . . " can be translated as (a): ''In sayingx S intended to produce a certain effect in the audience." But (b) the sense or meaning of 'meaning' with which we are concerned when we are trying to explicate or analyze linguistic meaning is 'semantic meaning' : which is different from the sense of ' mean' in (a). The question what a word 's or a sentence 's meaning in e.g., ''The sentence xmeans . . . ", as well as in ''' Chien' means ''dog'' in French'' consists in remains unanswered in Grice' s account. Finally, it will be argued that objections similar to those I urged against Alston's theory of sentence-meaning in Chapter 4 apply, mutatis mutandis, to Grice' s view. Chapters 6 and 7. A number of important ideas in Wittgenstein' s account of language in Ph ilosophical Investigations, mentioned earlier and briefly discussed in Chapter 3, are also elaborated and developed in Chapters 6 and 7; particularly the view that the meaning of linguistic expressions is determined by criteria/rules ; and the concept of a language-game as a practice, set up by certain kinds of rules. Chapter 6 distinguishes the linguistic rules and conventions from other kinds or types of rules . As a result, (A) three kinds of constitutive conventions/rules relating to speech and writing a language are distinguished: first, the rules/conventions that define the practice of speech in general; second, the rules/conventions of a par­ ticular speech/language, such as English or French, as a species of speech/language, generically speaking. And third, the kind of constitutive conven­ tions/rules that define language-games as mini-practices within speech. In addition to (A), (B) the main societal regulative conventions/princip les that regulate and evaluate the generic practice of Speech as determined by the expressive and communicative aims of speech as a practice, envisaged by human society, are distinguished.

Overview

11

Chapter 7 continues the exploration of semantic meaning and its conditions and criteria of conventional application. It sketches a concept of Speech as a social practice, following John Searle, but as a practice consisting of a multitude of variously interconnected, open-ended language-games . It distinguishes and ana­ lyzes the practice' s constitutive conventions/rules and regulative principles, and maintains that the phonetic, semantic, syntactic, pragmatic and other con­ ventions/rules of speech, as type and tokens, constitute a main part of the prac­ tice' s constitutive rules/conventions. As for the regulative principles of Speech, these are designed for the following two connected purposes: (a) to regulate the practice-type, hence its multifarious practice-tokens, in pursuit of society's overall social purposes or goals in this case, effective expression and communication, broadly understood; and (b) to evaluate a language-speaking community's use of any particular language-token, especially gross deviations from its conventions and rules . To sum up so far. Although, in my considered opinion, none of the theories of linguistic meaning considered in Part I, Chapters 2 through 7, succeeds in pro­ viding an adequate answer to the question of the meaning of ' linguistic meaning' in general, whether with respect to either sentences or words and phrases, they all succeed, through a form of conceptual analysis known as exhibition analysis, to illuminate various fundamental facets of that concept by tracing its connections to a number of other fundamental concepts; such as the connections between (a) meaning and truth-conditions, (b) meaning and necessary and sufficient conditions, and (c) meaning and criteria. Chapters 8 and 9 next prepare the ground for the main task of Part II by providing an account of the concept of criterion as understood and employed in the present work; distinguishing it from Wittgenstein' s conception of a criterion as well as from necessary and/or sufficient conditions, and truth-conditions. The discussion of that concept is continued in Chapter 9, with a critical discussion of certain alternative conceptions of it in contemporary post-Wittgenstein analytical philosophy. Focusing on purely ''descriptive," non-evaluative concepts, Chapter 10 traces the relation( s) between meaning and criteria: with respect to (1) ''closed'' concepts, (2) ''open''/''family resemblance'' concepts, (3) defeasible concepts, and (4) Michael Slote's ''cluster terms."15 Turning to evaluative concepts, Chapters 11 and 12 trace the nature of (a) the criteria, and (b) the grading standards for (1) purely evaluative concepts, and (2) evaluative-cum-descriptive concepts, together with the relation( s) between the criteria and grading standards as themselves as they apply to concepts of types (1) and (2) respectively. Chapter 12, Part A considers the relation between the meanings of descrip­ tive-cum-evaluative terms/concepts and their conditions/criteria; while Part B

12

Meaning and Criteria

considers the relation between the meanings of purely evaluative terms/concepts and their conditions/criteria. In Part A I argue that the conditions/criteria for descriptive-cum-evaluative terms/concepts are determined by the meanings of the descriptive part of the terms/concepts. For example, the conditions/criteria for 'brave, ' 'hero,' and 'coward' are determined by the descriptive meanings of these expressions; though speakers may disagree, within certain limits imposed by the meaning of these expressions, as to the kinds of acts constituting bravery, heroism, or cowardice. Within that range of possibilities, different people may pick different kinds of acts as conditions/criteria, hence as evidence for what they consider the proper use of the expressions. In Part B I argue that the situation is significantly different with respect to purely evaluative expressions. Their meaning and their criteria are indep endent of each other, since their meaning is constant while their criteria vary. It is true that, as with descriptive-cum-evaluative expressions, there is a range of con­ ditions/criteria within which the members of a given community or of a fairly homogeneous society may agree on the kinds of facts or states of affairs they think constitute adequate conditions/criteria for these expressions, the absence of de­ scriptive elements renders their relation to these facts quite different from the kind of relation we find in relation to descriptive-cum-evaluative expressions . Thus contrary to the Descriptivists in value theory, no purely factual statements can possibly entail a purely evaluative judgment. An evaluative judgment can only follow from (i) certain value judgments, together with (ii) certain matters of fact, as premises. This I try to show, in relation to, first, institutions and practices, drawing on my ''Institutions, Practices, and Moral Rules,"1 6 then in relation to non­ institutional purely evaluative moral and aesthetic judgments. The significance of the position defended for the question of the relation of criteria to meaning can be seen as follows. If the Descriptivists are correct, the criteria for evaluative, norma­ tive expressions would consist in certain contingent facts or phenomena, and normative conclusions can be derived from the relevant factual statements; while I maintain that in the case of institutions and practices, such as in the case of the practice of Speech, Descriptivism is untenable. The criteria of purely evaluative expressions or concepts must themselves be normative. In ''Essentially Contested Concepts'' 17 W.B . Gallie argues that value concepts are essentially contested in certain ways he defines: a view that I adopted in my own writings on values. But neither Gallie nor I have provided the fundamental reasons why values or better, purely evaluative expressions, hence value judgments are essentially contested. That is, why the meaning/uses of value expres­ sions/concepts do not provide for essentially uncontested conditions/criteria for their applications in pure value judgments. And here it must be stressed that Gallie's ''essentially contested concepts'' is misleading, since reflection shows that

Overview

13

what is essentially contested are not the value expressions or concepts but their applications to particular matters of fact. In other words, the essential contested­ ness does not describe or qualify the contents of the concepts themselves. Chapter 13 focuses on another important aspect of the relation(s) between meaning and criteria: this time, between meaning-change and change in criteria. There special reference is made to Hilary Putnam' s account of meaning and criteria! change in science. Illustrative examples are drawn from philosophy, science and ordinary concepts. Chapter 14, the book's final chapter, details a variety of logical confusions and other errors about the nature of criteria, evidence and meaning, and the rela­ tionships between these concepts. In Part A these errors or confusions are illus­ trated in relation to various metaphysical, epistemological, meta-ethical and other important philosophical concepts and theories . They include errors or confusions relating to the concepts of existence, Descartes ' Cogito, and moral rightness and goodness; and certain confusions in Berkeley's, Hume' s, J.S. Mill' s, the Logical Positivists ' , G .E. Moore's, and C.I. Lewis' metaphysical and epistemological views. Part B briefly considers some possible criteria or possible tests for determin­ ing the semantic relation between the warrant and the conclusion of J-arguments, focusing on a possible criterion implicitly suggested by P.F. Strawson in ''Ethical ''18 Intuitionism. •

Meaning and Criteria

14

Notes 1 . Journal of Value Inquiry, Vol. IV, No. 3 , Fall 1979, pp. 1 72- 1 90. 2.

(The Hague, Netherlands: Martinus Nijhoff, 1 967).

3.

Ibid., p. 94.

4.

Donaldson, ''Truth and Meaning," Inquiries into Truth and Interpretation (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1 984), p. 24.

5 . In the most famous case on record, graphically described by Ernst Cassirer in An Essay On Man, the young Helen Keller was able to learn her very frrst word, the word 'water,' by her re­ alizing the connection between the sound ''water, water, water'' continually repeated by her teacher and the water that the latter kept pumping on her hands. In this case the referent of the word 'water,' namely ''water," led Helen Keller to realize the referential relation between the sound her teacher uttered and the water she felt on her hands. Cassirer comments that Helen Keller discovered that ''everything has a name." A more correct way of stating it would be that ''everything we know or discover acquires or tends to be given a name.'' I add the latter qualification because some things we know we consider so trivial or unimportant that we avoid cluttering our already cluttered language by not giving them a name! 6. Davidson, '' 1 . Theories of Meaning and Learnable Language," and ''2. Truth and Meaning," op cit., pp. 3-1 5 and pp. 1 7-36. 7.

The Nature ofMeaningfulness

(Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 1999).

8. Routledge Encyclopedia ofPhilosophy, Edward Craig, General Editor (London and New York: Routledge, Vol. 6, 1 998), pp. 2 1 9-226. 9. Studies in the Way of Words (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1 989). 10. Readings in the Philosophy of Language, Jay F. Rosenberg and Charles Travis, eds. (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall), p. 393. 1 1 . Stephen R. Schiffer, Meaning (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1 972), p. 7. 12. Ibid., p. 1 . 1 3 . Ibid.' p. 8. 14. Sometimes the intended ''effect'' consists in just making the audience understand what S says or said. 1 5 . ''The Theory of Important Criteria," The Journal of Philosophy, Vol. 63, No. 8 (April 14, 1 966), pp. 2 1 1-224. 16. Mind, Vol. LXXXVI, No. 344, October 1 977, pp. 479-496. 1 7 . Procedings of the Aristotelian Society, N.S. Vol. LVI (Match, 1956), pp. 1 80ff. 1 8 . Readings in Ethical Theory, Wilfrid Sellars and John Hospers, eds. (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 1 952), pp. 253-254.

PART I

Linguistic Meaning

Chapter 2 Th e Truth-Conditional Th eory of Linguistic Meaning I The Truth-Conditional Theory: Davidson, Williams

In ''Meaning and Truth," 1 Stephen G. Williams states that ''Analytic philosophy has seen a resurgence of interest in the possibility of explaining linguistic meaning in terms of truth, which many philosophers have seen as considerably more tractable than meaning [which I take to mean ''more tractable than at­ tempting to provide, in a direct way, as with the classical theories of meaning'' ] . 2 The theory's ''core suggestion'' is that ''the meaning of a [any] declarative sentence may be given by specifying certain conditions under wh ich it is true. ''3 Thus 'Venus is red ' is true just in case Venus is red; and that Venus is red is precisely what the sentence means. ''4 Since, as Williams notes, Davidson' s Inquiries into Truth and Interpretation ''present the most influential contemporary defense of a truth-conditional account of meaning,"5 I shall concentrate on his account, supplementing it with Williams ' attempt to defend it and extend the theory to other types of sentences besides declarative sentences. The discussion will conclude with Robert K. Shope's ac­ count of meaningfulness in general, where he uses what he calls ''constitutive analysis as his methodology. ''6 In ''Truth and Meaning''7 Davidson describes the theory as a holistic theory of meaning which proposes to discover the meanings of declarative sentences by discovering their necessary and sufficient truth conditions, determining what a speaker of the language means by a given sentence. He adds that it establishes a connection between Tarski' s definition of truth and sentence meaning. ''The definition works by giving necessary and sufficient truth conditions for the truth of every sentence, and to give truth conditions is a way of giving the meaning of a sentence. To know the semantic concept of truth for a language is to know what it is for a sentence any sentence to be true, and this amounts, in one good sense we can give to the phrase 'understanding the language' ."8 ''This at any rate is my excuse for a feature of the present discussion that is apt to shock old hands; my freewheeling use of the word 'meaning' , for what I call a theory of meaning has after all turned out to make no use of meanings, whether of sentences or of

Meaning and Criteria

18

words."9 In describing the theory as ''giving the meaning of a sentence'' by giving the truth conditions for the ''truth of every sentence," Davidson appears to mean that the theory tells us what sentence meaning in general is or consists in by giving us the truth conditions for any and every (declarative) sentence we choose: indeed, for every actual and possible (declarative) sentence. Thus a method that gives the meaning of any actual or possible sentence would, in so doing, empirically­ inductively reveal what its meaningfulness consists in, what linguistic meaning is . In that sense the theory would be a theory of meaning. It would be a bona fide theory of linguistic meaning, albeit it would provide an account of linguistic mean­ ing(fulness) not directly but indirectly, through its relation to truth. Davidson also believes that the theory can be adapted to non-declarative sentences as well. That the foregoing interpretation of Davidson' s understanding of the theory is correct is borne out by or fits the fact that the interpretation fits the fact that having a truth-value is directly or in the first instance a logical condition of (de­ clarative) sentence meaning(fulness) and, in the second instance or as a conse­ quence, a logical condition of the specific meaning or meanings of any particular declarative sentence. It also connects with the fact that Davidson is also impor­ tantly concerned, as he says, with ''understanding the language." Since only state­ ments, i.e., declarative sentences asserted by a speaker in a given context, can have truth-value, it follows that the theory is directly or immediately concerned with determining what any given speaker S means by a given statement x she makes in a given context, whether or not S uses x with its conventional meaning, by finding out under what conditions x would be true. The repetition of this empirical, induc­ tive procedure would reveal what ''sentence meaning'' in general is. (And that would not involve, as Davidson rightly says, the positing of meanings as entities.) In addition to (A) the theory's ''core suggestion'' which I briefly stated, Wil­ liams suggests (B) ways of discovering the contribution, to a sentence' s meaning, of its component words and phrases; and (C) how the theory can be extended to types of sentences other than declarative sentences, which do not have truth-values. I shall begin with some critical comments on the theory's core suggestion. I. (A) (1) Consider Williams ' claim that, with respect to any declarative sentence 's, the sentence means 1 0 ''that s'' for example, ''that Venus is red'' is precisely what the sentence 'Venus is red' means," or that 'The snow is white' means ''that snow is white.'' Given that unlike Davidson, Williams does not tell us otherwise, I shall assume that the analysis is intended to exhibit the meaning of these sentences in the ordinary meaning of ' meaning. ' But although the analysis is perfectly correct, it is something we already know simply by knowing or under­ standing that these sentences are declarative sentences. Knowing that 'Venus is red' means ''that Venus is red'' or that 'The snow is white' means ''that snow is white," hardly advances our knowledge or understanding of what (sentence) meaning is; for the question then becomes what ''that Venus is red'' or ''that snow '

The Truth-Conditional Theory ofLinguistic Meaning

I9

is white'' itself means. And the same comments and question apply to the truth­ conditional theory itself. Note that the preceding points also apply, mutatis mutandis, to statements made from declarative sentences, such as the statement ''Venus is red'' asserted by a speaker say in reply to someone' s question: ''Is the planet Venus really red?'' If someone who does not know English well asks: ''What does your statement, ' Venus is red' (or 'Venus is red, ' and so on) mean," the immediate answer would be: ''It means that Venus is red'' (or ''that Venus is red," and so on). And that, once again, hardly constitutes an advance in understanding what sentence mean­ ing( fulness) is. ''That Venus is red," ''that Venus is red," and so on, irrespective of whether the statement refers or is about the planet Venus, or some woman, dog, cat, etc., called ''Venus." And this means among other things that we do not need to know what 'Venus ' in any of the preceding statements is supposed to refer to in order to know what it means . Or to put it the other way round: knowing that ''the planet Venus is red'' is true, or that there is actually a woman called ''Venus'' who is a communist and that is what a speaker refers to in stating, ''Venus is 'red'," etc., in no way adds to our understanding of the meaning of these statements. Note that the word 'that' in ''that s'' is simply a grammatical marker for declarative sentences. It cannot be meaningfully used in relation to any other grammatical type of sentence. For example, we cannot meaningfully say: ' Open the door, Smith! ' means ''that Smith open the door," or that 'Are you well?' means ''that are you well?'' Since, as emphasized in various parts of this book, the generic semantic meaning of both sentences and sentences-in-use is the same, i.e., meaning in the primary sense of ''signification," we can, derivatively, meaningfully say, ''The statement Venus is red means that Venus is red.'' As against its generic meaning (meaning- I ) a statement' s specific meaning (meaning- I ') varies in different contexts of its use, depending both on their nature and the particular speakers ' intentions in using it. That is why, as far as a particu­ lar statement ''s 's '' specific meaning is concerned, it would be incorrect simply to identify the sentence 's 's ' meaning-I with that which ''s '' asserts-in-the-particular­ context C. But it would be correct to say that, in that context, statement ''s '' means- I ' that which is stated or asserted by its use: for examp le, that ''Venus is red,'' means that which is stated by the particular speaker in making or asserting it. For what ''Venus is red'' is used to ''state'' (and mean- I ') is the result of (a) that which it means- I as a sentence, i.e., ''that Venus is red," together with (b) what it comes to mean- I ' in and by virtue of the particular context of its use. (2) But we should ask whether the theory at least as far as Davidson himself understands it does claim to provide a theory of the ordinary meaning of 'meaning' ? As Davidson makes clear, the answer is a definite ''no." Consider:

20

Meaning and Criteria . . . the definition [of meaning?] works by giving necessary and sufficient conditions for the truth of every sentence, and to give truth conditions is a way of giving the meaning of a sentence. To know the semantic concept of truth for a language is to know what it is for a sentence any sentence to be true, and this amounts, in one good sense we can give to the phrase, to understanding the language. This at any rate is my excuse for a feature of the present discussion that is apt to shock old hands; myfreewheeling use ofthe word 'meaning ', for what I call a theory of meaning has after all turned out to make no use of meanings, whether of sentences or of words. 1 1

Since in effect Davidson uses ' theory of meaning' (also 'understanding the language') in a stipulated sense, ''a theory of meaning (in . . . [his] mildly perverse sense)," as he himself adds, we may well ask why we should accept that stipula­ tion, especially if our interest lies in trying to acquire an analytical understanding of the ordinary meaning of ' (linguistic) meaning. ' In a footnote on that page he says this : ''Since a truth definition [in his case, Tarski' s semantical concept or definition of truth] determines the truth value of every sentence in the object language . . . it determines the meaning of every word and sentence. This would seem to justify the title Theory of Meaning." 12 Unfortunately that sort of ''determination'' does not answer to the type of ''determination of word or sentence meaning'' we ourselves are looking for in this part of the book and in the book as a whole. Thus insofar as we ourselves are concerned with an analytical understanding of the meaning of 'meaning' in its primary ordinary meaning, the theory's real contribu­ tion, as far as its core suggestion is concerned, consists in exhibiting, in the case of declarative sentences, the indirect logical connection between the ordinary concept of sentence meaning and the concept of truth: a connection established through the direct relation of sentences-in-use and truth. (3) Insofar as the theory hitches its wagon to statements rather than to un­ asserted sentences, it may be thought to be open to criticism because of the vari­ ability of the contexts including the speakers ' intentions involved. In particular, if considered a theory purporting to illuminate the ordinary generic meaning (meaning- I ) of sentences, it might be thought to be vulnerable to the kind of criticism William Alston urges, in Illocutionary Acts and Sentence Meaning, against the perlocutionary ''Gricean approach'' to sentence meaning (see Chapter 5 of this book). The criticism is this. Speaking of the bearing of his own theory on ''' speaker meaning', in terms of the distinction between what U means by uttering S and what U means by E, where E is some linguistic expression employed by U," Alston observes that ''it is the former with which we are concerned. It is this concept that is taken as fundamental by the Gricean approach to meaning in terms of perlocutionary intentions. On that account, for a speaker to mean something by uttering S is for that speaker to utter S with a complicated sort of intention to produce a certain kind of effect in the hearer. Sen tence meaning is exh ibited as a kind ofgeneralization over speaker meaning . . . '' Alston then claims that that kind

The Truth-Conditional Theory ofLinguistic Meaning

21

of generalization cannot yield sentence meaning because, unlike illocutionary acts, which ''can remain constant," ''perlocutionary intentions . . . vary widely.''13 Leaving aside the question of the validity or invalidity of Alston's preceding criticism of Grice, which is considered later in this book, in Chapter 5, the question here is whether Alston' s argument can apply to the truth-conditional theory, given the fact that in different contexts speakers ' intentions may and do vary widely. A little reflection shows, I think, that the theory escapes that criticism, pre­ cisely because it ties the meanings of statements to something constant, namely, truth, however much speakers' intentions themselves may vary. The variability of these intentions would not affect the generalization to sentence meaning(fulness). But there is a big if here. That reply would be perfectly sound, I believe, if the theory illuminated or tried to illuminate the meaning of declarative sentences in the ordinary meaning of 'meaning. ' Since that is not really the case, the ''kind of generalization'' it can successfully make from particular ''sentence meanings," will not yield a analytical understanding of sentence meaning in general, in the ordinary meaning of 'meaning. ' We now turn to the theory' s second and third components. (B) Since the theory' s core suggestion pertains to declarative sentences(-in­ use) and these alone, Williams observes that it ''leaves us in the dark about the meanings of expressions which are not sentences. For example, none of the words that makes up the sentence 'Venus is red' is the kind of expression that can have truth-conditions . . . So the core suggestion must be supplemented . . . by some way of articulating word meaning . . . ''14 He therefore devotes a good part of his article to that problem, which he calls D(i) . His proposed solution involves ''fmd­ ing . . . semantic properties which indicate the meanings of words and phrases. For example, it is sometimes thought that the meaning of a name can be specified by saying what it refers to; and that of a predicate by saying what it is true of. . . Semantic properties such as 'referring to' and 'being true of satisfy this requirement at least in the context of what is sometimes called a 'truth theory' for a language."15 And, ''it is plausible to claim that the meaning of a name can be specified by saying what it refers to, and that of a predicate by saying what it is true of: the meaning of the name 'Venus ' may be specified by stating that it refers to Venus ; and that of the predicate 'is red' by stating that it is true of something if and only if that thing is red.''16 He notes that there are difficulties with the proposed solution. The first is that ''there are many ways of stating the referent of a name, and not all of them are meaning-indicating. Thus, although we may say that the referent of 'Venus ' is Venus, we may also say that it is Hesperus . . . ; but only the first statement of its referent specifies its meaning."17 There are also problems regarding 'is true of in relation to predicates, 18 into which for our purposes we need not go. ''

''

Meaning and Criteria

22

I shall not dwell on the attempted solution. The reason is that, if it turns out that the truth-conditional theory' s core suggestion (A) in Davidson' s and Wil­ liams ' and in Shope' s forms of the theory fails to illuminate, or sufficiently to illuminate, the meaning of declarative sentences in general, generically speaking, it would follow that it also cannot provide a satisfactory method for discovering the ''contribution'' of the individual words and phrases in a sentence to the latter' s meaning. (C) Since the theory' s core suggestion pertains to declarative sentences(-in­ use), the theory needs to be somehow extended to other types of sentences than to this type of sentence, such as interrogatives and imperatives. As Williams states, ''Until now we have simplified matters by restricting ourselves to languages whose only sentences are declarative . . . [But] it is not warranted by natural languages, which contain sentences of many different moods, including imperatives, inter­ rogatives and optatives. Such sentences do not appear to be truth-evaluative [indeed, they do not !] ."19 Williams ' first proposed solution is ''to add a further component to the semantic theory what is sometimes called a theory of 'force' . . . This states what kind of speech act a given sentence is conventionally or typically geared to express; and it transforms the sentence into a corresponding declarative sentence which can then serve as input to the truth theory. For example, the theory of force for English would tell us that ' Open the door, Smith! ' is a command, and that its corresponding declarative sentence is ' Smith opens the . ' '20 door' This ''solution'' will not do. For frrst, there are not one but two declarative sentences with different meanings ''corresponding'' to ''Open the door, Smith !'' (o) : '' Smith opens the door'' (SJ) and ''Smith does not open the door!'' (S2) . More importantly, even supposing for the sake of argument that the ''force'' of this command is ''Smith opens the door," the proposed solution fails to provide a proper ''transformation'' of command o. A command has a different meaning from the meaning of a any declarative sentence. Thus SJ 's meaning (and the same is true of S2) is quite different from o 's meaning as a declarative sentence. It is by virtue of its meaning as a command that the latter is grammatically, linguistically a command and not a declarative sentence. It is important to note, however, that I am not saying (what would be false) that a command has a different kind of meaning of ' meaning' from that of a declarative sentence. (Similarly with inter­ rogatives, etc.) The meaning of 'meaning' is the same with respect to all types of sentences, whether declarative, interrogative, or other. But it is precisely because it is grammatically a different type of sentence from a declarative sentence that it is an interrogative sentence. And the same with other grammatically different types of sentences . That is how, if we know the language at all, we recognize a command as a command, a declarative sentence as a declarative sentence; and so on. •

The Truth-Conditional Theory ofLinguistic Meaning

23

The second proposed solution is ''to introduce a number of further semantic values analogous to truth for each of the new types of sentence: compliance, for instance, for imperatives and optatives. Such values could be integrated into appropriate truth theories by means of such axioms as: SJ is complied with iff S is true, where SJ is the imperative form of a declarative sentence S. And to ensure that we obtain meaning-indicating compliance conditions, we could again use knowl­ edge-expectation conditions, similar to those proposed in the case of declarative sentences, but with compliance replacing truth. Note, however, that both responses have great difficulty accommodating a sentence such as 'Open the door, Smith, and I'll put the kettle on' which contains more than one mood. Associated with this sentence, there seems [to be] no single speech act, nor any straightforward value ''21 analogous to truth. Even if we ignore the last type of sentence and concentrate on a pure impera­ tive such as ''Open the door, Smith," the second response considered by Williams is unconvincing. The ''knowledge-expectations'' proposed in the case of declarative sentences involves focusing on speakers ' knowledge of truthconditions. It is clear that those who understand the sentence 'Venus is red' will know not only that 'Venus is red' is true if and only if Venus is red, but that speakers are expected to know this. They will also know that that is the strongest thing speakers are ex­ pected to know about the truth-conditions of 'Venus is red.' They will know, for example, that speakers are not expected to know that 'Venus is red' is true if and only if Venus is red and 7+5=12. But this suggests the following proposal: that 's is true iffp ' is meaning-indicating if any speaker knows that s is true if and only ifp, that speakers are expected to know this, and that this is the strongest thing speakers are expected to know about s 's truth-conditions. Would the utilization of knowledge-expectations in the case of e.g., ''Open the door, Smith !'' help the theory? I don't think so. For even if we suppose that the strongest thing the speaker is expected to know is that Smith would comply with the command, that he would open the door, the same obj ection I raised against the first response or solution would also apply here: viz., that ''Open the door, Smith," as an imperative, has a different meaning an imperative meaning we might call it from the ''declarative meaning'' of '' Smith opens the door'' (as well as from '' Smith does not open the door''). In addition, the circumstances may be such that the speaker cannot know, hence cannot validly have the knowledge-expectation, that the hearer will comply with the command or that she will not. Further, if the theory' s core suggestion (A) fails to provide a satisfactory analysis or account of the linguistic meaning either of (a) particular declarative sentences, and especially, of (b) sentence meaning in general, generically speaking, any attempt to extend the theory to accommodate other moods beside such sen­ tences would be useless.

Meaning and Criteria

24

After pointing out, on pp. 219-220, certain problems relating to the truth­ conditional theory of meaning Williams states : ''Attempts to elucidate meaning in terms of truth-conditions induce a plethora offurther problems. Many are a matter of detail, concerning the kinds ofproperties we should associate with particular idioms and constructions or, equivalently, how we are to produce such theories for them . . . More general difficulties concern whether truth should be central at all in the analysis or elucidation of meaning: two objections are especially prominent, one adverting to an tirealist considerations, the other to the redundancy theory of truth. ''22 Since our concern is only with the theory' s general character, I shall not go into these problems. Instead, I shall attempt to put in a nutshell the possible insights of the truth-conditional theory as considered so far in this section, by importing a concept that is not part of the theory as proposed by Davidson or Williams : The nature of sentence meaning(fulness) in general: A sentence any sen­ tence means/signifies the state of affairs that s, as a whole, is about.23 (I say ''as a whole'' since a sentence is also about the individual words and phrases that compose the sentence.) For example, ''The snow is white'' means ''The state of affairs consisting in the snow's being white," which ''The snow is white'' as a whole is about. And, ''The meaning of a particular sentence SJ -in-use in a particu­ lar context consists in the state of affairs that it is, as a whole, about, if and only if that state of affairs is real or exists.'' Except for the inj ection of the concept of ''aboutness'' in it, I think (2) essentially summarizes the truthconditional theory' s analysis of the specific meaning(s) of particular sentences as asserted by a par­ ticular speaker in a particular context; while (1 ), if true, provides the meaning of 'meaning' we were vainly seeking in our discussion of the truth-conditional theory as presented by Williams and Davidson. The trouble with both (1) and (2), however, is that a sentence docs not mean/signify the state of affairs it is about. It means what it says : Venus is red, The snow is white, etc. etc.; whereas in asserting a given sentence, the speaker ''contextually implies'' that the statement is true; that the state of affairs she asserts as being the case actually exists or is real at the time and place, or in the context or circumstances either stated by the sentence (or by the speaker), or understood from the context. But what if, to avoid using the word ' about,' we rephrase (1) and (2) as follows : (l ) ''A sentence any sentence s means the state of affairs 'it' would ''assert'' at a given time and place or context, when used by a speaker to make a statement SJ . '' The problem with this formula is that is not true of sen­ tence-meaning in general. In other words, it does not really amend or correct (1) above. It is in effect a restatement of (2 ), respecting a particular meaning in a speaker' s use or assertion of a particular sentence SJ . '

'

The Truth-Conditional Theory ofLinguistic Meaning

25

The net result of our analysis of the truth-conditional theory is that the truth­ conditional theory, as intended by Davidson and defended by Williams, does not capture sentence meaning in general, in the ordinary meaning of 'meaning. ' Note that the theory enters into the picture only in relation to (2). The concept of truth is or the concepts of truth and falsity are completely irrelevant to (1) and (l ). Consider questions. Can we ascertain the conditions for the applicability of questions? That is, the contexts in which they can be meaningfully raised? E.g., ''Is the door open?'' The conditions for its being ''meaningfully'' raised i.e., properly or appropriately raised would be, e.g., if one is referring to a door in some unmentioned room, and there is someone of whom the question is being asked. But these and other conditions are not conditions for the question the string of words but for its appropriateness, its having ''point.'' (a) ''Is the door closed?'' transferred into: (b) ''The door is closed. '' The conditions that would make (b) true, hence provide its meaning, are also the conditions that provide the meaning of com­ mands. And so on. Even if the truth-conditional theory works, it is bound to be limited to declara­ tive sentences, since it would not work in relation to interrogative sentences, imperative sentences or requests and prayers. For though the individual words in an interrogative sentence can be used without change of meaning to create a declarative sentence (e.g., ''Is Venus red?'' translated into ''Venus is red''), inter­ rogative sentences questions have a different sentential meaning from the sentential meaning of declarative sentences, by virtue of their particular syntax, i.e., due to their different grammatical/linguistic function, their function in speech/language. Similarly with requests, commands, and prayers. Note that understanding the different linguistic functions of the particular words in (a), and in (b), once again, does not enable us to understand the mean­ ing(s) of the individual words. The same would be true if we use some or all of the words in S, in command C, and question Q, in other (more complex) declarative sentences, commands, or questions. The basic problem with the truth-conditional approach is of course that (i) we already have to know the meaning of the words in S, s: etc., and (ii) the meaning of the sentences S or S' as a whole so as to know its truth-conditions. So his approach does not provide us with what we are seeking: knowing or understanding what word and sentence meaning are. The establishment of a logical relation between the meaning of a declarative sentence and its potential truth-value in the case of unasserted sentences, would not provide an understanding of that sentence' s meaning; even if, contrary to fact, it were possible to ''transform'' or ''translate'' a question, say, into a declarative sentence without change of the original sentence' s meaning (the words composing the question do not change their meaning when we do so). For the above discussion shows that the ''translation'' or ''transformation'' would bring us no closer to the '

Meaning and Criteria

26

question's/statement's meaning than before ! Therefore even if we were to assume that the truth-conditional theory provides an analytical knowledge of the ordinary meaning of 'meaning,' it would not succeed in providing an analytical understand­ ing of word-meaning. To quote Williams, '' . . . this fact [Frege' s core suggestion] leaves us in the dark about the meanings of expressions which are not sentences. For example, none of the words that makes up the sentence 'Venus is red' is the kind of expression that can have truth-conditions."24 If what I am saying is true, Williams ' attempt to overcome the problem he states by means of a rather lengthy and complicated set of steps, fails to provide the desired analytical understanding of word-meaning.

II In my criticism of specific asp ects of the truth-conditional theory so far I concen­ trated mainly on its difficulties in relation to nonindicative sentences. But as William G. Lycan cogently shows in his Ph ilosophy ofLanguage, a Contempo­ rary Introduction, 25 the theory suffers from difficulties in relation to certain types of indicative sentences, as well. I shall begin by considering Lycan' s obj ections in relation to nonindicative sentences, then turn to his obj ections in relation to indica­ tive sentences. In summing up his obj ections to Davidson' s Truth-Conditional theory in Chapter 9, Lycan writes: ''Davidson' s theory faces many obj ections. Perhaps the most damaging is that many perfectly meaningful sentences do not have truth­ values. "26 These include (1) ''questions, such as ''Who robbed the diaper service?'' ''What time is it?'' and ''Why did you blow up my boat?'' None of these has a ''yes'' or ''no'' answer; indeed, each admits of a very large range of possible correct answers." In general, questions (or commands) which cannot be called ''true'' or ''false'' insofar as they do not have ''bipolar truth-like semantic values''; e.g., a question that can be correctly answered ''yes'' or ''no. ''27 (2) Turning to difficulties in relation to certain sorts of indicative sentences, Lycan points out that Davidson's ''Tarskian program cannot handle expressions (such as pronouns) whose referents depend on context," ''such as ''I am sick now." As Lycan asks, ''how would one state a truth condition for the sentence 'I am sick now' ? '''I am sick now' is true if and only if I am sick now'' would never do, since its truth depends on who utters it and when and is not in general determined by my (your humble narrator' s) state of health. Such sentences do not even have truth­ values, except on actual or hypothetical occasions of their use . . . ''28 (3) Another type of case the theory cannot handle, Lycan observes, is in the case of sentences that have ''predicates which are not synonymous but happen to

The Truth-Conditional Theory ofLinguistic Meaning

27

apply to just the same things, and sentences, and sentences whose truth-values are not determined by those of their component clauses."29 (4) Lycan states in passing that the theory also faces a problem in relation to ambiguous sentences. I agree. This can be seen as follows. If a sentence S is ambiguous in context C and ambiguity, as opposed to vagueness, is, by its very nature, contextual the context by definition cannot clearly, unambiguously determine or help determine the speaker or writer A 's intended meaning in C. For it fails to provide the truth-condition for S as asserted by A, hence, according to Davidson' s theory, its meaning in C. It is true that in some but not all instances two more different unclear meanings SJ, S2, etc., of S, may fit or seem to fit C. But even when C makes these interpretations possible, we would not know (a) whether A intends to assert SJ or S2, etc.; and (b) what she means by the intended statement in C. 30 (5) Vagueness, particularly great or extreme vagueness, as in the case of many traditional metaphysical and epistemological views and theories31 such as the various 20th century sense-datum theories, to mention just one example is more troublesome for the truth-conditional theory than ambiguity. For even extremely vague indicative sentences are not meaningless but have some meaning. Yet even if we can meaningfully speak of''truth conditions'' in relation to vague (extremely vague) indicative sentences, the latter' s vagueness would make it all but impossi­ ble for the audience to know their truth-conditions, hence understand their intended meaning. (Note that an even greater problem arises in relation to vague questions and commands.) (6) Another difficulty Lycan considers pertains to belief sentences. A particu­ larly difficult examp le Lycan gives to illustrate the difficulty is ''Joe believes that Mary believes that Irma believes that the house is burning down.'' He asks: ''How would we write a truth rule for it? ' n believes that A is true if and only if. . . ' what?''32 Lycan discusses the attempt to deal with this type of sentence by writing ''truth rules for non-truth-functional expressions in terms of quantification over that domain . . . The main problem with that strategy is that it strains syntax, since the transformations have to work harder to transform the new, zany logical forms into familiar English . . . [A] Davidsonian treatment of a non-truth-functional (and intensional) construction such as 'because' or 'believes that' requires at least a 'heavy commitment to concealed logical forms. ' But, as before, belief sentences in particular are already an ugly problem for any theory of meaning."33 (7) Finally, the theory cannot, as far as I can see, satisfactorily deal with perfectly meaningful declarative statements about (a) the future, or (b) about the past, whose truth-conditions, or full truth-conditions, no one, not excepting the speaker, knows at the time. In fact, the truth or falsity of such statements may be never known. In (a) ' s case I am thinking especially about assertions, predictions or hypotheses about the distant or relatively distant future, such as about the

Meaning and Criteria

28

universe as a whole or about certain parts or aspects of it; e.g., hypotheses about the Big Bang, the possibility of multiple universes, or views as to whether the expansion of the universe will be eventually reversed and ultimately end in a big Crunch. As for (b), I have in mind the extremely complex truth-conditions of large historical theories and hypotheses, as well as contrary-to-fact conditionals about complex historical events such as past wars and conquests, victories and defeats. And so on. I shall now turn to a different version of the truth-conditional theory also critically considered by Lycan in the same book. Following him, I shall refer to it as the Intensional Truth-Condition Theory.

III As we saw in Section II, Lycan rightly concludes his evaluation of Davidson' s theory that in that, as an account of sentence meaning,34 it is ultimately unsatisfac­ tory. So in Truth-Condition Theories and Intensional Semantics he considers ''a new version of the idea of a sentence's truth-condition,"35 the Intensional Truth­ Condition Theory. That theory, he argues, is an advance over Davidson' s version, insofar as it avoids ''both the problem of coextending but nonsynonymous terms, and . . . the problem of non-truth-functional connectives."36 But it ''inherits the rest of Davidson' s original difficulties and incurs one or two more.''37 The present version draws on the concept of ''possible states of affairs/ circumstances/conditions'' as Kripkean possible worlds . . . A possible world (other than the actual world, our own) is an alternative universe, in which things go otherwise than the way they go here. And because worlds differ among themselves in respect of their component factors, . . . the truth of a given sentence depends on which world we are considering."38 Earlier in the book Lycan explains Kripke' s notion of ''possible worlds or alternative universes," as follows. ''A defmite description of Russell' s sort changes its referent from world to world . . . But typically, a proper name such as 'Marion Jones' refers to the very same individual in every world in which that individual exists.''39 In Kripke' s terminology, ''[strict] proper names . . . are rigid designators ; viz. terms which designate the same object in all possible worlds." Another exam­ ple of a rigid designator, he gives is 'The square root of 25. '40 Kripke writes : ''Independently of the empirical facts, we can give an arithmetical proof that the square root of 25 is in fact the number 5, and because we have proved this mathe­ matically, what we have proved is necessary. ''41 Since I generally agree with Kripke' s conception of ''possible worlds''42 Lycan' s application of that conception to the truth-conditional theory is I think quite a propos. (See also later.) In Chapter 4 Lycan observes that on Kripke' s possible-worlds theory, a ''contingent sentence is true in some world but not in others [consequently] . . . a

The Truth-Conditional Theory ofLinguistic Meaning

29

sentence's truth-condition can be taken to be the set of possible worlds in which the sentence is true. ''43 For since ''worlds differ among themselves in respect of their component facts, . . . the truth of a given [contingent] sentence depends on which world we are considering.''44 This clearly constitutes an advance over Don­ aldson's version of the truth-condition theory. Lycan comments : This affords a new version of the idea of a sentence's truth condition. The sentence is true in some possible circumstances and not in others. Which, in the vernacular of possible worlds, is to say that the sentence is true in some worlds and not in others. As a frrst ap­ proximation, then . . . let us take a sentence' s truth condition simply to be the set of worlds in which it is true. For the truth-condition theorist, . . . that set of worlds will also be the sentence' s meaning. 45

Lycan interprets a ''direct argument'' for the possible worlds version of the Truth-Condition Theory David Lewis provides46 as follows : If you understand [the meaning of ] a certain [declarative] sentence S, and you

are

shown

a possible world at random . . . then right away you know whether S is true or false. (If you know every single fact of that world and you still cannot tell whether S is true there, then you cannot understand S.) So one thing that a meaning does is to spit out a truth value for any possible world it is given. Which is to say that a meaning is at least a truth condition in the sense of a particular set of worlds. (This leaves it open that a meaning may include more than just a truth condition. )47

I stated earlier that Lycan maintains that the present version can deal better with (a) ''the problem of extending but non-synonymous terms," and (b) with ''the problem of non-truth-conditional sentence connectives."48 He is clearly right with respect to problem (a). Consider 'renate' and 'cordate,' which have the same extensions in the actual world, yet differ in meaning. But, as he adds, in ''countless possible worlds'' their extensions would diverge, they would apply to different things : in ''countless possible worlds'' their extensions would diverge; they would apply to different things. ''Countless worlds contain renates that are not cordates and vice versa."49 This makes evident that in some possible worlds ''Xis a renate'' would be true and ''X is a cordate'' would be false; and the opposite in other possible worlds. (Contrast Davidson' s version with respect to ''Xis a renate'' and ''Xis a cordate.") Turning to problem (b) Lycan considers the modal operator ''It is possible that," as in ''It is possible that the US President is fat." This sentence ''will be counted as true just in case there is a world in which a US President is fat. ''50 Likewise, ''Necessarily, if there is a US President, the United States exists'': ''intensional semantics would count that as true just in case in every possible world, if there is a US President, the United States exists ."51

Meaning and Criteria

30

(1) Lycan believes that the possible-worlds theory can effectively deal with belief sentences. Starting with a belief statement S, he observes that the theory explains the fact that the substitution, in S, of a coreferring term that nonetheless has a different meaning can change its truth-value as a result. I quote: Although the two terms corefer in the actual world, they diverge in other worlds, so their intensions differ. Therefore the composite intensions of otherwise similar sentences in which they appear will differ also. If believing is a relation between the believer and a proposition, that is a sentence intension, then of course the believer may believe the one intension without believing the other. 52

This is true. But apart from this special type of belief statement, Lycan does not evaluate the theory in relation to belief statements in general. Consider ''A believes S, '' where 'S ' stands for a putative fact or state of affairs. My view is that, like Davidson's version, the present version too cannot successfully deal with statements of this kind. Consider the statement ''A (in context C) believes that S '' or ''A (in context C) believes S is true.'' It is clear that two (quite different) kinds of truth-conditions are involved: (a) the truth-conditions for A 's really believing S (as opposed to speaking ironically, sarcastically, tongue in cheek, etc.); and (b) the condition for S 's (whether A actually believes it or not) being true. Let us suppose for brevity' s sake that the context C does determine (a), hence whether A actually believes S, the crucial question concerning (b ), i.e., S 's truth-condition, hence for S 's meaning itself remains. And there appears to be no way in which that condition can become available to the hearer/reader in the circumstances. Even if A explains why she believes S, the reasons she can give only provide the condition for her believing S, not the condition for S 's truth itself S 's truth-condition itself would remain unknown. But if S 's truth-conditions, hence their meaning in the actual world, are not understood or known, they cannot be any more known or understood in any non­ actual possible world or worlds. Hence the possible-worlds version too would fail here. (2) Again, like Davidson' s version, the possible-worlds version cannot ade­ quately deal with ambiguity and, mutatis mutan dis, for essentially the same reason. For if the context cannot enable the hearer or reader to know which of two statements the speaker or writer intends, she cannot know which facts, circum­ stances or possible states of affairs in the actual world would make it true, it would also be impossible to ascertain the truth-conditions, T, of the intended statement in different possible worlds. Although in some possible worlds one of the two possible interpretations of the speaker's meaning may fit the new contexts better than the other interpretation, it remains that we cannot know which inter­ pretation that would be, since, as I said, we cannot know the different circum-

The Truth-Conditional Theory ofLinguistic Meaning

31

stances that would make the selection of one intended meaning over another possible. In short, if T is unavailable in the actual world, the same, a fortiori, would be true in any possible world or worlds. (3) Vagueness, especially extreme vagueness, also poses a difficulty for the possible-worlds version of the Truth-Condition Theory, albeit different from the problem posed by ambiguity. The mechanism of contrary-to-fact conditions of that version simply duplicates the same problem the theory faces with respect to truth­ conditions in the actual world. The sentence-in-use' s vagueness and so, the absence of any clear speaker-meaning-determining truth-conditions, which plague it in the actual world, also plague it in all non-actual possible worlds . (4) In concluding his discussion of the possible-worlds version, Lycan points out a numb er of obj ections to it, including its neglect of meaning' s ''dynamic feature'' its capacity to produce an effect in the hearer or reader, ''playing . . . a 'dynamic role in human society, . . . some causal power (some push and pull, some punch, some biff)."53 He writes that the possible-worlds view is . . . subject to . . . [the obj ection ofJ neglect of meaning' s 'dynamic feature. "'54 But this criticism is invalid. The dynamic feature illocutionary force in speech act theory of a sentence-in-use, its causal effect on the hearer or reader, is neither part of the latter' s linguistic meaning nor a form of meaning itself, hence is not and cannot validly be the concern of the possible-worlds (or of Davidson' s) theory. Although some philosophers speak of it as ''emotive meaning," that phrase is misleading, to say the least; since emotive-dynamic force, unlike conventional meaning, is quite variable or changeable, depending on an individual speaker's intention as well as on her psychological-emotional state at the time; on the particular language' s cultural associations; and on the extra-linguistic circumstances under which the sentence is employed. But even if dynamic force is thought of as some kind of meaning, the distinction and differences between it and ''cognitive," ''non­ emotive," meaning would remain outside the purview of truth-conditional theories of speaker-meaning. The fact that dynamic or illocutionary force depends on the speaker' s choice of words and the way the sentence is structured, and so on its linguistic meaning together with various relevant sorts of extra-linguistic factors, such as intonation, emphasis, body language, does not logically affect what I just said. Likewise with sentences that are part of a written text. Since Lycan uses Kripke' s ''possible-worlds'' framework in relation to the present version of the truth-conditional theory, some observations concerning Kripke' s ''possible-worlds'' theory are in order. In the section on ''Remaining Objections'' Lycan asks but does not attempt to answer the question, ''In what sense are there really alternative worlds that do not really exist?''55 One of the strengths of Kripke' s ''minimalist'' position, as one might call it, and which makes

Meaning and Criteria

32

it quite attractive, 56 is that that question does not arise in relation to it; since Kripke explicates the concept of ''possible worlds'' in terms of counterfactuals, and uses the phrase 'possible worlds' only metaphorically. In that way his account bypasses the ontological and epistemological issues, among others, raised by a literal inter­ pretation of 'possible worlds .' For instance, although Kripke defines 'rigid desig­ nator' and 'non-rigid designator' in terms of 'possible worlds,' what he says is essentially that ''a rigid designator is a term that refers to or designates the same thing in each (meaningful) occurrence of its use in counterfactuals and a non-rigid designator is a term that does not."57 As I wrote in ''Kripke and Frege on Identity Statements," ''in essentially defining it in this way, Kripke in effect bypasses such thorny questions as the possibility or impossibility of trans-world identity, and the criterion or criteria of such identity. ''58 Kripke criticizes the ''extreme view. . . that since possible worlds are so disjoint from our own, we cannot really say that any object in them is the same as an object existing now but only that there are some objects which resemble things in the actual world, more or less."59 I agree with Kripke' s thesis that this is a ''totally misguided way of looking at things. "60 Kripke writes : Such counterfactuals as 'Had Nixon done such and such, he would have lost the election to Humphrey' and 'Had Hitler died in infancy, the Second World War would not have oc­ curred' are frequently made in daily life, as well as in historical writings, and they have a perfectly intelligible meaning in ordinary language. For example, we can specify conditions under which we could verify or disverify them. The practical, including the methodological problems encountered in this endeavor do not render them unverifiable in principle

and

certainly do not make them senseless. 61

We have already seen how the Intensional Truth-Condition Theory, utilizing Kripke' s ''possible-worlds'' conception, clearly bears out the preceding.62

IV Shope's Analysis of Meaningfulness and Meaning

Shope makes clear at the outset, in the book' s title and Preface, that he seeks to present analyses of the meaning(fulness) of linguistic expressions. He aims to present a ''unified view of meaningfulness, spanning such varied topics as the meaningfulness of linguistic expressions and conventional signs, . . . a person's meaning to do something . . . '' etc. Shope also speaks of ''The present effort to develop a unified account of meaning . . . ''69 And he wants to ''characterize meaning­ fulness as a genus, rather than to restrict attention to one or another variety, such as the meaningfulness of expressions in a natural language. ''70 In the subsection entitled ''Meaningfulness versus What the Meaning Is'' Shope says the following: ''When studying the meaningfulness of linguistic or mental symbols, some philosophers seek a general characterization of what the

The Truth-Conditional Theory ofLinguistic Meaning

33

meaning of such a symbol is. But with one exception, my goal will only be to analyze meaningfulness to characterize what constitutes something' s being mean­ ingful, whatever its specific meaning may be. ''71 And, ''In general a distinction exists between what it is for meaningfulness to be present, that is, what it is for a particular item to be meaningful, and what is the meaning of that term." ''The present analysis of meaning will . . . not inform us what the meaning is of any specific expression within an existing language, with one interesting exception. Since the analysis is written in English, and it utilizes the term 'meaning, ' it will tum out to be applicable to itself so as to reveal the meaning of 'meaning' ."72 As will be seen as we proceed, Shope's account of linguistic meaning is essentially a complex, articulated and refined special form of the truth-conditional analysis. Since the analysis is concerned with the usual, ordinary generic meaning of 'meaningful' and 'meaning,' it would give us, if successful, valuable insight into these concepts. Among the things the analysis attempts to do is (A) (a) the inclusion, in the analysans, of a description of a speaker's use (assertion) of a sentence S to form a statement, i.e., a linguistic form that has a truth-value. The speaker's use of S is in tum (b) analyzed in terms of the concept of a ''propositional attitude'' (a desire, intention, etc.) as a (or the) cause of the speaker's use/assertion of S in the par­ ticular context, described by the author as ''the expression of a propositional attitude . . . "73 Indeed, his account attempts to provide (B) an analysis of the mean­ ing of 'nondescriptive' linguistic expressions, such as 'Hurrah ! ' (C) The analysis is further refmed by the utilization, in the analysans, of the concept of representing or representation, understood in a certain general way; and by the concept of answer-content. And (D), the meaning of 'meaning. ' I shall not examine Shope's views in (A)-(D) in any detail. Rather, I shall concentrate on the fmal outcome of his analysis concerning ''meaning that h'' and ''the meaning of 'the meaning' . " I will completely leave aside his account of conventional symbols and signs, and will only refer briefly to his account of what H.P. Grice calls ''natural'' meaning. Since his concept of representing or represen­ tation is essential for an understanding of his analysis of sentence meaning, it will be necessary for us to go briefly into it. In Chapter 7, ''Analyzing Meaning," Shope divides his discussion of (A)-(D) above into the following subsections : (A) A Sentence' s Meaning That h; (B) An Analysis of Having a Meaning; (C) The Meaning ofNondescriptive Sentences and an Analysis of Being Involved in the Meaning of a Conventional Sign; and in Chapter 9, (D) The Meaning of 'the Meaning. ' I shall start with (A). Agreeing with Schiffer that in (3) ''Snow is white'' means ''that snow is white," Shope proceeds to the following analysis: ''(E) if s is a declarative sentence, then a sentence of form (a) 'The meaning of s is that h ' (alternatively: 'What s means is that h ' ) is elliptical for a sentence of form (b):

34

Meaning and Criteria

'What a person's engaging in the use of s means is that the person is expressing a propositional attitude about h *. '''74 He then applies that analysis to a sentence of form (b) as follows : ''(P) [Relative to context C] where s is a declarative sentence, what a person' s engaging in the use of s means is that the person is expressing a propositional attitude about h * if and only if the answer-content of a person's engaging in the use of s is that the person is expressing a propositional attitude about h *."75 ''Thesis (E) permits us to paraphrase the beginning of (P) in an elliptical form so as to yield the following consequence: (m3) [Relative to context C] where s is a declarative sentence, the meaning of s is that h (alternatively: what s means is that h) if and only if the answer-content of a person's engaging in the use of s is that the person is expressing a propositional attitude about h *."76 ''The representing statement forming the right side of equivalence (m3) will be true if (but only it) the following is true: (U) The use of s represents the expres­ sion of a propositional attitude about h* ."77 To understand (m3) we need to understand what Shope means by 'the answer­ content of a person's engaging in the use of s. ' The example he gives makes this concept clear: ''When there are n rings in the stump [of a tree], the number of rings [x] represents the age of the tree when the stump was formed. The relevant ''what question'' is : 'What was the age of the tree when the stump was formed? ' Thus the answer-content of x, the number of rings, is that the tree was n years old when the stump was formed.''78 ''(U') The use of a declarative sentence H represents the expression of a propositional attitude about the state of affairs named by the gerundive corre­ sponding to H: Sy, a given person's actually intending to engage in the expression of a propositional attitude about that state of affairs, being the cause Sx, that person's actually attempting to engage in the use of H to express a propositional attitude about that state of affairs."79 And, '' . . . It has not been a goal of the present investigation to analyze the content of propositional attitudes, e.g., to analyze what it is for a belief to be about the occurrence of one state of affairs than to be about the occurrence of another.''80 Shope explains : ''in applying our analysis of representing, (R), to (U), one might begin as follows to sketch a relevant background for the statement that x, the use of s, represents y, the expression of a propositional attitude about h *: ''Sy, a given person's actually intending to engage in the expression of a propositional attitude about h *, being the cause of Sx, that person's actually engaging in the use of s, justifies to at least some degree the statement that this person is expressing a propositional attitude about h * by using s. Such a statement answers the question 'What is some of the situation regarding the expression of a propositional attitude about h*?' ''81 In Analysis of Something' s Having a Meaning (pp. 154-55) he writes :

The Truth-Conditional Theory ofLinguistic Meaning

35

''We saw that in order to have natural meaning, x must have as its answer­ content some true statement. That is, x itself will represent something, y, in relation to the justification of a true answer to some relevant what-question about y. But when x is a conventional sign, it will possess meaning provided that its use makes some contribution to something' s representing something, y, in relation to the justification of an answer to some relevant what-question about y, and the answer need not be true. So a general analysis of meaningfulness is provided by the following: ''(M") x has a meaning if and only if for some context of inquiry concerning something, y, either x or x 's possessing certain features, properties, or relations represents y or makes a certain contribution to something representing y. ''82

''For the most part," he writes, the method of analysis he employs in ''seeking an analysis of meaningfulness and of meaning'' is ''constitutive analysis." He defmes the method as ''a special species of analysis, where the biconditional of the form 'it is the case that h if and only if it is the case that k' holds exactly because there is a truth of the form 'h * consists in k*. ' Roughly, the biconditional in those analyses is both true and counterfactual-sustaining because any state of affairs corresponding to a sentence having the form of the analysandum is constituted by a state of affairs corresponding to a sentence having the form of the analysans."83 A little earlier he explains the notation he uses thus : ''phrases about some state of affairs such as 'John's seeing Joan' which correlate with a clause of the form 'that h ' whose instantiations are a grammatically correct that-clause, such as 'that John sees Joan. ' Let us adopt the notation 'h * ' to refer to the corresponding state of affairs, writing its instantiation in this example as 'John' s-seeing-Joan. ' Again, when we instantiate for 'that h' a clause of the form 'that x represents y' then the instantiation for 'h * ' has the form 'x-represents-y * ' and will symbolize the state of affairs referred to by a phrase of the form 'x 's-representing-y '. ''84 I shall not attempt to follow Shope' s whole set of analytical steps resulting in what he claims is his ''constitutive analysis'' of (A) the meaning of a (1) declarative sentence-in­ use, and (2) of sentences other than declarative sentences; (B) the meaning of nondescriptive expressions ; and (C) what it is for something to have a meaning. Instead, to keep the discussion within manageable limits, I shall only present and evaluate the preparatory steps (E) and (U), as well as (M''), and the fmal analysis of the meaning of declarative sentences in (m3) he reaches in the latter part of his book. Evaluation of Shope's Analysis of Declarative Sentences

As I understand it, Shope' s method of ''constitutive analysis'' is a variant of a type of analysis associated in the 20th century with Bertrand Russell, and adopted by A.J. Ayer and other logical positivists or logical empiricists. As described by Ayer

36

Meaning and Criteria

''the method consists of a logical device whereby the philosopher arrives at a defmition of a symbol in use. The sentences arrived at with the help of this device, the defin iens, is logically equivalent to, though it is not synonymous with, the sentence in which the symbol (expression) to be defined, the definiendum, occurs. Thus the definite description 'The author of Waverley' in the sentence ''The author of Waverley is Scotch'' . . . is defined in use in the sentence ''One person, and one person only, wrote Waverley, and that person was Scotch."85 Another example of definition in use Ayer gives is the translation of ''A cat is a mammal'' into ''The class of mammals contains the class of cats'' . . . This translation provides us with a definition in use of the word 'is' in the original sentence."86 Thus this type of analysis does not result in an analysans that has the same meaning as, is synony­ mous with, the analysandum. But if the analysis is successful it would constitute a significant advance in our understanding of linguistic meaning(fulness), in the sense of a partial analysis of a type mainly associated with the later Wittgenstein and the ''ordinary language'' philosophers, dubbed ''exhibition analysis'' by Stephan Komer and briefly described in Chapter 1. If the method adopted by Shope is successful, it would (indirectly) provide a partial mapping of the logical terrain of certain logical relations between sentence meaning( fulness) and certain other concepts : truth, speaker's propositional attitudes, etc. Shope thinks that his analysis of the meaning of 'meaningfulness ' does pro­ vide the meaning of the word 'meaning. ' He states that since his analysis ''is written in English, and it utilizes the term 'meaning' , it will turn out to be applica­ ble to itself so as to reveal the meaning of [the English term] 'meaning' ."87 Whether his analysis succeeds in doing so or will only provide a ''constitutive exhibition'' of 'meaning''' remains to be seen. But it is certain that if he is right his analysis would not give the meaning of 'meaning ' in the sense of a real definition either in its traditional form or in the sense in which G .E. Moore envisaged it as the end-result of the type of ''reductive'' analysis he practiced or tried to practice. In short, leaving aside for the present the analysis of the meaning of 'meaning, ' what the analyses in (E), (P), (U) and (m3), etc., above, if successful, would accomplish is explaining a given analysandum, Al, by providing a locution (analysandum­ A2) whose truth-value is the same as that of (or about) Al. That is, a statement (analysandum-A2) that would be true if and only if another, comp lex statement (analysans) is true. But do the preceding ''formulae'' provide correct truth-value equivalences of (a) 'the meaning of s is that h ' (E)? (b) 'what a person's engaging in the use of s means ' (P)? or (c) 'what s means is that h ' (m3)? And (d) 'that the use of s repre­ sents the expression of a propositional attitude about h *' (U)? Let us see. Concerning (E), (P), (m3), etc., Shope is clearly correct in relativising to context. As he says, this has ''the advantage [among other things he mentions] of allowing for contexts to vary even within the confines of linguistic study, e.g., we

The Truth-Conditional Theory ofLinguistic Meaning

37

might be concerned with what a sentence means relative to a given natural lan­ guage; or relative to a given occasion of use in a given natural language; or relative to a jargon usage by a given person who has stipulated a personal technical mean­ ing for a term.'' And the analysis does provide a correct equivalence of the meaning of s as 'that h, ' since s here is a declarative sentence. But beyond that the alleged equivalence fails. Shope claims that, (E) Ifs is a declarative sentence of form (a): ' The meaning of s is that h ' (alternatively: what s means is that h

) is elliptical for a sentence of form (b):

*

'What a person' s engaging

in the use of s means is that the person is expressing a propositional attitude about h

*

'. 88

This is clearly incorrect. (1) Consider the sentence 'Venus is red. ' Suppose I tell someone who does not know the color of the planet Venus or is not sure that Venus is red. Shope is right that, as we saw earlier in relation to Williams' analysis of the sentence, 'Venus is red' does means ''that Venus is red''; that the state of affairs, ''being red'' or ''redness," characterizes or is true of Venus. But is that elliptical for, hence has the same meaning as, ''What I, in asserting 'Venus is red, ' mean is that I am expressing a propositional attitude about Venus' being red''? Hardly. Of course in asserting 'Venus is red' I will have a certain ''propositional attitude'' about the planet Venus : some belief or thought, and so on, about it. But the mean­ ing of the sentence 'Venus is red' has nothing to do with my propositional attitude. Shope here is adventitiously or irrelevantly inj ecting a fact about me as the user of the sentence into its meaning. And the same is even true of the statement ''Venus is red," ''Venus is characterized by redness (h)." The fact that I have a certain ''mental content'' in using the sentence is a fact about myself, not about it or about the statement I make. (2) Further, whatever specific semantic meaning I may give or intend to give 'Venus is red' in a particular context e.g., whether its conventional meaning or my own special meaning where, for example, I use 'red' to mean ''beautiful''; so that I will be in effect saying that ''Venus is beautiful!'' the resulting meaning of 'Venus is red, ' has nothing to do with any ''propositional attitude'' on my part concerning Venus ' aesthetic or any other qualities. In terms of the concept of ''speaker meaning," what I am saying is that the speaker' s propositional attitude .... .. his beliefs concerning the state of affairs his statement is about is not part even of the ''speaker meaning'' of the sentence in-use he asserts . As we shall presently see, these problems plague Shope's final analysis in (m3), where I shall expand on the preceding criticisms a little more. In commenting on thesis (E) Shope states that it is ''not itself an analysis of the meaning of a declarative sentence, but only a preparatory step in applying (M) so as to obtain (m3). Indeed, (E) would be a nonstarter as an analysis of meanings, since it employs the term 'means ' in characterizing sentences of form (b ) ."89 But

38

Meaning and Criteria

as I argued, it has serious problems even as a preparatory step, and if not corrected, would lead to further problems down the line. Similar criticisms can be made about (U); which states that ''the use of s represents the expression of a propositional attitude about h *.'' Since (E) is a preparatory step in applying (M) so as to obtain (m3), let us turn to (M) and, finally, to (m3). In (M'') Shope offers ''An Analysis of Having a Meaning,'' as follows : ''(M") x has a meaning if and only if for some context of inquiry concerning something, y, either x or x 's possessing certain features, properties, or relations represents y or makes 90 a contribution to something' s representingy."

To understand (M") we need briefly to understand, at least as far as this particular formula is concerned, Shope's concept of representing, which plays an important role in his analysis, and to which he devotes the whole of Chapter 2 of his book. Perhaps a few examples of representing Shope gives might make the concept sufficiently clear for our purposes. One examp le he gives of 'x represent­ ing y ' is 'A thermometer represents the temperature' he quotes from The Oxford 91 Companion to Philosophy. Another example he gives on the same page is about a dinner partner' s explaining the ''stages of a famous battle by letting the fork represent Napoleon' s forces . . . '' Shope adds that he will mention representing in both its epistemological and causal aspects, thus: ''Our causal-epistemic analysis of what it is for x to represent y will run roughly as follows : ''an answer to a certain question about y is renderedjustified by the way that y is involved in the causation of a condition ofx. ''92 Since in (M'') and in this chapter as a whole we are concerned with the meanings of verbal expressions, only the epistemological aspects of representing will be relevant to us. Employing Shope' s concept as restricted to verbal expressions, what (M'') essentially states is that ''An expression y (whether a word, phrase or sentence) will have a meaning if and only if it or something else, x (or its properties, etc.) 'repre­ sent' y. '' (M") is an excellent formula concerning the meaning of a wide variety of kinds of things, which, in some ordinary meaning of 'meaning' or other, have a meaning. It applies to such diverse kinds of things as the rings on the stump of a tree and other natural objects as well as events, states of affairs, and so on that have or can have a meaning in some sense for a scientist's trained eye; to symbols, signals and conventional signs; to figurative art and narrative and symbolic dance; to poetry; and possibly even ''life." (Note Shope's discussion of''the meaning of life'' on pp. 1 6 1 - 1 63 .) The one great exception is language: words, phrases and sentences. They have semantic meaning but cannot be properly said to represent (or stand for) anything by virtue of their meaning including that which they mean, or that which sentences are about in any ordinary sense or meaning of 'represent' or 'repre-

The Truth-Conditional Theory ofLinguistic Meaning

39

senting. ' Therefore, to make sense of (M'') as intended to apply to language, we have to understand these terms as technical stipulative terms in Shope's usage. The question then would be what that sense or meaning could be, which would provide a true biconditional regarding 'x when 'x is a sentence or a subsentential unit; and whether Shope himself understands 'represent' and 'representing' in that putative special sense. 93 The answer is that I see no indication in the whole of Chapter 2 , which is devoted to the subj ect, that he uses these terms in anything but their ordinary meaning. Clearly the kinds of examples of representing Shope gives in Chapter 2, which is devoted to the subj ect, such as the fork representing a battle of Napoleon' s or the rise in the thermometer representing the rise in temperature, are clearly not the kinds of examples that could be somehow made to apply to linguistic meaning. As far as sentences or statements are concerned, I found one example on pages 4 1 -42, where he states that the statement 'The darkening sky represents impending rain. ' He explains : ''The relevant background may be partly sketched as follows for saying that x, the sky's darkening in that manner, repre­ sents y, rain's falling in the near future; Sy, the occurrence of a correlation between a sky's having darkened in such-and-such a manner and rain' s having fallen in the near future, being the case Sx, rational people's typically reacting to a sky' s darkening in that manner by actually expecting impending rain . ''94 But what meaning does ''The statement the darkening sky represents impending rain'' possibly have? What we would normally say is that the state of affairs described by the phrase 'The darkening sky,' i.e., the sky's darkening, not the linguistic expression, the phrase 'the darkening sky' itself, ''means impending rain.'' Thus the example confuses what the linguistic expression describes, which does not and cannot ''represent'' anything in any ordinary meaning or sense of the term, and the state of affairs the expression is about. 95 Turning finally to (M3), which Shope presents under the title ''A Sentence' s Meaning that h, '' (p. 1 45) Shope states that final stage in his analysis of sentence meaning, as follows : '

'

.

.

''(M3) [Relative to context CJ where s is a declarative sentence, the meaning of s is that h (alternatively: what s means is that h) if and only if the answer-content of a person's en­ gaging in the use of s is that the person is expressing a propositional attitude about h *. ''96

Suppose we set up a context for (M3) as follows, using for s our stock exam­ ple sentence 'Venus is red, ' with the following scenario: Q. ''What does the sentence 'Venus is red' mean, say in an astronomical context?'' A. ''It means 'that Venus is red' or 'Venus ' -being- red' [h] is true if and only if the answer to the question: what a person P doing in using 'Venus is red' is: ''P is expressing a certain propositional attitude toward 'Venus' -being-red.' That is, P is expressing a certain belief or thought, etc. about 'Venus ' -being-red' ; e.g., he

40

Meaning and Criteria

believes that it is a true state of affairs ; i.e., that the statement ''Venus is red'' is true (''Venus is red," or ''Venus is redf', etc.); or P believes that it is false. And so on. In other words, P 's having a certain propositional attitude toward 'Venus ' being-red' is causally-epistemically connected with the meaning of 'Venus is red' in context C we imagined. It is because he believes/disbelieves, etc. h that he asserts s, or his reason for asserting s in context C is that he believes that ''Venus is red'' is (say) true. The problem is that although P 's imagined ''mental content'' is necessary for the truth of the consequent part of the biconditional, it is adventi­ tious to, not part of the meaning of ''Venus is red''; i.e., ''that Venus is red'' or ''Venus ' -being-red." In general terms, it is not part of ''the meaning of a sentence that h.'' This fits with my earlier remarks concerning Williams ' analysis of the meaning of sentence 'Venus is red' as ''that Venus is red." The net result of the preceding criticism is that (M3) fails to provide any advance over the true but rather obvious formula ''the meaning of s is that h. '' To sum up our conclusions in this chapter. ( 1 ) As stated earlier in the text, the core suggestion of the truth-conditional theory as presented by Davidson and Williams illuminates the logical connection between a statement s and its truth conditions, and so reveals an important aspect of s 's ordinary meaning. But (2) the very fact that it attempts to understand ''sentence meaning'' (in, effect, in a stipu­ lated sense of 'meaning') in terms of the truth-conditions of statements severely limits its ability not only to provide (a) a viable analysis of the meaning of non­ declarative sentences as well as to provide (b) a fuller analysis of sentence mean­ ing(fulness), particularly in the ordinary meaning of ' sentence meaning(fulness).' In the case of the subsentential units of sentences, it does not (c) provide an understanding of the grammatical, syntactical relations between the words and phrases in declarative sentences, let alone in commands, questions, and so on. The words and phrases in all grammatical types of sentences do have the same generic meaning of 'meaning' as the generic meaning of 'sentence meaning' ; albeit their grammatical roles in declarative sentences, commands, questions, and so on, their specific linguistic functions will be different in some ways or ways . In a section entitled ''Truth-Conditional Approaches'' in his Illocutionary Acts and Sentence Mean ing, William Alston similarly sums up the essential contribu­ tion of the truth-conditional theory as follows : ''Then what is the relation of sentence meaning to truth conditions? It is simply that the meaning of a sentence, together with various contextual factors, determines the truth conditions of a statement made by uttering the sentence in a certain context. ''97 Later in the same section he notes the most obvious shortcoming of truth-value-based theories of sentence meaning ''the fact that not all meaningful sentences are susceptible of truth values, even in the derivative way we have found some sentences to be . . . Obviously not all sentences are used (standardly) to make statements, and hence not all of them can be given just this treatment."98 He then considers some

The Truth-Conditional Theory ofLinguistic Meaning

41

ways in which attempts have been made to get round that limitation or problem, and finds them unsatisfactory. 99 I might add that in the form presented by Davidson and Williams the theory cannot provide an independent criterion for the meaningfulness of sentences; rather, it presupposes knowledge of the meaningfulness of any putative declarative sentence(-in-use) as a condition for a speaker's applying the truth-value condition to it. A speaker may purposefully use a meaningless string of meaningful words that lacks an intelligible meaning as a whole, or a string of nonsense words. They may be used for some intended end, and may have a use, but the hearer cannot conclude that since they have a use they must be meaningful sentences. Our discussion of Shope' s ''constitutive'' analysis of linguistic meaning, albeit too brief to do justice to the wealth of ideas in the book, should help bring out some of the insights about linguistic meaning. But his account, as a variant of the truth-conditional theory, is limited by that fact in a way not essentially different from Davidson' s and Williams ' form of it.

Meaning and Criteria

42

Notes 1 . Routledge Encyclopedia ofPhilosophy, Edward Craig, General Editor (London: Routledge, 1 998), Vol. 6, pp. 2 1 9-226. 2.

Ibid., p. 2 1 9 . Italics in original.

3 . Ibid. Italics in original. 4. Ibid. Italics in original. 5.

Ibid., p. 225.

6.

The Nature ofMeaningfulness

(Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, Inc., 1999).

7 . ''Truth and Meaning," Inquiries into Truth and Interpretation (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1 984), pp. 1 7-3 6. 8 . Ibid., p. 24. 9. Ibid. 10. Ibid. 1 1 . Williams, op cit., p. 220. It is noteworthy that Williams nowhere explains that the theory is concerned to explicate sentence meaning in some special, stipulated sense. He talks as if it is a theory of meaning in the ordinary meaning of 'linguistic meaning. ' 12. Davidson, ''Truth and Meaning," p. 24. My italics. 1 3 . Ibid., p. 24, footnote 8 . 14. Williams, op cit., p. 220. 1 5 . Ibid. 16. Ibid. 1 7 . Ibid. 1 8 . Ibid. 19. Ibid., p. 223. 20. Ibid., p. 224. 2 1 . Ibid. 22. Ibid., p. 220. 23. For a discussion of ''aboutness'' see my ''About," Philosophy ofLanguage and Logical Theory: Collected Papers (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, Inc., 1 995), pp. 289-304. 24. Williams, op cit., p. 220. 25. London: Routledge, 2000. 26. Ibid., p. 146. 27. Ibid., p. 140. 28. Ibid., p. 142. Lycan adds that Davidson' s response in relativizing truth to speaker and a time is unsatisfactory ''not least in that speaker and time of utterance are not the only contextual factors that affect truth value. (Recall) 'This is a fme one' )." (Ibid., p. 1 42.)

The Truth-Conditional Theory ofLinguistic Meaning

43

29. Ibid., p. 146. 3 0. Ibid., endnote 5, p. 1 4 7. Italics in original. The difficulties are considered in Lycan, Logical Form in Natural Language (Cambridge, MA: Bradford Books/MIT Press, 1 984), Chapter 3 . 3 1 . See my ''Ambiguity," Philosophy Of Language And Logical Theory: Collected Papers (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, Inc., 1995), pp. 7 1 -87. Hereafter referred to as PLL T.

32. See my ''Vagueness, Verifiability, and Metaphysics," PLLT, pp. 47-70, and ''Vagueness," op cit., pp. 3-24. 3 3 . Ibid., p. 144. 34. Ibid. 3 5 . On p. 1 35 Lycan defmes a 'T-sentence' as a 'product' that has ''something of the form ''' ----is true if and only if ----' for each English sentence.'' 36. Ibid., p. 140. 3 7. But see Chapters 1 1 and 1 2 of the present book for a detailed analysis of the relations between different types of evaluative expressions/concepts, hence evaluative judgments, and their criteria. •

3 8 . Throughout the chapter on Davidson's theory, Lycan thinks of it as intended to provide the meaning of a sentence rather than of what a speaker means by a given sentence-in-use or state­ ment in a given context. For instance, he describes it as proposing that '' . . . [To] know a sen­ tence's meaning is to know the conditions under which that sentence is actually true." (Op cit., p. 1 3 1 . My italics.) This is a serious flaw in his discussion as a whole. 3 9. Ibid.' p. 1 5 1 . 40. Ibid., p. 1 50. 4 1 . Ibid. 42. Ibid. 43. Ibid., p. 1 5 1 . 44. Ibid., p. 5 1 . 45. ''Kripke and Frege on Identity Statements," Philosophy OfLanguage And Logical Theory: Collected Papers, p. 324. 46. Kripke, op cit., pp. 144-145. 4 7. See my ''Kripke and Frege on Identity Statements,'' passim. There I criticized what I considered to be Kripke' s confusion of the ''problem of the rigidity of designators with the completely clif­ ferent issue of the identity of an object with itself in every possible world.'' According to my view, as succinctly stated in Husserl or Frege? Meaning, Objectivity, and Mathematics, Claire Ortiz Hill et al., eds. (Chicago and La Salle, IL: Open Court, 2000), p. 48, ''the sole (or at least principal) ground for the rigidity of such proper names is that this is a condition for the intelligi­ bility of any counterfactual statement in which they occur." 48. Ibid., p. 1 50. 49. Ibid. 50. Ibid., p. 1 5 1 .

Meaning and Criteria

44 5 1 . Ibid.

52. David Lewis, ''General Semantics," Synthese, Vol. 22, pp. 1 8-67. Reprinted in Semantics of Natural Language, D. Davidson and G. Harman, eds. (Dordrecht: D. Reidel, 1 972), p. 22. 5 3 . Ibid., pp. 1 53-1 54. 54. Ibid., p. 1 54. 5 5 . Ibid. 5 6. Ibid. Italics in original. 5 7. Ibid. Italics in original. Distinguish this from the false statement that ''Necessarily, there is a US President in every possible world.'' 5 8. Ibid.' p. 1 5 5 . 59. Ibid., p. 8 5 . 60. Ibid., p. 1 56. 6 1 . Ibid., p. 1 54. 62. Ibid., p. 1 56. Italics in original. 63. See ''Kripke and Frege on Identity Statements," passim. 64. Peter Achinstein, ''The Identity of Properties," American Philosophical Quarterly, Vol. II, No. 4, October 1 974, p. 266, footnote 1 6 . 65. ''Kripke and Frege on Identity Statements," p. 3 5 7 . 66. Ibid., pp. 1 46-1 47. Italics in original. Quoted from ''Kripke and Frege on Identity Statements," p. 327. 67. Kripke, op. cit., p. 147. 68. ''Kripke and Frege on identity Statements," p. 327. In ''Identity and Necessity'' Kripke does not provide a criterion of identity across all possible worlds. For a discussion of that issue, see ''Kripke and Frege on Identity Statements," p. 328, and passim. 69. Shope, op cit., Preface, p. xi. 70. Ibid., Introduction, p. 4. 7 1 . Ibid.' p. 7. 72. Ibid. 73. Ibid., p. 144. 74. Ibid., p. 145. 75. Ibid. 76. Ibid., p. 1 1 . 77.

Shope, op cit., p. 145.

78. Ibid. 79. Ibid., p. 1 4 1 . 80. Ibid., p. 1 5 1 .

The Truth-Conditional Theory ofLinguistic Meaning

45

8 1 . Ibid.' p. 1 5 3 . 82. Ibid., p. 145. 8 3 . Ibid., p. 1 1 . 84. Ibid., p. 1 0 . 8 5 . A Critical Study in Method (The Hague, Netherlands: Martinus Nijhoff, 1 967), p . 1 5 8 . 86.

Shope, op cit., p. 7.

87. Ibid., p. 144. 88. Ibid., p. 1 5 5 . 89. Ibid., p. 1 7 . 90. Ibid., p. 7. Italics in original. 9 1 . See ibid., p. 1 5 5 . 92. Ibid., pp. 4 1 -42. 93. Ibid. The dilemma facing Shope respecting the use of 'represent' and 'representing' is the following: if he uses these terms in their ordinary meaning, they would fit the larger project in his book, of providing a general analysis or theory of the meaning of a wide variety of kinds of things that are ordinarily said to have meaning, in terms of the concepts of representing but at the expense of leaving out the crucial linguistic meaning. But if he uses these terms in some technical sense (which is precisely what he does) to fit linguistic meaning, they may well cease to fit some or all of the other kinds of things that ordinarily represent or can represent something else. That, apart from the problem of giving a clear or precise stipulated meaning to these terms without circularity when applying them to linguistic expressions. 94. Ibid., p. 145. 9 5 . Illocutionary Acts and Sentence Meaning (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2000), p. 249. My italics. 96. Ibid., pp. 300-3 0 1 . For a fairly detailed trenchant criticism of the ''Truth Conditional Ap­ proaches," see Alston, op cit., pp. 296ff. One particular criticism that should be mentioned here is what Alston rightly calls, on pp. 296-297, the ''crushing difficulty that, in general, a sentence as a bearer of meaning in a language (a sentence type) has no particular truth-value and so is governed by no conditions for such.'' And so on to the middle of page 297, and beyond. I should add that Alston states as a sixth Axiom of Meaning that ''The truth-conditions of a statement are at least partly determined by the meaning(s) ofthe sentence used to make that statement. ''

(p. 150. Italics in original.) This is true of course. But it is precisely because of it that a putative declarative sentence-in-use s 's having a truth-value can serve as a condition for its meaningful­ ness. If, say, the putative sentence is nothing but a meaningless string of words or a sentence that involves a category mistake, it cannot possibly have a truth-value, be either true or false. 97. Ibid., p. 297. 98. Ibid., pp. 300-3 0 1 . 99. Ibid., pp. 303ff Alston concludes on page 309 by stating that the fact that each of the truth value alternatives to his own illocutionary act theory of sentence meaning he considered ''provides strong confrrmation of my approach to sentence meaning'' (ibid., p. 309). We shall see in Chapter 4 whether his own alternative theory is satisfactory.

Chapter 3 Th e Later Wittgenstein on Linguistic Meaning I shall begin with a brief synopsis of Wittgenstein' s main ideas about language­ games and practices, criteria and rules, and meaning and use in Philosophical Investigations, on which I shall elaborate as I go along. These elaborations are not to be attributed to Wittgenstein, and may or may not be in line with his ideas in that work or anywhere else in his writings. Many of Wittgenstein' s views concerning the preceding concepts are, I be­ lieve, basically sound, and I shall only briefly describe some of them. My criticisms will be mainly directed to some of his views about criteria and his claim that, ''in the case of a large class of words, the meaning of a word is its use in the language." For the section on criteria I shall draw heavily on P.M.S. Hacker' s excellent discussion in Insight and Illusion, Wittgenstein on Philosophy and the Meta­ physics ofExperience1 and to a lesser extent, Language, Sense and Nonsense by G .P. Baker and Hacker. 2 In reproducing Wittgenstein' s relevant ideas very roughly and somewhat crudely, we might begin by noting that human beings create language by creating ''language-games ." These are practices set up or defined by a certain kind or certain kinds of rules that determine the ''moves'' possible in them; that is, the meaning or ''use'' of the words, and consequently, the sentences that form part of them. The rules are analogous in certain ways to the rules that create games and to the various kinds of moves that can be made in them. Another way of looking at the way in which linguistic meaning-use is created according to Investigations, is through their public, conventional criteria. To quote Hacker, ''criteria . . . can be seen as those conditions which non-inductively justify the assertion of an expression [Hacker says ''sentence''] and in terms of which the sense of the sentence is to be accounted for.''3 We might add that criteria, if and when they become relatively fixed, become embodied in the rules that define linguistic practices; since Wittgen­ stein stresses the flexibility of language rules and the meanings of the expressions they determine. In what follows I shall discuss the main ideas in the following order: ( 1 ) Language-games as practices; (2) ''Rules of Language''; (3) Meaning Criteria; and finally, (4) the relation between word-meaning and ''use in the language." Language-Games

In ''Language Games'' Jaakko Hintikka writes:4 The basic representative relations

Meaning and Criteria

48

(naming relations) between language and the world,5 are [in the Philosophical Investigations as opposed to the Tractatus] assumed to be created and sustained by different language-games . The primary function, if not the only one, of Witt­ genstein' s language-games is thus to link language to the world.6 And: ''The representational relationships between language and reality have [in Wittgenstein' s later philosophy] as it were their mode of existence in certain rule-governed human activities . These activities are just what Wittgenstein calls language-games. These are what according to Wittgenstein creates and sustains the representative relation­ ships between language and reality. ''7 Speaking in a similar vein, Meredith Williams writes in Wittgenstein, Mind and Mean ing8 that it is ''only within a language-game," which she describes as ''a pub lie communal practice," ''that an obj ect can take on a representative function, and precisely what that function is can only be shown by how the obj ect is used.''9 Her description of a language-game as ''a public communal practice," 1 0 encapsu­ lates Wittgenstein' s concept of a language-game. Wittgenstein envisages numerous actual and possible language games. One possible language-game is described early in PI (p. 3 e, #2 and #3), where he speaks of Augustine' s referential theory of meaning (2e, # 1 ). Although he rej ects that theory, he does allow that ''Augustine, . . . does describe a system of communi­ cation [which Wittgenstein speaks of elsewhere in PI as a ''purpose of language''] ; only not everything that we call language in this system." In other words, Augustine can be said to be describing a possible, albeit a very restricted language­ game: ''only not everything that we call language in this system." Another example of a language game occurs on PI p. 72e, where Wittgenstein speaks of the lan­ guage-game of applying a formula: an example of a very specific and restricted kind of language-game. On I. 23, p. 1 l e he asks: .

.

•

But how many kinds of sentence are there? Say assertion, question, and command?­ There are countless kinds: countless different kinds of use of what we call ''symbols'', ''words'', ''sentences''. And this multiplicity is not something fixed, given once and for all; but new types of language, new language-games, as we may say, come into existence, 1 1 and others become obsolete and get forgotten. (We can get a rough picture of this from the changes in mathematics.) Here the term ' language-game' is meant to bring into prominence the fact that the speaking of language is part of an activity, or of a form of 12 life.

He then reviews in a long list ''the multiplicity of language-games in the following examples, and in others," among which are ''giving orders, and obeying them''; ''describing the appearance of an obj ect, or giving its measurements''; ''reporting an event''; ''speculating about an event." And so on. I do not find explicit statements in PI about the relations between the various language-games in ordinary language, or of the relations that exist, or need to exist, between the technical, specialized language-games of mathematics, the various

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sciences, and others. Nonetheless, it is essential that existing technical language­ games of any kind, however esoteric (and even if hermetic 13) or removed from ordinary language, remain connected to ordinary language-games, out of which they originally arise. Only through appropriate definitions, explication and expla­ nations would it be possible to ''translate'' into ordinary language their special language, and become comprehensible to language-users untutored in them. Of course the ''translations'' are never complete or perfect. It should be added that even if we can meaningfully speak of metaphorical language-games, in relation to literature for example, the idea of ''translatability'' is only applicable to literal language. It certainly does not apply to live, original metaphors, which are free creations of the human imagination and are not governed by rules . Attempts to provide paraphrases of them is bound to impoverish and distort their meaning, connotations and contextual associations. Given the later Wittgenstein' s view that philosophy is a tissue of pseudo­ problems and that, with philosophy ''language goes on holiday," no bona fide language-game(s) of philosophy itself would be possible for Wittgenstein. (It would be interesting to ask whether Wittgenstein would have considered his later or even earlier philosophy as a language-game or a set of language-games ; or whether his later philosophy is only a way of ''getting the fly out of the bottle." But isn't the latter too a kind of language-game?) Like games, language-games are practices set up or defined by a set of consti­ tutive rules; and like practices in general language-games are communally set up with certain ends in their creators ' minds : in this case, expression and communica­ tion (''communication'' in a broad sense). Similarly with the practice of speech in general developed by John Searle or William Alston. But the interconnectedness of existing language-games constitutes an obvious dis-analogy with games ; although, as with different games, the various kinds of conventions and rules that define and those that regulate language-games, and so the moves they make possible, are different in various ways. It is obvious for example that the rules governing a particular mathematical language and 'moves ' in it, differ from those of the language-games of morality, religion, art, athletics, or computer science. The fact that ordinary language is the original or Ur-language-game or set of language-games (using 'language-game' here very broadly), from which all spe­ cialized language-games have sprung and continue to spring or evolve, means that ordinary language-games actually occupy a special, privileged position. 14 We can imagine ordinary language as lying at center of the entire set of existing language­ games; while each of these language-games, with their own constitutive conven­ tions and rules, is somehow connected to it and its own conventions and rules. The vocabularies of all language-games, including the most esoteric, technical or abstract, or more correctly, the sufficiently clear and precise, non-vague expres­ sions among them must be ''translatable'' into ordinary language, into language-

50

Meaning and Criteria

games whose vocabulary consists of ordinary, everyday expressions, if they are to be comprehensible to speakers untutored in them. (In fact, a particular technical jargon or language would not be really comprehensible even to those who claim to understand it unless it is free of such defects as vagueness. 1 5) Another way of stating these points would be in terms of the rules of all professional and technical language-games vis-a-vis ordinary language-games . Given Wittgenstein' s definition of word-meaning (for a large class of cases) as use in the language, it would follow from the foregoing that ''use," hence the rules and conventions that govern language, connect the many language-games to one another, and to the set of ordinary language-games. Language games are never static. New language-games continually come into existence or can be envisaged. As Wittgenstein observes in referring to the lan­ guage-game of mathematics under the heading ''Language-games introduced by specifying their rules '': ''In order to envisage a language with a semantics different from our own, all we have to do is to specify a suitable language-game." 16 Simi­ larly with the passage that follows it. The brief description of language-games so far may be further elaborated by noting Wittgenstein' s important view that language-games are societal practices. Meredith Williams describes a practice according to Wittgenstein thus: ''Wittgen­ stein's conception of a practice is one in which an obj ect becomes a standard or norm in virtue of the ways in which that obj ect is used. The attitudes, judgments and actions of the participants in the practice hold the obj ect in place as a stan­ dard''; and ''A practice sets the stage for particular actions to be moves within the game or practice." 17 It is created by a community with a certain purpose or point: to communicate. The activities that create it are clearly extra-linguistic activities since only by its creation, and through it, can there be (appropriate) linguistic activity: linguistic rules and meaningful expressions. They are human activities, activities ''in the world''; just like activities that give rise to non-linguistic prac­ tices; such as business and economic practices, or educational, political or religious activities . It follows that the constitutive rules of these practices/language-games are practical, pragmatic pre-linguistic rules. Given the linguistic relation(s) between any language-game and the Ur­ ordinary language-games, it seems possible to talk about (e.g., comment on) any other language-game, LG, in terms of the ''grammar'' and vocabulary of ordinary language. Similarly, we can talk about the ''grammar'' of ordinary language by means of any other language-games : such as scientific, logical or mathematical language-games. The following remark by Wittgenstein (in PI I, 206, p. 82e) is especially pertinent to the foregoing points : ''The common behavior of d is the system of reference by means of which we interpret an unknown language.'' Hintikka comments : ''This point is also connected with Wittgenstein's insistence on a ·

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certain communality in behavior as a precondition for understanding a foreign tribe's tongue." 18 One dissimilarity between Wittgenstein's conception of language-games as practices and John Searle's conception of''speech'' as a practice (which includes writing) is that on Wittgenstein's view ''speech'' does not consist in a single inclusive practice, as it is on Searle' s model, but in a multiplicity of (intercon­ nected) practices. It therefore provides a more textured and complex picture than Searle' s relatively neat, ''monolithic'' framework; and language as a whole is seen as more complex and varied than as a single collection of linguistic rules of certain kinds. A similar contrast can be drawn between Wittgenstein's and J.L. Austin's speech act theory, considerably developed, with noteworthy differences, by Searle and William Alston. Nonetheless, Austin' s trilogy of the putative phases of speech acts, and Searle' s and Alston's more refined or modified concepts of illocutionary and perlocutionary acts, are rooted in everyday discourse and to that extent are also Wittgensteinian in spirit. Rules of Language

I spoke of Wittgenstein' s important claim that language-games are governed by rules. Given the relation between the criteria that, according to Wittgenstein, define the meaning of expressions, and if, as Wittgenstein argues, particularly against the possibility of a private language in his special sense of the phrase, 19 the criteria are necessarily conventional, public, it follows that the rules that (also) define these expressions are likewise conventional, public. Since practices are defined by their constitutive rules, it is clear that the habitual behavior that gives rise to these rules, and so the rules themselves, must exist prior to the practices themselves . Wittgenstein illustrates this in, e.g., dis­ cussing the language-game of color predicates, where he says : ''a language-game only works when agreement in response to coloured obj ects prevails, al­ though . . . agreement does not enter into the game, it is not part of the concept of a particular colour (Z, #43 0). 'Red' does not mean ''what most people call red." It is rather that if most people did not call the same things ''red," this particular segment of language, the colour vocabulary, would lose its use. ''20 Again: ''If rule became exception and exception rule; or if both became phenomena of roughly equal frequency this would make our normal language-games lose their point (PL # 1 42)."2 1 In the Preface to Wittgenstein, Rules and Institutions, 22 David Bloor sums up Wittgenstein' s view, as he understands it, in two propositions : ''( 1 ) rules are social [sic. ] institutions or social customs or social conventions; (2) to follow a rule is therefore to participate in an institution and to adopt or conform to a custom or convention. As he [Wittgenstein] put it: ''To obey a rule, to make a report, to give

52

Meaning and Criteria

an order, to play a game of chess, are customs (uses,23 institutions) (PI: 1 99). "24 Moreover, the rules of language-games, like all rules, are intended to have some function, purpose or point, for which they are designed. Bloor continues : ''It may indeed be a matter of convention which rules we adopt [with a certain purpose, for a certain function in mind], but surely once we have adopted them, what counts as correctly following a rule is fixed by the rule itself [together with its function or purpose, which may be implicit in the way the rule is stated] ."25 Again: ''for Wittgenstein, rules and meaning considered in themselves do not possess any agency: all agency and action associated with them derives from their human users and creators. "26 Precisely: in light of the function or purpose their users and creators know or think they know the rule they are intended to satisfy. It is then that the rules are used correctly, as intended. I say ''or think they know'' . . . insofar as the interpretation of the rule, of its meaning, is often if not always a simple, straightforward matter. (Compare the rules that govern moral and legal expressions in legal practices. 27) Since Wittgenstein the view that linguistic meaning is determined by rules has become common place; and because of their importance in relation to practices in general and the practice of speech in particular, Chapter 6 will be concerned with an extended analysis of the constitutive rules that determine linguistic meaning, and the regulative rules that regulate and evaluate linguistic practices. To conclude this subsection, I shall briefly refer to some aspects of Hilary Putnam' s views on meaning in ''How Not To Talk About Meaning."28 For example, Putnam writes: 29 The theory of meaning depends upon the idea that a natural language has rules. (Ziff ob­ jects to the term ''rule'', but his ''state regularities'' and ''state projections'' are ''rules'' as I shall use the term.) These rules are sometimes syntactical and sometimes not. The syn­ tactical rules determine what phones are allophones of what phonemes in a language; what sequences of phonemes are morphemes (more strictly, allomorphs of morphemes); and what sequences of morphemes are well-formed sentences. The syntactical rules distinguish linguistically regular from linguistically deviant uses of sentences. To call a married man a ''bachelor'', or to refer to a geometrical point as ''graceful'' is to violate semantical rules of English.30

Putnam points out that ''a speaker's knowledge of the [syntactical] rules of his native language is implicit and not explicit; only the very sophisticated speaker can verbalize even (some of) the syntactical rules of his native language. The uncon­ scious and obligatory character of linguistic rules has long been noted. The 'meaning' of a word is a function of the rules governing its employment. These determine among other things, which locutions are synonymous with (coextensive by linguistic stipulation), which locutions have more than one meaning (are gov­ erned by alternative batteries of rules), which sentences are analytic on which readings, etc."3 1 He notes that ''Traditional dictionary definitions . . . contain a fantastic mixture of empirical and linguistic information. Nevertheless, they

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succeed often enough in enabling speakers to acquire the usage [and meaning] of words they did not previously understand."32 Putnam distinguishes what he calls the primary meaning of a word and its connotations.33 He maintains for example that the ''primary meaning'' of e.g., 'gold' would not change so long as it is used as the name of a metal; even if gold ''became as ' cheap as dirt,' or began to rust, or turned green." Only its connota­ tions would change, because ''the connotations of 'gold' do depend on the fact that gold is normally yellow, precious, etc . . . . ''34 Putnam continues: One should notice, also, that one may know the meaning of the word 'gold' without knowing how to tell whether or not a given thing is gold. Of course, someone must be able to identify gold; otherwise the word couldn't be used as the name of a real metal; but it isn't true that only those people who can identify gold know the meaning of the word, or even that they know more of the meaning of the word. They simply know more about gold.

35

This is true. Scientific knowledge about gold, including methods of identifying and distinguishing it from other metals, has changed with advances in chemistry and physics, making it inadvisable to include methods of identifying gold in the word's definition. The definition of ' gold' in the Random House Dictionary of the Eng­ lish Language illustrates Putnam' s point. It gives the following definition for 'gold' : '' 1 . A precious, yellow metallic element, highly malleab le and ductile.'' The defmition wisely includes only enough of the qualities of gold to identify and so to distinguish it from other elements, including other metallic elements but no ''connotations." Still, in the everyday use of ' gold, ' the connotations are part of what people understand by ' gold,' and how they apply the word. They therefore serve as part of the word' s criterion. If we say that, strictly speaking, the scientific meaning of 'gold' or the scientific concept of gold is defined by its chemical physical and chemical properties (especially by its atomic weight) while its every­ day meaning includes the foregoing connotations, it would seem to follow that whereas the scientific concept is defined by a definite rule, the everyday meaning (or ''meaning'') is not defined by a strict rule at all: different people may appeal to different connotations of 'gold' in applying the word in the same or different circumstances, depending on, for example, what empirical properties of gold they are struck by or they are interested in. Thus particular lay users of such words as 'gold' (or ' salt, ' ' acid,' 'alkali,' etc. in their everyday usage) may app eal to their everyday ''connotations'' as part of their ''primary'' meaning itself. Clearly, the distinction between (''primary'') meaning and connotations is sharp with respect to scientific concepts, and so it is always possible to distinguish the two. But it does not seem always possible to distinguish the (''primary'')

Meaning and Criteria

54

meaning of a word and its connotations in the case of everyday, non-scientific concepts, which lack the precision of scientific concepts. Wittgenstein's ''Criterial Semantics'' (Hacker)

Criteria Although Wittgenstein does not offer an explicit defmition of''criterion'' in the PL he suggests that criteria for 'p ' are the ''circumstances which would justify one in ''36 asserting that 'p ' And, the criteria! relation is a conceptual relation of a special sort. Assuming for the moment that that is true, it is different from entailment and, therefore, from mutual entailment. In Chapter X of Insight and Illusion (1 972), entitled ''The Problem of Crite­ ria," Hacker writes : .

It has been suggested that the concept of a criterion is best understood in the context of Wittgenstein' s attempt to produce a constructivist semantics. The determination of sense by truth-conditions which dominates the realist Tractatus [and which we have met in Da­ vidson' s theory of meaning in Chapter 2] is replaced by a constructivist account of sense [of sentences] in terms of use or application. The notion of use or application must be un­ derstood as conditions which justify using a term or sentence, in the frrst instance, asser­ tively. Criteria, then, can be seen as those conditions which non-inductively justify the assertion of a sentence and in terms of which the sense of the sentence is to be accounted 37 for.

As Hacker states in this passage, Wittgenstein speaks of the criteria! relation in PI and in earlier works, such as Zettel, as holding in the first place between criteria 38 and sentences, and only in the second place between them and words and phrases. Given Wittgenstein's conception of (a) the way language-games as practices arise, together with (b) his defmition of 'criterion, ' and (c) his central view that criteria are necessarily public, conventional, involve general uniformity but not necessarily explicit agreement, his claim (d) that criteria determine meaning, not the oppo­ site and not that both criteria and meaning may logically sometimes come about together becomes clear. Indeed, (d) follows directly from his defmition of 'crite­ rion' [(b)] , which as Hacker states it, ''can be seen as those conditions which non­ inductively justify the assertion of a sentence [and therefore, I might add, the use of the words and phrases within it] and in terms of which the sense of the sentence is to be accounted for."39 For example, describing someone' s suddenly knowing how to go on when he understands a certain principle, Wittgenstein speaks of that principle, the criterion he grasps, as ''the circumstances under which he had such an experience that justify him in saying in such and such a case that he under­ stands, that he knows how to go on. ''40 In this book, following the first definition of the term in the Webster 's Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary, I shall understand by 'criterion' '' 1 : A characterizing

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mark or trait.'' Thus my use and understanding of criterion differs from Wittgen­ stein. The dictionary' s second definition of ''criterion," viz. ''2 . A standard on which a judgment or decision may be based," is also acceptable as part of the concept of criterion I employ, provided that we understand 'standard ofjudgment ' as referring to non-evaluative judgments or decisions, hence not as ''evaluative standard'' or ''standard of value." The latter is a distinct concept from the concept of criterion, and it is important to distinguish the two. (See Chapters 1 1 and 1 2 .) One advantage of defining 'criterion' in this way is that it is clearer and more precise than Wittgenstein' s very general and, because of his use of 'circum­ stances,' rather vague characterization. Another, as we shall see in the sequel, is its neutrality with respect to the question of whether criteria always determine meaning, thus helping to free the concept of meaning from the universal temporal and conceptual/logical priority that Wittgenstein attributes to criteria vis-a-vis the meanings of sentences, consequently the meanings of words and phrases. It leaves wide open the question of how the ''characteristic mark or trait'' that is part of an expression' s meaning comes about in particular cases, or even in general. It makes it logically possible that, at least in certain kinds of cases to be specified, the criteria! relation may be established in a variety of ways : if, as I shall suggest below, if not when language-games first come into existence, then, at least, in the expansion of existing language-games by the introduction of new expressions into them; as well as in the creation of new scientific, technological or mathematical language-games, following to some extent similar existing language-games as models. A third desirable feature of the dictionary defmition one shared with Wittgenstein's characterization is that it allows for the existence of more than one criterion for some expressions . Let me explain. I think Wittgenstein is perfectly right in his original and crucially important claim in PI that ( 1 ) for meanings to be public, their criteria must be public. The truth of that claim is essential to Wittgenstein' s famous and in my view, cogent arguments against the possibility of a ''private language'' as characterized or understood by him. However, it does not follow from ( 1 ) alone that (3) criteria always determine meaning. That conclusion would only follow­ and then, I shall argue, only in certain specifiable circumstances with the addition of a further premise. That premise [(2)] requisite for the conclusion [(3)], is (2) that as a practice, a language-game is necessarily public. For as Wittgenstein rightly maintains, meaningful expressions can only exist within a practice defmed by certain public rules, R (and we should add, and/or certain conventions). This entails that whenever certain sounds or shapes are introduced into a new a newly-created language-game, their meaning, M, is determined by these public rules R. Or stating this in terms of criteria, their meaning is determined by their public criteria, C. Subsequently, if the connection between C and M becomes

56

Meaning and Criteria

sufficiently firm, C becomes incorporated into, becomes part of M's meaning, as ''characteristic traits or marks." So far so good. But argument (1 )-(3) leaves open the real possibility that, once a particular language-game LG comes into existence or is created, individuals or groups may introduce new meaningful expressions into LG in a different way or different ways from the preceding; significantly different conceptual relations between meaning and criteria become possible. In fact, we know that individuals or groups continually add new expressions or concepts to an existing language­ game (a) e.g., by means of explicit defmitions in which their defmition or meaning includes the ''characteristic traits or marks'' of their criteria. Or (b) the meanings of the new expressions may be provisionally defined to include some rough and ready criteria-feature or features in their meaning; leaving for further empirical, e.g., scientific investigation, the discovery of more precise and refined criteria, hence in their meaning or definition. (b) is especially common in the sciences . Sometimes the introduction of new terms/concepts may occur at professional meetings, or at conventions devoted to the creation of a new or better nomenclature for the participants ' particular profession in light of new empirical knowledge or discovery. The new or the revised vocabulary may be introduced and defined by a committee charged with the task, which is then debated by the body as a whole and may be adopted by the body as a whole. By adopting the proposed defmitions, the participants would be also adopting the presently-available criteria as part of the particular expression' s/concept's definition. A further way (c) in which the criteria! relation may be established in particular cases is illustrated by an individual philosopher' s, scholar' s or other professional' s coining a new expression/concept into a given language; as in the well-known case of the scholar Raphael Lemkin's coining of the term 'genocide' in 1 943, in relation to the Nazi extermination of Jews in Europe. Concerning the concept of genocide as understood by Lemkin, Professor Denis Papazian41 observes that Lemkin noted that ''the principal objective of genocide is only rarely extermination of a people, but primarily strives for 'disintegration of the political and social institutions, of culture, language, national feelings, religion, . . . the economic existence of national groups, and the destruction of personal security, liberty, health, dignity, and even the lives of the individuals belonging to such groups ' ." Since Lemkin' s introduc­ tion of the term, controversies and debates have been swirling unabated round the question of the ''proper'' meaning and criterion or criteria of ''genocide''; in par­ ticular whether, to qualify as genocide, the extermination or attempted extermina­ tion of a particular ethnic, religious, or cultural group must be planned and executed by the particular country' s government. Martin Heidegger' s ubiquitous use of metaphor to try to convey his highly novel and original philosophical ideas in Being and Time provides his readers with a remarkable example of the way in which he uses figurative language to fashion

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a medium for ideas so new as to be (for their author) utterly incapable of adequate expression either in ordinary German or in the philosophical vocabulary of the time save Husserl' s phenomenological vocabulary.42 Metaphor and other figures of language, therefore, served as a bridge to a hoped-for new, more adequate philo­ sophical language. Through the immense influence of Being and Time and his later writings, what at the time of writing was figurative language, has since been transformed into a new, postmodern (''literal'') philosophical language. A final example. Consider the way in which, in the words of one American scientist, physicists are drawing on the language of science fiction while they try to fashion an adequate scientific terminology to describe their discoveries in the brand new field of Nanotechnology. It might be thought that the proposition ''Criteria always determine meaning'' (proposition P) is crucial for the cogency of Wittgenstein' s arguments against the possibility of private language (APL) ; hence that the claim that P is necessarily true only with respect to the meanings of the expressions that are originally created when the particular language-game frrst comes into existence (P'), is inconsistent with APL and their conclusion (NPL) . If this is true, one can accept P' only at the expense of APL and NPL which I, however, fully accept. It does certainly seem that proposition P is implied by APL and NPL. For it is clear that, given Wittgenstein' s concept of a criterion as necessarily public, any additions to that language-game by psychologists or others after such a language­ game has been pub licly created must also be necessarily public, defined by public criteria; and let us suppose that some of these new additions are Freud' s 'id, ' 'ego,' 'superego,' 'libido,' 'subconscious, ' and so on. Given the truth of the proposition, ''The meanings of these expressions must be public, hence that they must have public criteria for their applications (PM) '' the Freudian additions must satisfy PM But that can be readily done by defining these and other new concepts in a way that conceptually connects them to already-existing (public) psychological concepts; ones that already form part of the language-game(s) of psychology at the time. By connecting them to existing terms or concepts, their own public character would be ensured. Note that the preceding satisfies the requirement that criteria are necessarily public insofar as the criteria for 'id,' ' ego,' 'superego,' etc., since their criteria, as ''characteristic marks or traits," would necessarily form part of their proposed definition or meaning in contrast to criteria on Wittgenstein' s conception. From all this it is clear I think that what may have seemed to be a logical conflict between my earlier claims about alternative ways in which the criteria! relation may be established and Wittgenstein' s thesis that criteria must be public (hence with APL and NPL ), actually turns on or is a result of the difference be­ tween Wittgenstein conception of a criterion and the way it is conceived in this book.

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Meaning and Criteria

Symptoms In the Blue and Brown Books, p. 25, Wittgenstein distinguishes a criterion and a symptom, adopting the latter term from medicine. He writes : ''I call ' symptom' a phenomenon of which experience has taught us that it coincided in some way or other, with the phenomenon which is our defining criterion."43 One example he gives is the relation between a drop in barometric pressure and rain. Such phenom­ ena as the symptoms of a cold, of heart attack or heart disease, cardiac arrest, and so on, illustrate Wittgenstein' s concept of symptom in relation to language. Hacker adds : ''Symptoms are discovered in experience, but criteria are fixed by conven­ tion."44 And ''In the Investigations he speaks of 'fixing criteria of identity' (PL #322), of [sic.] an evidential (criteria!) relation between appearance and reality being founded on a definition (PL #354)."45 The distinction between criteria and symptoms is important and correct. It is worth emphasizing that, logically speaking, criteria and symptoms, as Wittgenstein understands them, are logically horses of a different color: indeed, belong to different categories of thought. Criteria, in the sense in which we are concerned with it here, i.e., as semantic criteria, determine the meaning of expressions according to Wittgenstein; while, as Hacker states, symptoms, at their strongest, constitute inductive evidence for the occurrence of some phenomenon, hence for the truth of statements. The truth or falsity of an indicative sentence-in-use pre­ supposes its being a well-formed meaningful sentence (sentences that have a ''sense'' in Wittgenstein's usage). But criteria and symptoms are quite different kinds of concepts . To understand the concept of ''symptom'' a little more clearly, let us consider Wittgenstein' s example concerning rain. If rain is always found to be accompanied by a fall in barometric pressure, the latter would be an empirical ''symptom'' of rain. It would ''coincide'' with i.e., would be one and the same as the phenome­ non that conventionally determines the meaning of the word 'rain. ' The Random House Dictionary of the English Language defines 'rain' as '' 1 . Water that is condensed from the aqueous vapor in the atmosphere and falls in drops from the sky to the earth.'' Setting aside the frrst part as really an empirical fact about rain, not part of the definition proper (a good example of ''connotation'' in Putnam' s sense) the conventional definition of rain would be roughly, ''drops of water falling to the earth from clouds, from the sky'': a phenomenon which is also the phenome­ non that constitutes the criterion for 'rain.' A falling barometer ''coinciding'' with that phenomenon would constitute a ''symptom'' of rain. Wittgenstein notes that an erstwhile symptom can become a new criterion, replacing an old criterion. For instance he writes: ''The fluctuation in grammar between criteria and symptoms makes it look as if there were nothing at all but symptoms. For we say, for example, ''Experience teaches us that there is rain when

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the barometer falls, but it also teaches us that there is rain when we have certain sensations of wet and cold, or such-and-such visual impressions." In defense of this one says that these sense-impressions can deceive us. But here one fails to reflect that the fact that the false appearance is precisely one of rain is founded on a definition [of rain]'';46 i.e., involves a criterion, a convention, not symptoms. An example of a symptom becoming a criterion is illustrated by the word 'angina,' if a change in its definition occurs so that what was hitherto considered a symptom became the defining criterion. Note that when a symptom, say of 'angina,' is conventionally adopted as a new criterion, the meaning of the term does not suffer any change; precisely because, by virtue of Wittgenstein' s defini­ tion of ' symptom, ' a symptom ''coincides'' with the phenomenon that constituted the old criterion. This fact constitutes a significant difference from certain other types of cases in which the adoption of new criteria based on scientific discoveries result in corresponding changes in the meaning of the expressions in question. We shall consider these types of cases in Part II, Chapter 1 3 . Although a ''symptom'' provides some degree of factual evidence for a phe­ nomenon' s being the case, a criterion for Wittgenstein is supposed to provide, in Antony Kenny's phrase in '' Criterion,"47 ''decisive evidence'' for its being the case. Again, Kenny writes : ''Some passages in the Investigations suggest so." He cites Section 56 as evidence that there ''a criterion for p 's being the case is 'the highest court of appeal' to which we might appeal to settle whether p. ''48 He concludes that ''there is, it seems, a difference concerning the decisiveness of criteria between the Blue Book and the Investigations, " since '''criterion' in the Blue Book seems often equated with defining criterion; and a defining criterion is a phenomenon which is conclusive. ''49 Kenny is right that we cannot equate ''criterion with decisive evidence."50 But his criticism would not touch Wittgenstein' s view that the criteria of linguistic expressions are conceptually, non-contingently connected with these expressions ' meaning, and that they provide decisive evidence for these expressions ' meaning. The view that the concept of evidence is broader than the concept of criterion leaves completely untouched the question whether Wittgenstein's criteriological view of linguistic meaning is mistaken. In other words, Wittgenstein would agree with Kenny that in the case of everyday life or in scientific inquiry the evidence for matters of fact is always only probable, so that the criteria utilized in everyday life or in scientific inquiry to ascertain whether or not some putative phenomenon is the case, are always indecisive. But he would nonetheless consistently insist on his criteriological view. There is an important but easily ignored difference between a phenomenon qua criterion and qua evidence; viz. that a criterion is necessarily a characteristic, feature, relation or event, and so on, in the generic sense, as qua determinable, while evidence consists either in (a) individual instantiations, or (b) sets of instan-

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tiations, in specific circumstances, of those phenomena that generally constitute the relevant criteria. Indeed, the entire class of features, events, etc., whose in­ stances can serve as evidence for the relevant fact or situation, is, as a conse­ quence, also called ''evidence.'' A slightly different way of stating the relation between the concepts evidence and criterion is that something is evidence for X insofar as it satisfied some criterion C. Given the conventions of English usage, a patch's looking red to a normal (e.g., not color-blind) person under natural light and other normal perceptual conditions, constitutes evidence that it is red, in the ordinary meaning of ' evidence. ' (Cf the discussion of the ''evidence of the senses'' in Chapter 8.) The criterion involved here can be considered a semantic rule stipulating that ''P (a patch, obj ect, etc.) is red'' is true whenever some obj ect, colored patch, etc., seen under normal conditions, is observed to have a certain visual quality. However, the concept normal human eyesight, natural lighting, and the like, are far from precise, apart from their open texture. Likewise, there are various philosophical problems relating to the ordinary uses of color words . It is not surprising therefore that when we desire to have scientific evidence that an obj ect or a patch is red, we appeal to entirely different criteria; e.g., the precise length of the light waves reflected from its surface. Meaning-Criteria, and Conditions and Criteria of Truth In his discussion of criteria Hacker rightly distinguishes the criteria and the necessary and sufficient truth-conditions of (indicative) sentences(-in-use-), noting that in the case of avowals, i.e., self-ascriptive psychological or mental sentences, the criterion of an avowal 'p ' may be true (more correctly: ''may be the case'') while avowal q may be false, because the speaker may be lying (or pre­ tending or play-acting). Here the behavioral truth-conditions for ''I am in pain!''­ e.g., the speaker's crying ''Ouch! '', grimacing or screaming, are satisfied, but the avowal is false. From that fact Hacker infers that the criteria! relation is ''weaker'' than entailment and, a fortiori, of two way entailment, but adds that it is stronger than inductive evidence (i.e., '' symptoms''). Nevertheless he asserts that ''The notion of use or application must be understood as conditions5 1 which justify using a term or sentence, in the first instance, assertively. Criteria, then, can be seen [sic. ] as those conditions which non-inductively justify the assertion of a sentence and in terms of which the sense of the sentence is to be accounted for. ''52 Leaving avowals aside for the moment, what is the precise logical relation between criteria and meaning if criteria are logically ''weaker'' than entailment but nonetheless may be, or are, logically sufficient to ''justify'' the assertion (and the truth) of the relevant indicative sentences? For example, to ''justify'' the assertion, and therefore also the truth of an indicative sentence 'S ' when its criterion or criteria as a sentence are satisfied. I think Hacker' s answer would have to be that '

'

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if criterion C of sentence 'S ' determines 'S 's ' meaning, C must be (a) a sufficien t condition for 'S 's ' assertability and truth; and if 'S ' is the sort of sentence that, as a whole has can have just one criterion, C would also be (b) a necessary condition for its asscrtability and truth. Condition (b) would not apply to other­ ascriptive uses of mental or psychological sentences, since they have a multiplicity of behavioral ''expressions'' as criteria. 53 As for avowals, the whole question of the nature of the criteria! relation in their case would seem to be moot, given that they are not asserted on the strength of any (behavioral) criteria. Yet if avowals are bona fide indicative sentences, there must be some kind ofground on the strength of which they can be truly asserted! Wittgenstein attempts to short-circuit the problem concerning avowals as well as other problems about them by arguing that avowals are non-cognitive. As Hacker shows in detail in Chapter IX of Insight and Illusion, that claim takes a variety of forms in different parts of Wittgenstein's writings. One main form of it in the PI is Wittgenstein's view of them ''as extensions of natural expressive behavior'' (PL #244). For example, he writes: ''Roughly speaking: the expression 'I have a toothache' stands for a moan but does not mean 'I moan' . . . "54 Hacker summarizes the non-cognitive thesis as follows : [On] the traditional interpretation the non-cognitive thesis rests upon the expressive thesis of avowals which denies that avowals can be used to make assertions, denies that avowals can bear truth-values, and hence denies their cognizaility. Alternatively, the non-cognitive thesis is not derived from the truth-valueless, thesis, but implies it. It rests upon the sense­ lessness of doubt (or, as I shall call it, 'the Argument from Epistemic Operators') and the related criterial argument . . . 55

Both as part of and in addition to his non-cognitivist thesis about avowals, Wittgenstein maintains that, as Hacker puts it, the sentence ''I know I am in pain!'' is ''nonsensical."56 Wittgenstein' s reasons for denying the meaningfulness of this sentence are entangled with his non-cognitivist thesis, but it has other grounds as well as Hacker shows . As part of my agreement with Hacker that the non­ cognitivist thesis regarding avowals is false, but also on additional grounds, I believe (a) that ''I know I am in pain'' is not nonsensical in the sense of lacking meaning (or sense) as a sentence. ''I know I am in pain'' does not lack a meaning as an English sentence, although (b) I agree with Wittgenstein (though not for the reasons he gives) that the sentence cannot be ''meaningfully'' asserted under any actual or possible circumstances. That is, I believe it lacks any possible necessary or sufficient conditions of use or application. Precisely because we understand what it states as an English sentence we know that it has no possible applications. Insofar as it has meaning as a sentence the words that compose it have criteria of application; and as a consequence, it too has a criterion. (Note that if what I am saying is true, it helps to show the error of Wittgenstein's identification of meaning

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(albeit only for a large class of words) with use in the language. But more of that later.) Clearly if the non-cognitive claim, as described by Hacker, is true, it would follow that the problem of the nature of the criteria! relation with respect to avow­ als would not be a genuine problem. But Hacker rightly rej ects that view as, among other things, counterintuitive,57 and urges a number of detailed arguments against it and in support of the claim that avowals are bona fide statements, possessing truth-value. He then considers a different, but equally ambivalent array of argu­ ments involved in the ''Use-of-I-as-Subject thesis.'' Although I fully agree with the cognitivist view, an adequate discussion of Wittgenstein' s arguments and Hacker' s counter-arguments is impossible here. Instead, I shall consider some important problems that arise from certain others of Wittgenstein' s views relevant to this chapter, if as I shall assume for the sake of argument, avowals can be shown to be cognitive. Consider how the non-cognitive view may naturally arise in relation to Witt­ genstein' s view (i) that criteria are necessarily conventional hence social, public, and (ii) that we apply mental and psychological expressions to others on the strength of criteria the relevant overt behavior; whereas (iii) we do not apply them to ourselves on the basis of criteria. We do not apply such terms as 'pain, ' 'pleasure,' 'happiness,' 'depression,' etc. on the basis of our observing our overt behavior. If propositions (i)-(iii) are true, (iv) the non-cognitivist view of avowals would follow. I shall argue that premise (3) is confused, hence that the conclusion [iv] is not borne out by premises (i)-(iii).58 To begin with, premises (i) and (ii) are importantly true. As I said the problem lies with premise (iii). To understand why I think it is confused, we need to note the following. First, I am in agreement with Wittgenstein' s (and P.F. Strawson's) view call it premise (iii') that the meaning of a mental or psychological expres­ sion 'x, ' or that concept X expressed by 'x, ' encompasses both the mental or psychological state or experience and the behavioral ''expressions'' of that experi­ ence or state. But, as they also hold (iii'') once we learn 'x 's ' meaning on the strength of other people's public behavioral ''expressions'' of their mental or psychological states or experiences by connecting 'x 's ' meaning with these ''ex­ pressions," we are able to apply the expression to ourselves whenever we are in the relevant mental or psychological state or have the relevant experience. This [(iii')] safeguards the public character of the semantic criteria as determining the meaning of mental or psychological expressions/concepts; in line with Wittgenstein' s assertion that meaning is determined by public criteria (proposition P). The error in premise (iii) lies in the confusion of proposition P, namely, how the meaning of mental/psychological expressions is established, and the applica­ bility of the concept of evidence with respect to (a) second- and third-person

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psychological statements and overt ''expressions," on the one hand, and that concept' s logical inapplicability with respect to (b) first-person psychological avowals. Note that the truth-condition involved in both (a) and (b) is exactly the same; viz. the particular person' s actual experience of what she avows . In other words, the confusion of the role played by criteria in determining the meaning of psychological statement is confused with evidence for the truth or falsity of these statements. Granted that the meanings of psychological expressions are originally fixed, as part of psychological-mental language-games, by means of the relevant public behavioral criteria (or rules); and that when we first learn the meanings of these expressions, we learn how others (for example, our parents) apply them to others as well as to themselves: in the former case, on the strength of their overt behavior. It may also be granted that once we learned the meanings of these expressions, we are able to apply them, whether to others or to ourselves, when we use them ( 1 ) in questions, orders and commands where in any case behavioral criteria play no role; and (2) in non-assertive indicative sentences; as when we think or imagine about a friend' s possible psychological experiences, at a given time. The question is whether (3) the same logical situation as in ( 1 ) and (2) can be true with regard to statements about our or other people's present mental states or experiences, by virtue of the fact that we already know the meaning of such words as 'pain, ' 'pleasure,' and so on. Can we meaningfully and truly assert ''now that I know what 'pain' (or 'is in pain') means I see or I know that my friend John is in pain," without observing his overt behavior? (Of course he may tell me that he is in pain; but that does not avoid the problem.) In ''The Concept of a Person'' A.J. Ayer writes in relation to the problem that occasions the present discussion: ''[T]here would be no contradiction in identifying a man's grimace as one which was characteristic of a man in pain, and yet denying that he felt any pain at all."59 He adds that William Alston has suggested to him that if we limit ourselves to particular instances, we only fmd an ''empirical con­ nection between a mental occurrence and its bodily manifestations." In any given case it will ''always be logically possible'' that the one can exist without the other. Therefore we can naturally infer its possibility in all cases. Alston also suggests that Wittgenstein may have held the view that that inference is incorrect. Although the connection between the outward expression of a mental state and the mental state may fail in particular instances, it is logically impossible for it to fail in all or even in a large number of instances. Therefore the reason why behavioral criteria can be said to be ''logically adequate'' is that, though they are not infallible, their ''overall success is logically guaranteed. ''60 And: The source of this guarantee is supposed to lie in the fact that it is only through their being associated with certain outward expressions that we are able to talk significantly about our

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inner experiences . . . This is Wittgenstein's ground for denying the possibility of a private language. We are taught the use of a word like 'pain' in contexts in which the feeling for which it stands is outwardly manifested in some characteristic way; and the result is that this association is retained as part of the meaning which the word has for us. The associa­ tion is not so close as to exclude the possibility of anyone's ever feeling pain without dis­ playing it, or of anyone' s ever displaying signs of pain, without actually feeling it, but it is close enough to make it a logical certainty that such cases are the exception and not the 61 rule.

Ayer comments: although this theory bars the sceptical approach to the problem of one ' s knowledge of other minds . . . he is still disposed to think that the sceptic can maintain his ground. For even if one grants the premiss that we should not in practice be able to acquire an under­ standing of words which refer to inner states or processes, unless these inner states were outwardly detectable, it does not seem to follow that once our understanding of these words has been acquired, we cannot divorce them from their original associations. Indeed, it is admitted that we can do so in particular instances; and it is not clear what should pre­ vent us from doing so in all. If the suggestion is that we should then be landed in a contra­ diction, I can only remark that I do not yet see where the contradiction lies. 62

The problem, to my mind, is that Alston' s suggestion, which he thinks may be Wittgenstein' s own view, does not make sense, given the fact that for Wittgenstein the criteria! relation is conceptual (a view which Strawson also stresses), and given the fact that, according to him the criterion is part of the concept of the mental state or experience. Consequently Ayer' s response to Alston's suggestion is also con­ fused. Even the ''divorce'' of the criteria (the ''associations'' in Ayer's word63) from the meaning of the mental word or concept, even in particular cases, let alone divorcing it in all instances as Ayer suggests, would simply destroy that meaning or that concept. For example, dissociating the behavioral expressions of pain from what is an integral part of the concept of pain is tantamount to destroying that concept. It would also mean destroying the meaning of 'pain. ' For whether or not the behavioral criteria of 'pain' for example are part of the meaning of 'pain,' the word would lose its meaning if the behavioral criteria of pain are eliminated from it; given the conventional connection, according to Wittgenstein (and Strawson) between that meaning and behavioral criteria. The problem is as follows : ( 1 ) if the criteria! relation is conceptual in some way or sense, it follows (2) that if the behavioral criterion or criteria C for a self-ascriptive mental or psychological statement S is or are satisfied, S would be a semantically correct or ''justified'' statement (to use a favorite expression of Hacker' s). For example, if I say ''I am in pain'' together with the normal behavioral ''expressions'' (criteria) of being in pain, it should be true from proposition ( 1 ) that I am in fact in pain. But that proposition [2] is not always or necessarily true; since I may be lying, acting or pretending.

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The following are some criticisms and suggestions relating to the preceding discussion. The Wittgenstein-Alston explanation fails to explain how we apply mental terms to ourselves without (behavioral or any other) criteria. To the question, ''What would be the criteria! relation' s logical nature if the relation allows for exceptions to the rule in the case of lying or pretending?'' no satisfactory answer is forthcoming on Wittgensteinian or Strawsonian grounds. Indeed, how can any exceptions to the rule be possible if, as Ayer observes concerning Alston's sug­ gestion, the behavioral criteria form part of the meaning of P-predicates? Or how is that possible if we are able as we clearly are able to apply P-predicates to ourselves without appeal to our overt behavior? If the criteria are logically de­ tached, even if only occasionally, from the meaning of P-predicates, only part of that meaning would be left essentially destroying the meaning. In the absence of a logical part of their meaning, how can we continue to speak of the meaning of 'pain, ' 'pleasure, ' 'depression,' etc.? One simple, perhaps naive solution to the problem would be that in the case of lying or acting, the behavioral criteria only seem to be satisfied, although the observer unless she happens to be a psychologist, familiar with acting or knows the speaker well may believe that they are satisfied. But whether or not the observer is deceived, the crucial fact would remain that the speaker simply does not have the avowed experience at that time. Whether or not the lying or acting is detected would be a secondary matter. A different possible solution to the problem is this. Once one has learned the meaning of a particular mental expression, say 'pain,' one can apply it on the strength of one's direct inner experience of pain. One's being in pain at a given time, would then constitute both a necessary and sufficient condition and necessary and sufficient grounds, or evidence, for the word 'pain's' correct application to oneself. This way of describing the situation is perfectly consistent with Wittgen­ stein's arguments against the possibility of a private language; for it grants (or presupposes) that P-predicates acquire their meaning through public behavioral criteria. Finally, another possible solution to the problem occasioned by the uses of avowals is this : that when one experiences pain, pleasure, etc, and says ''I am in pain!'' ''I am depressed!'' etc., what one would be doing is simply ignoring any overt ''expression'' of pain one may evince, and in that sense abstracting the idea of the pain, pleasure etc., from them. Doing so would not be divorcing or dissoci­ ating the idea of one's overt behavior from the meaning of 'pain,' 'depression,' etc.

Meaning and Criteria

66 Criteria, Meaning and Rules

In summarizing Wittgenstein' s conception of the rules for the use of a sentence or expression, Hacker correctly says that ''the symptoms for the truth ofp are not part of the sense of the sentence or expression. The sense of a sentence or expression is given by specifying the rules for its use. These rules are given by specifying the criteria which justify applying or asserting the sentence or expression. But then he adds : If q is a criterion for ''p '' then it is part of the sense of 'p ' that q is a priori, non-inductive, conventionally fixed [sic.] evidence for the truth of 'p '."64 It is significant that he speaks of a criterion for a sentence as part of the sense of the sentence; for in the discussion of the criteria! relations in Part II, we shall see that the criteria of closed non-evaluative expressions are part of the meaning of the expressions, as we shall see, in Chapters 8 and 9. Hacker sums up Wittgenstein's views on criteria thus : [T]he criterial relation holds between sentences and derivatively, between other entities. It is fundamental semantic relation unrecognized by classical logic, is weaker than entail­ ment but stronger than inductive evidence [i.e., insofar as it is a conceptual relation]. It is a relation of a priori, non-inductive, or necessarily good evidence. It replaces the notion of truth conditions which occupied so fundamental a position in the realist account of 65 sense.

Again, Meredith Williams,66 in agreement with the later Wittgenstein, observes that the normative and constraining features of a language' s (constitutive) rules follow from the public, social character of meaning. More precisely, as I shall argue in detail in the next two chapters, these rules acquire their normative and constraining character from the fact that they are created by society with a view to enabling the practice of speech created by means of them to realize the practice' s intended societal values or goals . To help realize these values, society in effect imposes on language users the obligation and responsibility to follow or abide by these rules. That obligation is a so-called ''special obligation,"67 which ultimately rests on the implicit general agreement of language users namely, all human beings to follow the (constitutive) rules of any language they speak. Meaning and Use

In a famous statement in PI Wittgenstein states his familiar but tantalizing view that ''for a large class of cases though not for all in which we employ the word 'meaning, ' it can be defined thus : the meaning of a word is its use in the lan­ guage."68 That statement is puzzling if not tantalizing, because Wittgenstein never specifies in the PL the ''large class of cases'' with respect to which the meaning of a word is its use in the language, and in the book69 he distinguishes meaning and reference, and rightly rejects the referential theory of meaning, both in the sense of reference itself and in the sense of the thing(s) referred to by a word. Concerning

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the latter he writes: ''It is important to note that the word 'meaning' is being used illicitly if it is used to signify the thing that ' corresponds ' to the word. That is to confound the meaning of a name with the bearer of the name.''70 On the other hand, on p. 54e (# 1 39) he makes the puzzling statement ''Well, . . . isn't the mean­ ing of the word ['cube' ] also [i.e., together with a picture in my mind when I hear the word] determined by its use? And can't these ways of determining meaning [presumably, by understanding the word' s meaning through its picture in my mind, and understanding it by understanding its use] conflict? Can what we grasp in a flash accord with a use, fit or fail to fit it?'' His answer is (rightly) No. For: '' . . . how can what is present to us in an instant, what comes before our mind in an instant, fit a use ?''71 i.e., as a general way of employing the word? This passage may tempt us to think that Wittgenstein identifies a word' s use or meaning with a concept: the concept that, as we say, is expressed or conveyed by the word. But that would be an error, since Wittgenstein rej ects the ideational theory as well. Wittgenstein tells us very little of a positive nature about what he means by ''use (in the language)." The little he says about it consists mostly in distinguishing it from other concepts. For instance, in # 1 , p. 3 e he appears to distinguish use as a way of employing words from sp ecific applications or uses of words. For he asks : '' . . . what is the meaning of the word 'five' ? No such thing was in question here, only how the word ' five' is used [in the case of a shopkeeper, who uses color samples and a table of words to tell the number of apples as being five] ." On page 53e (# 1 3 8) he distinguishes 'meaning of a word' (Bedeutung) and the 'sense' (Sinn) of a sentence. (On p. 20e (#40) and elsewhere in PI.) In an important passage (on p. 54e (# 1 3 9)), Wittgenstein speaks of the relation between word meaning thus: ''When someone says the word 'cube' to me, . . . I know what it means . But can the whole use of the word come before my mind, when I understand it in this way?'' I think the answer is clearly ''no." In other words, the ''use/meaning'' of any word is a way of using the word in all sorts of sentences and contexts, and is not exhausted by any one of the word' s employ­ ments. Here too Wittgenstein correctly distinguishes mental pictures and meaning; i.e., rejects the image theory of word meaning. For example, he says : ''The picture of the cube did indeed suggest a certain use to us, but it was possible for me to use it differently." Here 'it' presumably refers to the picture of the cube; although it can also be interpreted to refer to the use of the word ' cube. ' Wittgenstein's statement that ''use'' determines word meaning, which on its face conflicts with his identification of meaning and ''use," can be reconciled with it if we construe 'use' here in a different sense from the sense in which meaning is supposed to be ''use." The apparent conflict is resolved if we remember that 'use' is a ''process-product'' term. We can construe Wittgenstein as saying that (a) 'use' in the sense of the activity or process of a community' s habitual using a word 'x '

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in a certain (kind of) way in their speech, (b) determines the use, i.e., the meaning, 'x ' thus acquires. With this I turn to the reasons why I believe the identification of word meaning (in the case of a large class of cases) with use in the language is mistaken. ( 1 ) In A Critical Study in Method72 I agreed with Wittgenstein that word meaning is ''use in the language'' or, rather, with Strawson in holding that meaning, in one sense of the term, is ''roughly equivalent to ' meaning, ' in the sense of 'use' in which, according to Strawson, 'use' is roughly equivalent to 'rules for using' . "73 I now think that I was mistaken in too readily agreeing with that explication of 'meaning. '74 But 'use' in the sense of ''usability," hence also in the sense of ''actual use'' in sentences, is a logical consequence of a meaningful word' s having meaning, therefore a sufficient condition of word meaningfulness. A word cannot have meaning if it lacks a use. The same, mutatis mutandis, is true of sentences. But the converse is false. Nonsensical words can have a use in sentences, and so can nonsensical sentences; or not all ''words'' or ''sentences'' that have uses in the language are meaningful words or sentences . A familiar example is 'brillig' in ''It was brillig'' in Lewis Carroll' s ''The Walrus and the Carpenter." In short, ''use in the language'' is too broad as a condition of word meaningfulness, and so is not a necessary condition of word and sentence meaningfulness. I said that usability is a sufficient condition of a word' s meaningfulness. We can now add that it also provides a criterion of a word' s meaning by providing knowledge, for example, that a certain word 'x ' belongs to a particular part of speech. That is, it provides a means for (a) knowing 'x 's ' conditions of applica­ tion what position it would occupy in a sentence, in a given language, and (b) a criterion for 'x 's ' correct application in sentences. Since the kind of example illustrated by 'brillig' is rare, use is, generally speaking, a reliab le condition of word meaningfulness. Similar considerations apply to ''use'' as a criterion of word meaning. (2) Wittgenstein is I think clearly right in claiming that ''I know I am in pain'' has no use, no possible application in any language. But and this is where I think he is wrong the sentence for it is a sentence does have a comprehensible, non-contradictory meaning. It is not meaningless, nonsensical. We understand the sentence: precisely why we know that it has no possible use, no possible applica­ tion. As Wittgenstein claims, the reason why it has no possible use is that we cannot possibly be wrong about our having a pain, a sensation of pleasure, and so on: assuming, of course, that we know the meaning of 'pain, ' 'pleasure, ' etc., and use it correctly in the sentence. Of course we can be wrong about the location­ particularly the exact location of a pain in our body, or the exact nature of a pleasure we are feeling; but that is a different matter. The foregoing shows that in this particular case the concept of use is narrower than the concept of meaning: in this case, sentence meaning. •

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(3) There is a certain ordinary use of 'use' which may be thought of as the desired sense in relation to meaning; namely, when someone asks how a certain word x ' is used in a given language. For that question may mean: ''How in what contexts is 'x ' applied?'', meaning: (a) ''In what sentences and/or (b) in what actual or possible extra-linguistic contexts or circumstances are these sentences properly applicab le? '' These questions would be normally asked by someone who is learning the particular language. She may know 'x 's ' dictionary meaning but not how to use (apply) it in appropriate sentences. Or she may know some sentences in which 'x ' is properly used but does not know the circumstances or contexts under which it is proper to use 'x ' in these sentences. These questions become particularly pertinent, and no longer limited to learners of the language, concerning the idiomatic uses of certain phrases or sentences in that language; as well as the use of the same or different prepositions with different verbs. (These are difficul­ ties common to non-native speakers of British or American English.) From this we may conclude that this use of 'use,' in which the word is used in the sense of ''(an expression' s) appropriate application," is part of 'x 's ' meaning. What it cannot be is 'x 's ' entire meaning; since, as I said, these questions arise when one already knows at least 'x 's ' dictionary meaning. This means that knowl­ edge of ''word meaning'' can be interpreted in a narrower or a wider sense; and that the present use of 'use' arises in relation to the phrase's latter sense. Still, one might argue that the contextual element in question is a matter not of correct use but of correct usage; since, as I shall emphasize, 'use,' as Wittgenstein understands it, is distinct from 'usage' ."75 (4) A shape or sound that satisfies the various types of constitutive rules of some particular language-game, would have either a meaning, a reference, or both a meaning and a reference in that language-game, provided that it has some func­ tion (use?) in it. That is, having a use or function in the language is a criterion of a word' s having a certain meaning, or a certain reference, or a syntactical function in that language-game, rather than being what its meaning or its having a refer­ ence or references consists in. (5) The view that the communal setting of a language-game determines the conventional meaning(s) of the expressions in it, and that the public criteria and rules used by the community to determine the meanings of expressions, is I think perfectly true. But this means that conventional use determines meaning. It does not mean, or also mean, that conventional use is meaning. (6) On page 37e (#79) Wittgenstein agrees with Bertrand Russell that proper names have meaning, and follows him in the analysis of the purported meaning of proper names in terms of a set of definite descriptions. But I have elsewhere76 argued that proper names have no meaning as proper names, although some proper names, such as ' Smith, ' 'Carpenter, ' 'Eisenhower, ' have meaning if treated as common nouns. But proper names clearly have a use or various uses in the Ian-

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guage. It follows that their use(s) cannot be identified with meaning, and that in this type of case the concept of ''use'' is broader than the concept of ''meaning.'' (7) Perhaps the most important criticism of Wittgenstein's conception of word-meaning as use in the language is its circularlity, hence uninformativeness. A language is a set of conventions and rules that define a particular speech as a whole. To speak of speech as a practice defined by certain kinds of criteria, con­ ventions and/or rules, and so on, does not suffice to distinguish speech from symbolic, mathematical and logical systems (whether or not they may (also) employ language). Circularity would be avoided if we independently know what a language/speech is, or can define words in relation to it by means of these words' use(s) in it. But how can we define language/speech, or a language/speech inde­ pendently, distinguishing it from other kinds or types of practices, such as games, ''the language of the deaf,'' a system of religious or other symbols and signs? And so on. In other words, how is 'meaning' in the primary linguistic sense of 'signifi­ cation, ' as putative ''use," to be distinguished, as ''use in the language," from other meanings or senses of 'meaning' symbolic, figurative, etc.? Or stated in terms of rules, how are the kinds of constitutive rules that define speech, and the various regulative rules that regulate and evaluate it, to be distinguished from other types or kinds of constitutive and regulative rules, respectively, which defme or regulate non-linguistic practices? Another way of distinguishing the difficulty is this : 'use in the language' means ''use in sentences, etc." But what is a sentence? We have circularity once again. Finally, the discussion in Chapter 6 and speech as a practice in Chapter 7 should clarify the foregoing claims further by showing that the uses of words­ which are themselves determined by public, conventional usage are an essential part of the human activities that constitute the setting up of language-games, define the conventional conditions and criteria for the words ' proper employment. Specifi­ cally, in the case of class names, it will be argued that their conventional usage, given certain conditions to be spelled out, (a) indirectly determines word-meaning by simultaneously determining, in a logical sense, both the criteria/rules and the necessary and sufficient conditions for a given word' s application. The necessary and sufficient conditions in tum (b) determine the word' s meaning. •

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Notes 1 . Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1 972, and Revised Edition, 1 986. 2.

Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1 984.

3 . Ibid. [1 972], p. 283. 4. Selected Papers, Ludwig Wittgenstein, Half Truths and One-and-a-Half-Truths (Dordrecht, Netherlands: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1 996). 5 . We should add: ''through the creation of meanings of words, phrases, and sentences.'' 6. Hintikka, op cit., p. 27 5 . 7 . Ibid., p. 282. The term 'representational relations,' imported by Hintikka from the Tractatus, does not fit the view in the Investigations, as Hintikka points out. Although some pictures repre­ sent objects, persons, etc., and playing cards, chess pieces, and the ''tools'' of other games do represent kings and queens, knights or bishops, and so on, words cannot be properly said to rep­ resent anything by virtue of their meaning. Meaning is quite different from representation. 8. London and New York: Routledge, 1 999. 9. Ibid., p. 2 5 . 10. Ibid. 1 1 . Italics in original. Here, in a nutshell, is the essence of John Searle' s conception of speech as a practice, though there are significant differences between Wittgenstein's views about language­ games and Searle ' s theory of ''speech'' consisting in a single practice of speech acts. 12. In a non-normative sense of these words. I am not here concerned with the question whether ordinary language has, or lacks, a special normative status. 1 3 . As the language of ''postmodern'' literary and critical theory. 14. Cf. my discussion in ''Vagueness, Verifiability, and Metaphysics'' (Philosophy ofLanguage and Logical Theory: Collected Papers [Lanham, MD: University Press of America, Inc., pp. 47-70]). That paper deals with the opposite problem in relation to traditional philosophy. There I argue that the traditional philosopher frequently falls into vagueness often hopeless vague­ ness hence incomprehensibility or near-incomprehensibility, whenever he tries to devise alleg­ edly clearer, more precise technical concepts than ordinary concepts, or to free ordinary concepts from their alleged undesirable metaphysical presuppositions. 1 5 . Op cit., p. 1 92. 16. Williams, op cit., p. 200. 1 7 . Hintikka, op cit., p. 29 1 . 1 8 . A view to which I do not subscribe. See Chapters 6 and 7. 19. Hacker, op cit., p. 29 1 . 20. For a clear presentation of Wittgenstein' s argument(s) against the possibility of a private language, the reader is referred to Meredith Williams, op cit., Chapter 1 and passim. 2 1 . Hacker, op cit., p. 298. 22. Ibid., p. 299.

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23. London and New York: Routledge, 1 997. 24. Ibid., pp. ix-x. 25. Wittgenstein' s use of 'use' here is clearly different from its use in relation to meaning. 26. Ibid., Introduction, p. 5 . 27. Ibid. 28. Ibid., p. 22. 29. For an important discussion of interpretation in the law fully cognizant of Wittgenstein' s ideas about open-texture in the Investigations, see H.L. Hart, The Concept of Law (New York/London: Oxford University Press, 1 9 6 1 ). 30. Mind, Language And Reality, Philosophical Papers Volume 2 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1 97 5), pp. 1 1 7-1 3 1 . 3 1 . In the paragraph preceding this passage, Putnam writes: ''In one sense, we all know well enough what ' meaning' means. Thus what is wanted here is not a synonym for the word 'meaning' (e.g., ' significance'), but a conceptual analysis'' (ibid., p. 1 26). Italics in original. I shall return to this idea that ''in one sense, we all know well enough what 'meaning' means." I shall only note here that ' signification,' not ' significance' is the meaning of 'meaning' in the sense of ''linguistic meaning.'' ' Significance' is a synonym for a different meaning or meanings of 'meaning'; the meaning(s) involved in such expressions as ''the meaning of life'' and ''the meaning of suffering," and in the question, ''What is the meaning (or ''real meaning'') of the ongoing insurgency against the coalition forces in Iraq?'' 32. Ibid., pp. 1 26-1 27. Italics in original. 3 3 . Ibid., p. 1 27. 34. Ibid. 3 5 . Note that 'connotations' here is used in a different way from the logician' s use of the term but in a similar way to its use in relation to literature and literary criticism. 36. Ibid., p. 128. 3 7. Ibid. Italics in original. 3 8 . Pl, # 1 82, p. 73e. Also, pp. 77e, 88e, 94e, l OOe, etc.; P.M.S. Hacker, Insight and Illusion, Wittgenstein on Philosophy and the Metaphysics of Experience (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1 972), p. 288. 39. Hacker, op cit, p.283 . As I shall argue in Chapter 9, Hacker's identification of ''criterion'' and ''non-inductively justifying condition," which he attributes to Wittgenstein, is an error. A crite­ rion is logically distinct from any kind of condition. 40. As I am doing in this chapter, I take the opposite approach in discussing criteria in this book. See in particular Part II, Chapters 9 and 1 0 . 4 1 . Hacker, Insight and Illusion [ 1 972], p. 288. Hacker also states on that page that ''In the Investigations he [Wittgenstein] suggests that criteria for 'p ' are the circumstances which would justify one in sayingp (e.g. Pl, 1 82). His numerous investigations into specific psychological and dispositional terms employ the concept of a criterion extensively in precisely this sense.'' 42. Pl, # 1 55, p. 6 1 e. Italics in 'the circumstances' in original; in 'justify him,' mine.

The Later Wittgenstein on Linguistic Meaning

73

43. Professor of History, The University of Michigan-Dearborn. Quoted from an e-mail passage addressed to the members of the Society for Armenian Studies. 44.

American Professor of German Literature once aptly described Heidegger' s terminology to me by saying that Heidegger ''uses ordinary German in an extraordinary way.'' An

45. Wittgenstein' s favorite method of using a pedagogical setting, the way new expressions or concepts are taught to and are learned by beginners, in PI, as a way of stressing or illustrating, among other things, the way in which criteria determined meaning (note, for example, the im­ portance to Wittgenstein's thought attached by Meredith Williams' detailed discussion of this in her Wittgenstein, Mind and Meaning), I think naturally leads to his emphasis on the idea that criteria invariably determine meaning. 46. Ibid., p. 290. 47. Ibid. 48. Ibid. Pl. In #322, p. 105e, Wittgenstein says that ''what should interest us . . . [in asking what a person' s facial expression means and what understanding is] is ''what criterion of identity do we fix for their occurrence?'' (Italics in original.) 49. PI, #354, pp. 2 1 2e-2 1 3e. 50. Encyclopedia ofPhilosophy, Vols. 1-2, Paul Edwards, Editor-in-Chief (New York: Macmillan, 1 967), p. 249. 5 1 . Ibid., pp. 258-259. For a critical examination of this view, see Chapter 9. 52. Ibid. 5 3 . lbid., p. 259. 54. Hacker, op cit., p. 283. Italics mine. 5 5 . Many if not all mental or psychological sentences have a multiplicity of possible behavioral criteria, no one of which is necessary for the applicability of these and like sentences; even if we suppose, what may not be always true, that any one of these behavioral criteria would always be logically sufficient for a mental or psychological sentence's applicability. 56. Ibid., p. 257. 57. Notes for Lectures. Hacker, op cit., p. 257. On the other hand, the following quotation from Investigations presents a different claim. Thus Hacker writes: ''In the Investigations, Wittgen­ stein applying the non-cognitivist thesis to 'I am thinking', affmns that it can be true or false while denying that it is a description and that it is cognizable'' (ibid., p. 260). See also, e.g., Norman Malcolm's defense of the non-cognitivist thesis in '''Wittgenstein' s Philosophical Investigations', in Wittgenstein: The Philosophical Investigation, A Collection of Critical Essays, ed., G. Pitcher, pp. 77-83'' (Hacker, op cit., p. 252, footnote 2). 5 8. Which it clearly is; since it sets up a fundamental logical contrast between avowals and second­ and third-person ascriptions of mental or psychological sentences-in-use. Wittgenstein does not deny the obvious fact that the latter are genuine statements. But that contrast or dichotomy, in itself, has no tendency to refute Wittgenstein' s claim. 59. New York: St. Martin' s Press, Inc., 1 963. 60. Ibid., p. 99. 6 1 . Ibid., pp. 99- 1 00.

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62. Ibid., p. 1 00. 63. Ibid., pp. 1 00-1 0 1 . Ayer' s use of this word is symptomatic of his claim that contrary to Wittgen­ stein ' s view, a private mental language is possible. He therefore maintains that the connection between a mental state or process and its overt behavioral ''expressions'' is empiricaL causal, not conceptual. 64. Hacker, op cit., p. 29 1 . My italics. 65. Ibid., p. 293. 66. Williams, e.g., op cit., p. 1 99. 67. In ''Are There Any Natural Rights?'', Human Rights, A.I. Melden, ed. (Belmont, CA: Wad­ sworth Publishing Company, Inc., 1970), H.L.A. Hart defmes a ' special obligation' as follows. ''When rights arise out of special transactions between individuals or out of some special rela­ tionship in which they stand to each other, both the persons who have the right and those who have the corresponding obligation are limited to the parties to the special transaction or relation­ ship." (Ibid., p. 68.) 68. Pl, p. 20e. 69. Ibid. 70. Ibid. Wittgenstein' s view about the relation of use and meaning is possibly a source of J.L. Austin' s (and John Searle' s) speech act theory of meaning. For the view that (word-) meaning is ''use'' means, among other things, that for a speaker to use a word to mean something is to act in certain ways ''to do certain kinds of things with words.'' If I am right, the speech act theory can be seen as a sustained attempt to systematize the idea that meaning is use. 7 1 . p. 54e. Italics in original. 72. The Hague, Netherlands: Martinus Nijhoff, 1 967. 73. Ibid., p. 27. Chapter Three as a whole, pp. 23-39, is relevant to the present discussion. 74. We may also wonder how meaning could be ''roughly'' something or other: ''roughly use," or ''roughly rules'' and what ' roughly' means in this context! 75. For the distinction between usage and use, see A Critical Study in Method, pp. 1 8 , 22, 1 1 9126. 76. ''The Meaning of Proper Names," Philosophy ofLanguage and Logical Theory: Collected Papers (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, Inc., 1 995), pp. 89-1 1 1 .

Chapter 4 William Alston 's and R.M. Hare 's Illocutionary Act Th eory ofLinguistic Meaning In this chapter I shall present and evaluate William P. Alston ' s theory in Illocu­ tionary Acts and Sentence Meaning 1 that the meaning of a sentence is a function of its use; or more precisely, it is its illocutionary act potential. I shall also make critical references to R.M. Hare's similar view. As Alston had stated in an earlier version of his theory in Philosophy ofLanguage, 2 he claims that the theory ''repre­ sents pioneering work''; although the speech act theory he develops in IASM draws on J.L. Austin' s and especially John Searle's speech act theory. I shall also indicate how Alston' s and Hare's theory/theories of the meaning of sentences, like J.L. Austin's speech act theory follow in Alston' s case, in a significantly modified form from Wittgenstein's view that in a large class of words, the meaning of a word is its use in the language. Alston 's account of sentence meaning: Within a rich and complex speech act theory in IASM, Alston presents and de­ fends, as the work's centerpiece, the latest, most developed and detailed form of his theory of sentence meaning as ''illocutionary act potential," earlier sketched in Philosophy ofLanguage and other writings. In IASM he gives ''a sketchy indica­ tion . . . as to how an account of word meaning could be developed on that basis."3 In this chapter I shall focus on the analysis of sentence meaning and will briefly return to it in Chapter 5. Alston states his thesis as follows : ''A sentence's having a certain meaning consists in its being usable to perform illo­ cutionary acts of a certain type. More concisely: Sentence meaning is illocutionary act potential. ''4

Since as he observes, illocutionary acts can be non-linguistically performed, he later qualifies the preceding by adding that ''Sentence meaning is to be identi­ fied with standard illocutionary act potential, the potential a sentence possesses just by virtue of its linguistic characteristics."5 In a later passage he writes: ''We could truly say that it is the (a) meaning of the sentence that gives it a certain IA [illocutionary act] potential. Since I am identifying the meaning with an IA potential, I could hardly deny that the former is sufficient for the latter.''6

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Throughout the book the role of linguistic meaning in communication is em­ phasized and reiterated. To quote just one passage among many: ''A meaning of a sentence fits it to play a distinctive role in communication just because that meaning consists in the sentence' s being usable to perform illocutionary acts of a certain type.' '7 In Chapter 7 Alston adds an important dimension to his theory by relating sentence meaning and illocutionary acts to rules, and on pages 238ff he provides ''Sample I-Rules and IA Analyses.'' He explains his appeal to rules thus : ''I take linguistic meaning to be something that is not at all transparent on the surface and that needs explication in more pellucid terms. I seek to use the notion of IA poten­ tial to throw light on sentence meaning, not vice versa. Hence I must look else­ where for an account of what endows a sentence with a certain IA potential.''8 '' . . . The favored account [for him in Part I] was in terms of uttering a sentence as subject to a certain rule. This suggests an answer to the present question. For a sentence to have a certain IA potential is for that sentence to be governed by, subj ect to, a certain rule. Such rules I will call illocutionary rules. ''9 Alston defines the relation between illocutionary acts and rules thus : D8 In uttering S, U R's that p

''

.

In uttering

S, U subjects his utterance to a rule

that, in application to this case, implies that it is pe1�missible for ,,10 p.

U to utter S only if

And, ''X. A sentence's having a certain meaning consists in its being subject to a certain illocutionary i�ule.''

11

In explicating the concept of an illocutionary act as he employs it against the backdrop of his discussion and criticism of J.L. Austin' s characterization of 12 illocutionary acts, Alston adopts John Searle' s analysis in which an illocutionary act consists of '' 'propositional content' and 'illocutionary force' . A full-b lown oratio obliqua [indirect speech] report contains a main verb and an attached 'content specifying' phrase. We may take the former to indicate the illocutionary force and the latter to indicate thepropositional content. Thus in 'A predicted that the strike would soon be over' , the illocutionary force is that of predicting and the propositional content is that the strike will soon be over. In 'A asked B to give him a match' , the illocutionary force is that of requesting and the propositional ''13 He explains that ''In my usage the content content is that B gives A a match. includes anything that U seeks to communicate, anything a hearer (H) must grasp in order to understand what the speaker is saying. And that defmitely includes ''14 illocutionary force as well as propositional content. One of the merits of Alston' s account is his extension of the IA potential analysis, to a certain extent, to the next ''level," that of perlocutionary acts (''those

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that, . . . essentially involve an utterance's having a certain effect'') including his critical discussion of what he calls the ''Gricean approach'' and related approaches to sp eaker meaning and communication; and it is because of his desire to bring out or emphasize the communicative aspect of the meaning of sentences that he sets out to analyze sentence meaning in terms of speaker meaning, not the other way round. Thus he correctly emphasizes that in that particular respect, I should add illocutionary acts are more basic than perlocutionary acts and prior in communication, without denying that ''PI' s [perlocutionary intentions] are essential for communication . . . IA's serve as the means for securing perlocutionary effects, not vice versa, and that sentence meaning is crucial for the more basic, IA level of the proceedings . Indeed, there is another respect in which PI' s are more funda­ mental for communication. It is just the respect in which the end is more funda­ mental than the means."15 And so on. A few quotations will illustrate the importance Alston rightly attaches to the relation between a sentence' s meaning and its capacity for communication. For example, in IV he states that ''An expression's having a certain meaning consists in its being usable to play a certain role (to do certain things) in

Again: ''A2 [Axiom 2]. The fact that an expression has a certain meaning is what enables it to play a distinctive role (enables it to be used in a distinctive way) in communication. ''17 He also correctly connects the meaning(s) of a sentence and the truth-conditions of a statement made with that sentence, thus: ''A6. The truth conditions of a statement are at least partly determined by the meaning(s) of the sentence used to make that statement. '' 1 8 In defending his account of sentence meaning against various charges of vi­ cious circularity, Alston explains that his account is not intended to be a ''reductive defmition of sentence meaning."19 For instance, in relation to ''VI. Sentence mean­ ing is illocutionary act potential," he responds to the obj ection ''that illocutionary acts are too . . . close to sentence meaning to provide an illuminating account of it," as follows : ''There is an obvious appeal to the proj ect of explicating linguistic meaning in terms that are wholly nonintentional, not dealing with any sort of propositional content, . . . If we could do this, it would be a great achievement, it would make for greater ontological economy, and so on. But the question is whether it can be done. My judgement is that all such attempts to date, . . . have failed badly. In comparing the present theory with more reductive theories we have to consider what is feasible as well as what would be most attractive if we could ''20 have it. Elsewhere he comments : ''The crucial point to make is that my thesis is not intended to be a conceptual analysis of the classical type, or a reductive analysis [like the referential, ideational or behaviorist definitions or analyses]. It is a hy­ ''21 pothesis as to the nature of sentential meaning . . . Replying, in ter alia, to the objection that his account ''fails to make fruitful contact with linguistics," he says : communication.''16

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''My interest here is in the ontology of linguistic meaning, what it is for a unit of language in this book a sentence to have a certain meaning.''22 And, The meaning of a given sentence is that which one will know (in a practical, know-how way) in order to know what is being said by an utterance of the sentence; it is that which is determined by the meaningful components of the sentence plus the structure; and so on. This preliminary, pretheoretical identification is in terms of the place sentence meaning oc­ cupies in one or another system the structure of the language, the knowledge of the flu­ ent speaker, the way that knowledge guides speech and understanding of speech, and so on. The IA potential thesis is a claim about the intrinsic nature of that which stands in these functional relations . . . [it is therefore not analogous to] philosophical attempts to lay bare our concept of T or to bring out the meaning of the term 'T' .23

Analysis and Evaluation of Alston's

IA Potential

Account of Sentence Meaning

I. As we saw, Alston's account of sentence meaning does not attempt to provide a definition of '(sentence) meaning' in terms of the relation between sentence meaning and speaker meaning. An attempt to do so would be palpably circular, viciously circular, insofar as it would explicate sentence meaning in relation to speaker meaning which itself includes, hence presupposes sentence meaning and an understanding of that meaning, as in the case of the truth-conditional theory and Wittgenstein's later theory of linguistic meaning, considered earlier in this book. 24 As we shall see, Alston's ''non-reductive'' AI potential account consists of a form of ''exhibition analysis," tracing the logical relations between sentence meaning and certain other related concepts. Indeed, his analysis, like the truth-conditional and Wittgenstein's ''use'' account of word meaning, essentially provides certain necessary and/or sufficient conditions and (partial or total) criteria for sentence meaning; since a sentence' s usability for the performance of an illocutionary act is a partial condition, and partial criterion, for speaker meaning. 25 (That is, leaving aside nonlinguistic quasi-illocutionary acts; such as those performed through body language, symbols, signals or signs.) Here we might note the existence of illocutionary ''analogues'' to illocutionary acts, as they might be called, ''performed'' by agents by means of conventional or natural, non-conventional body language. Conventional body language has extra­ linguistic meaning; and, in the right circumstances, natural, non-conventional body language can convey a certain meaning to the viewer. These forms of human communication lack propositional content but can have a quasi-illocutionary force, analogous to the force possessed by sentences in illocutionary acts. Indeed, given the analogies between illocutionary acts and the ''quasi-illocutionary acts'' that not only body language but also symbols, signals and signs can be imagined to per­ form in one and the same and in different societies or cultures, it would be possible to provide illuminating extensions of the AI potential analysis to them by utilizing

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the concept of'' quasi-linguistic'' (or, more generally, ''non-linguistic'') illocution­ ary acts. Here the concept of ''agent meaning'' as we might call it (analogous to ''speaker meaning'') would be particularly germane: for example, in thinking of the possible relations between the conventional meaning(s) of a particular visual symbol (such as the symbol of the cross) and the special meaning it may be given by a particular user of that symbol.26 It should be noted that the IA potential account does not provide criteria for distinguishing bona fide illocutionary acts in his sense from grammatically ''cor­ rect'' but self-contradictory or absurd sentences, tautologies or correct sentences that commit category violations. It also lacks the means of distinguishing literal sentences from metaphorical sentences, and vice versa. But these things are not defects in that account, since it can apply to these things insofar as they form, in some sense, meaningful or ''meaningful'' sentences. One can readily imagine circumstances in which a speaker may use sentences of any of the foregoing sorts for some particular purpose; e.g., to bring out or illustrate as a philosophy teacher may do some point about language. It is true that since these sorts of sentences or ''sentences'' lack ''propositional content'' in Searle' s and Alston's sense, they would not constitute the performance of an ''illocutionary act'' in their sense. Nevertheless, they too can be thought of as being used to perform ''quasi­ illocutionary'' acts that have a bona fide ''illocutionary'' force. II. Alston's ''exhibition analysis'' of sentence meaning has two fundamental components : ( 1 ) the communicative component: the usability of sentences by speakers to communicate; and (2) the relation between sentence meaning and speaker meaning. Alston's emphasis on (1 ), which extends to the relation between illocutionary and perlocutionary speech acts, is an important strength of his ac­ count. The situation is quite different and to my mind, highly problematic with respect to (2). As I shall contend, Alston's attempt to analyze sentence meaning in terms of its relation to speaker meaning simply fails to illuminate sentence, i.e., semantic meaning. For example, in Alston's example, ''A predicted that the strike would soon be over'' (statement S), whatever illumination of sentence meaning the relation between sentence meaning and speaker meaning provides, is wholly and solely derived from the concept of illocutionaryforce of predicting attached to the propositional content, ''that the strike will soon be over." What the latter commu­ nicate, as speaker meaning, is simply S 's unanalyzed, unexplicated semantic meaning. Stated otherwise, so far as component (2) above is concerned, the AI potential account, in attempting to explicate ''sentence meaning'' in terms of ''speaker meaning," ''explains'' semantic (sentence) meaning almost in terms of itself.27 The reason is that (a) the very same meaning of 'meaning' is involved in both 'speaker meaning' and 'sentence (i.e., semantic) meaning. ' ''Speaker meaning'' is not a •

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different mean ing of 'meaning' : only (b) in certain special types of cases, and in them alone, does it involve a second sense of ' (linguistic) meaning.' But it must be emphasized that even in these cases it involves the same meaning of 'meaning' as in ''utterance meaning." That is, 'meaning' in the sense of ''signification." The sentence, ''A predicted that the strike would soon be over'' I borrow from Alston, illustrates (a). As for (b) it is illustrated by, e.g., ''In saying, 'Yes, yes, I'm going to marry you soon, very soon ! ' , with a special tone of his voice, the reluctant lover really meant, i.e., implied, that he wasn 't really ready for marriage any time soon.'' 'Implying' or ' meaning' has a different sense from that of ' stating. ' The fundamental problem we are considering, concerning Alston's appeal to ''speaker meaning'' as a way of explicating or analyzing ''sentence meaning," can be restated as follows: The concept of ''speaker meaning," as distinguished from the concept of ''sentence meaning'' comes into play not on the general ''level'' of ''semantic meaning'' but on the level of particular meanings of individual sentences made by particular sp eakers in particular circumstances. (The same is also true of the concept of illocutionary force, as part of the concept of speaker meaning.) In reality, therefore, component (2) in the IA potential account establishes the relation between the specific meanings of individual sentences and (the same or different) meanings they have in the utterances of particular speakers in particular contexts or circumstances. Starting with what seems at first sight as an analysis of sentence meaning in general, of that which is common to all (literally) meaningful sentences, component (2) in Alston' s IA potential analysis slips into descriptions or analyses of particular types of illocutionary acts, including an account of the rules to which different types of illocutionary acts are subj ect.28 That, I think, is not surprising. For Al­ ston's speech act theory as a whole, like J.L. Austin' s and Searle' s forms of the theory, is intended to provide a general logical framework in terms of which a host of specific grammatical/logical types of utterances (including ''illocutionary acts'') are logically distinguished and classified. Simply stated, illocutionary acts and the speech act theory as a whole, by their very nature, are designed for a different kind of purpose from the kind of job for which Alston attempts to use them. The theory is designed to provide a logical framework within which the multifarious types of sentences used in speech are distinguished and classified, and so can be clearly understood. It is not designed to provide an account of what is common to all these types of sentences insofar as they have semantic meaning. Alston attempts to make it serve a purpose for which it is neither intended nor equipped. At every turn the attempt to explicate semantic meaning in general in terms of the theory here in terms of illocutionary acts­ assumes or presupposes unexplicated that which is to be explicated. Perhaps the following will make the foregoing clearer. Alston's account of sentence meaning purports to be concerned with what is common to all sentences

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of any and every illocutionary type: assertions, questions, commands, and so on, not with the particular meanings of particular sentences that form the propositional content of individual illocutions or tokens of illocutionary types. For that account to succeed, the expression ' illocutionary act in general, ' abstracted from all par­ ticular illocutionary acts and all particular types of illocutionary acts, must refer to something logically possible. Now suppose that the locution 'an illocutionary act in general' is meaningful or that the concept of an ''illocution in general'' is a bona fide concept. Even then the meaning referred to by the phrase ' sentence meaning' cannot be a function of an illocutionary act in this abstract, generic sense; since sentence meaning, qua meaning, does not vary with the different types of illocutionary acts performed by sp eakers. What does vary is the particular meaning of particular sentences used to perform particular acts of stating, re­ questing, commanding, etc. This means that Alston' s account fundamentally confuses questions about (a) the meaning of ' sentence meaning' in general, and questions about (b) the particular meaning(s) of individual sentences, of some logical type or other. The analysis shifts continually and illicitly from (a) to (b). Alston might respond by claiming that by understanding how individual sen­ tences and different types of sentences function in use, we understand that which is common to them all, which enables any and every sentence to perform its communicative function: namely, sentence meaning in general. But for the IA potential account to clarify sentence meaning in general, it is necessary for the broad concept of (a) usability to commnunicate to be adequately restricted or specified, hence properly defmed by the concept of (b) illocutionary force (which, it will be recalled, is indicated by the main verb in the propositional content). As we shall presently see by considering sentence synonymy, the concept of ''illocu­ tionary force'' fails sufficiently to specify the concept of ''usability to communi­ cate'' to enable the IA potential account to provide an adequate clarification of sentence meaning in general. III. The IA potential account of sentence meaning entails that two sentences are synonymous if they have the same illocutionary act potential. That is, if the ''substitution of the one for the other leaves the illocutionary act potential of that sentence unaltered."29 Although I do not find it explicitly stated in Illocutionary Acts and Sentence Meaning, that claim is explicitly presented in Philosophy of Language30 and Meaning and Use. 3 1 In these works ''both sentence- and word­ synonymity are covered by the following characterization: '''s' means 't' df. ' s ' and 't' are uttered for the performance of the same linguistic [illo­ 32 cutionary] act. '' =

However, in Meaning and Use Alston points out a number of complications that make it necessary to qualify it. An example is the complication arising from the multivocity of some words. Leaving that aside, the preceding characterization

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is, as I said, intended to provide an account both of word- and of sentence-meaning as ''use''; since in these writings he claims that to specify the meaning of a word or a sentence is to exhibit another expression which is used in the same way as it. 33 Leaving word identity aside, let us inquire whether the claim that identity of illocutionary act potential constitutes a necessary and sufficient condition of sentence synonymy. This formula, which follows directly from Alston's IA con­ ception of sentence meaning, does appear to provide a criterion for the synonymy of two sentences which do have the same meaning, are synonymous. For having the same propositional content is both a necessary and a sufficient condition of synonymity; consequently, if two sentences 'S ' and 'T' have the same proposi­ tional content, it would follow that a speaker would perform one and the same illocutionary act, by using 'S ' and by using 'T. ' Two related questions arise at this point: ( 1 ) whether the formula provides a bona fide criterion of synonymity, or whether it in fact begs the question and so is useless as a criterion. And (2) assuming for the sake of argument here that it is not circular, whether it also provides a criterion of non-synonymity, in the case of sentences ('R ' and 'W') that have different propositional contents and so are non­ synonymous. Question (2) asks whether the formula actually enables us to distinguish 'R ' and 'W' as two non-synonymous sentences. The answer appears to be ''No, it cannot." For how would appeal to the formula enable us to tell that they have different propositional contents? Our only recourse would be to appeal to 'R 's ' and 'W's ' illocutionary force(s) . But that would only work if R, say, is an indicative sentence while Wis an order or a question. For then the difference in their meaning would be revealed in a difference in their illocutionary force: R would have the force of an assertion while W would have the force of a command or of a query. (Cf. Alston's classification of illocutions.) If both 'R ' and 'W' are assumed to be indicative sentences, or imperatives, and so on, the illocutionary force in both cases, in terms of Alston's speech act theory, would be the same. (The same would be true in terms of Austin' s or Searle' s theory.) That brings us to question ( 1 ) The answer to this question is ''No, it cannot provide a bona fide criterion of synonymity." The reason is that we cannot tell whether the propositional content in both 'S ' and 'T' is the same, except by know­ ing, by appealing to 'S 's ' and 'T's ' meaning(s) themselves. And no other possible criterion appears to be provided by Alston' s formula and, consequently, by the IA potential account. Here too the illocutionary force of statements S and T respec­ tively would not help provide a criterion. Once again, we cannot know whether they have the same force (e.g., that the force in both cases is that of an assertion) except by going back to the propositional content(s) of the illocutionary act(s) performed by S and T, and so to the meaning of 'S ' and 'T' themselves !

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To conclude: although identify of illocutionary act constitutes a necessary and sufficient condition of the synonymity, it does not provide a criterion of synony­ mity or of non-synonymity of two or more sentences. The basic problem respecting both ( 1 ) and (2) above is that the differences in the meaning of two sentences that have different meaning, such as our 'R ' and 'W, ' are not apparent, do not come into play at a speech act' s illocutionary act stage. They only come into play in the next, perlocutionary act stage of a total speech act, where the specific circumstances under which the perlocutionary act is performed define the specific effects the speaker intends to produce. Compare the sentences ''Take the horse to pasture'' and ''Give this letter to your mother.'' It is seen that the perlocutionary effect of ''Taking the horse to pasture'' is different from the per­ locutionary effect of ''Take this letter to your mother." It is clear that the specific effect intended in the case of''Take the horse to pasture," when the speaker is, say, addressing a helper, is quite different from the specific effect intended by a speaker in saying, e.g., to his son: ''Take this letter to your mother." Therefore, in contrast to the typical illocutionary force of an illocutionary act, it is the specific intended effect in a speaker's performance of a perlocutionary act that succeeds in providing a criterion for the non-synonymity of, say, the two imperative sentences. This important point regarding perlocutionary acts vis-a-vis illocutionary acts will be further explored in Chapter 5 . IV. Hare, like Alston, maintains that sentence meaning is illocutionary act potential. In ''Meaning and Speech Acts''34 he argues, contra Searle, that (a) the meaning of interrogatives, negatives of categorical affirmatives and hypotheticals can be partly explained in terms of the corresponding categorical affirmatives, which (b) can be in turn partly explained in terms of the illocutionary acts they are characteristically used to perform. (a) does not concern us here. Assuming that his claims there are true, they would only succeed in showing that his speech act theory is true if (b) is true. But even if we suppose, with (b) that the meaning of e.g., ''Do you promise . . . ?'' ''Is X good?'', and ''Do promise!'' can be, ultimately (partly) explained in terms of the illocutionary acts that the corresponding categorical affirmatives are characteristically used to perform, acceptance of the antecedent is perfectly consistent with the thesis that (c) the illocutionary acts that sentences of any kind are normally used to perform are themselves partly determined by their meaning, the meanings of the constituent words and by their syntactical relations in these sentences. Significantly, Hare, unlike Alston, accepts not only both (b) but (c) as well.35 Hare' s attempt to arrive at knowledge of a sentence's meaning through knowl­ edge of its ''illocutionary uses'' is not inconsistent with (c). For if something Q depends on something else, P, knowledge of Q can be used in principle to reach knowledge of P. The danger here is to suppose that the latter entails P 's logical dependence on Q: that sentence-meaning is logically determined by the illocution-

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ary acts sentences are characteristically used to perform. Similarly, mutatis mutan­ dis, with word-meaning.36 Hare, however, does not make that incorrect supposition. The following criticism, which is not unrelated to our earlier criticism III, has been leveled against Hare's illocutionary act theory, which, if correct, would also apply to Alston's account of sentence meaning. It goes as follows : if the meaning of a sentence 'T, ' say ''The cat is on the mat," is either identical with or is a func­ tion of the illocutionary act(s) that 'T' can be normally used to perform, it would follow that we have a different illocutionary act if any word 'w ' in 'T' is replaced by any other non-synonymous word that does not make 'T' senseless. But that consequence, which follows from the fact that 'T's ' meaning will change in some degree as different words are substituted for 'w, ' is clearly damaging to the theory, as G.J. Warnock points out in relation to Hare's form of the sp eech act theory of meaning. That is, as Warnock says, ''in such a case [as described above] we will surely have a different assertion, and in some cases perhaps a different kind of speech act altogether in any case, a different speech act."37 In fact, as he adds, if different assertions are different speech acts, it would follow that ''every word is associated with a different array of speech acts from that of any other word with which it is not synonymous."38 Warnock is inclined to believe that this is not Hare's thesis, that it may be a slip. But it appears to be an inescapable implication of the speech act theory of meaning, whether or not Hare subscribes to it. War­ nock's general conclusion follows since, to use his example, ''Is that a horse?'' has a different meaning from ''Is this a cow?''; consequently, two different specific illocutionary acts must be involved: though, since both are used as questions, only one generic illocutionary act is involved. The only qualification that should be added to Warnock's conclusion is that the phrase 'speech act' must be modified by the epithet ' specific. ' Thus and this is very important the fact that for Alston and perhaps also for Hare,39 'illocutionary act' is to be understood in a generic sense does not change matters as far as the implications of the speech act theory of meaning are concerned. Only, one must then reformulate the theory to read: ''The meaning of a sentence 'S ' (as a 'type,' not as a 'token') is identical with one particular instance of the illocutionary-act that 'S ' is normally used to per­ form." ''Go East'' and ''Go West," as types, would be used to perform two in­ stances of the same illocutionary act in the generic sense (giving advice). How to distinguish logically different instances of the same (generic) illocutionary act without circularity without referring back to 'S 's ' meaning as opposed to the meaning of some other sentence or type of sentence 'T, ' or 'W, ' or 'R, ' etc., or to the meanings of their constituents, would then become a central problem for the theory. Compare this to the question of explicating the notions of asserting, describing, referring, requesting, and so on, independently of the concept of sentence-meaning and/or word-meaning. It is quite possible that the problem of circularity is compounded by the fact that, as Warnock notes, ''there are a great

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many fewer varieties of illocutionary acts than there are non-synonymous sen­ tences . "40 Still, it should be added that, pace Warnock, we can validly maintain that ''no mention of speech acts need ever occur in explanations of any words."41 Warnock believes that the contrary is shown by Hare to be true with respect to the perfor­ mative ''I promise. "42 He writes : ''Someone who did not know [that 'I promise' is typically used in promising] could not be said to know the meaning of those words (in that context)."43 If Warnock, in agreement with Hare, is correct, this knowledge would be (a) a necessary condition of one' s knowing the meaning of ''I promise." And (b) it would provide a criterion for someone' s knowledge of the meaning of 'I promise' in that context, provided that (c) it is possible to know in particular instances that it is or is not used in promising, without first knowing the meaning of ''I promise." But (c) appears to follow from (a); so if (a) is true it would follow that (b) is also true. Even if (a) is true or (a)-(c) are true, (a) ' s truth or (a)-(c) ' s truth would not lend support to Warnock's contention that with regard to performative utterances the speech act thesis seems to be no more than a truism. Moreover, he appears to identify meaning and reference when he says: ''One must explain the meaning of the word [''promise''] in terms of the speech act, since it is, after all, th e wordfor the speech act it is exactly the speech act of promising that promising means [i.e., refers to] ."44 Note the absence of e.g., double quotes round the words 'the speech act of promising' in the last sentence. As I said, I think both Hare and Wamock are mistaken in thinking that in the case of performative utterances, Hare' s and by implication, Alston's illocu­ tionary act theory of sentence meaning is correct. The reason I think lies in their failure to distinguish ( 1 ) the semantic meaning of 'I promise,' which is not a function of the expression's use to perform an act of promising; and (2) the social performative meaning in the sense of the social significance of 'I promise' when used to perform an act of promising. Knowing or understanding how 'I promise' is correctly used to perform acts of promising requires an understanding of the circumstances or contexts in which it is conventionally used. These circum­ stances or contexts constitute the conditions and criteria for the expression's correct social application. It is its social meaning/significance that is determined or defmed by the way it is conventionally used to perform acts of promising. If this is true the same logical situation obtains with respect to both performative and non-performative, constative utterances, so far as their semantic meaning is concerned. In both types of expressions their semantic meaning must be defined before they can be used to perform illocutionary acts of any kind. In other words, the social meaning or significance of performative utterances is something over and above their semantic meaning; being a type of meaning that they must have to

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function as performative utterances proper; to function not just as speech acts but also as physical social acts . My own view that the illocutionary act potential of a sentence 'S ' is distinct from 'S 's ' meaning(s) is essentially in agreement with John Searle' s view about what he calls the ''speech act analysis'' and the ''speech act fallacy." He describes the former as the offering of ''statements of the form 'W are used to perform [speech] act A ' by way of philosophical explication [or, at least, partial explica­ '' 45 tion] of the concept W The speech act fallacy, then, consists in offering a ''speech act analysis," which he considers to be a fundamental error. His reasons for rej ecting the speech act analysis are well summarized in this passage: Now there is a condition of adequacy which any analysis of the meaning of a word must meet

and which the speech act analysis fails to meet. Any analysis of the meaning of a

word (or morpheme) must be consistent with the fact that the same word (or morpheme) can mean the same thing in all grammatically different kinds of sentences in which it can occur . . . If someone offers an analysis of the meaning of a word, then what he offers must hold true of all literal occurrences of the word where it has that literal meaning, or else it is not an adequate analysis. The speech act analyses of the words we have been consider­ ing [''good," ''true," ''know," ''probably''] are not adequate because the words have lots of literal occurrences where the utterances of the words are not related to the performance of the act in the ways they would have to be related in order that the analysis should not have the consequence that the word would have to change its meaning with changes in the various syntactical types of sentences in which it occurs or saying that it is good. For that reason the question ( 1 ) ''What is it to call something good?'' is a different question 46 from (2) ''What is the meaning of 'good'?''

Searle explains the ''speech act fallacy'' using ' good' as an example. He writes : Calling something good is characteristically praising or commending or recommending

it, etc. But it is a fallacy to infer from this that the meaning of ' good' is explained by saying that it is used to perform the act of commendation. And we demonstrate that it is a fallacy by showing that there are an indefmite number of counter-examples of sentences where ' good' has a literal occurrence yet where the literal utterances of the sentences are not per­ formances of the speech act of commendation; nor are the utterances explicable in terms of the way the rest of the sentence relates to the utterance of the performance of the speech 7 4 act of commendation. .

The ''speech act fallacy'' is different from the confusion of meaning and crite­ ria, or the confusion of (3) ''What is the meaning of 'X' ?'' and (4) ''What are the criteria for applying 'X'?'', which will be considered in Part II of this book. But it is worth noting here the possible connection between the two kinds of error. The question (5) ''What do we do when we call something 'X'?'', which may be natu­ rally interpreted to mean, ''What is it to call something 'X'?'' in the sense of

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''What speech acts or kinds of speech acts do we perform when we call something 'X' ?'' is ambiguous . It can also mean (6) ''In asking that question, what do we imply about 'X's ' qualities?'' For instance, ''What is it to call something 0 a table?'' may mean '''What does calling something 0 a table' imply about O 's qualities?'' The answer to it would be: ''Calling 0 a table implies that 0 has a flat, hard top, usually resting on legs, is used for writing on, and so on." What is implied, therefore, includes 0 's satisfaction of the criterion or criteria for tables. Thus confusing ( 1 ) with (2) can lead to confusing ( 1 ) with (6). Alston on subsentential meaning: I think it is clear that the concept of word meaning is narrower than the con­ cept of a word's illocutionary act potential; since according to him, all words that can occur in sentences allegedly have illocutionary-act potential(s) although e.._ Alston would perhaps wish to exclude such words as ''and," ''but," and the lik,... whether or not they have linguistic meaning. For I have argued elsewhere that proper names, as proper names, do not have linguistic meaning.48 In addition, some interjections such as ''Oh!'' and ''Ah!'' lack a linguistic meaning. Even if we assume for the sake of argument that the concept of an illocutionary act potential as applied to sentences is free from any difficulties, it is moot whether that concept can be satisfactorily made to apply to individual words, as components of sen­ tences or sentence-types. It is moot whether it is possible to give ''the illocutionary­ act potential'' of a word 's ' a satisfactory explication. Compare Searle: ''The association of non-speech act words with certain speech acts must seem puzzling in any case since the unit of the speech act is not the word but the sentence.'' Also compare Searle' s ''Meaning and Speech Acts," Theory of Meaning, 49 for other difficulties facing Alston's attempt to explicate word-meaning in terms of a word's contribution to the illocutionary-act potentials of the sentences in which it may occur. Besides interjections and proper names, such nonsense words as ''j abber­ wocky'' and ''brillig," which occur in Lewis Carroll's famous poem, ''The Walrus and the Carp enter," would presumably have illocutionary act potentials on Al­ ston's account. Moreover, the illocutionary act potential of performance utterances and emotive expressions includes what the speaker does with them in uttering them performatively, expressively, dynamically assuming that they can be adequately included in the concept of illocutionary act potential. But these uses of language are distinct from or in addition to whatever linguistic meaning the par­ ticular performative, emotive, etc., expressions do have. That is, they have what some philosophers call ''emotive meaning'' or, in general, ''non-cognitive meaning'' as distinguished from their ''cognitive meaning." Indeed, the expressive and dynamic uses or forces of emotive words are only contingently connected with their linguistic meaning. As I argued earlier in this chapter, when we speak of what a particular speaker or writer means (meant) in saying such-and-such, we employ

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'mean' in a different sense of utterance meaning. But both speaker's and utterance meaning are forms of semantic meaning. That is, ''semantic (sentence) meaning'' is univocal. The same is also I think true of word meaning. The meaning of the word 'meaning' is one and the same whether we speak of the meaning of referring expressions, such as common and abstract nouns, certain adjectives and certain verbs, and so on, or of the meaning of non-referring expressions such as 'is,' 'shall be, ' 'provided that,' ' and, ' etc. In other words, linguistic meaning, in its primary meaning of ' signification, ' is not a family resemblance concept.50 True, there is a sense of speaker meaning in which ''I mean you!'' ''He meant the Battle of Water­ loo !'', does have the utterance meaning of 'refer to ' : as in ''In speaking of Napo­ leon's great defeat on the battlefield he meant the Battle of Waterloo." But that is irrelevant to the present discussion about utterance meaning. To sum up. I have argued in this chapter that the Alston/Hare illocutionary act analysis of sentence meaning is unsuccessful. A sentence' s potential or usability for the performance of illocutionary acts, rather than constituting the sentence' s meaning, is (a) a necessary and sufficient condition of its having a meaning, of being meaningful, and in addition, (b) provides a criterion of its meaningfulness. 51 Insofar as it does so, it provides an important albeit incomplete understanding of sentence meaning; especially since the criterion and the conditions it provides are sufficiently general to apply to all grammatical/logical types of sentences. In these as well as other respects the IA potential account constitutes a marked advance over the truth-conditional analysis, particularly in the problems it encounters in attempting to extend the analysis to other types of sentences as well as to the subsentential components of sentences. As I argued in Chapter 2, the latter account only succeeds in providing a non-problematic condition and criterion for the meaning of declarative sentences. A fundamental problem with the IA potential account is that it puts the cart before the horse in making (sentence and word) semantic or utterance meaning a function of illocutionary-act potential; since as far as I can see, there is no inde­ pendent way of defining or characterizing 'illocutionary-act potential' : the only way it can be defined or characterized is by reference to the utterance/semantic meaning of sentences itself. Alston's account of a sentence' s usability for communication is an important positive aspect of it. But fully to appreciate that function, it is requisite to pursue the analysis of perlocutionary acts or in the Gricean approach of ''speaker meaning.'' Since both concepts will concern us in the next chapter, Alston's discussion of perlocutionary acts in Illocutionary Acts and Sentence Meaning will be briefly considered.

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Notes 1 . Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2000. Hereafter referred to as IASM. 2. Philosophy ofLanguage (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1 964), footnotes 1 , 3 3 . 3 . Op cit., p. 1 57. On pp. 272-274 he sketches his brief account of the ''meaning of subsentential units." 4.

Ibid., p. 1 60.

5 . Ibid., p. 1 74. Italics in original. 6. Ibid., p. 1 90. Italics in original. 7.

Ibid., p. 282.

8 . Ibid.' p. 1 90. 9. Ibid. Italics in original. One question this raises, for which an answer must be sought later, is how an illocutionary rule endows a sentence with a certain IA potential. Given Alston' s view of the primacy of sentence meaning over word meaning, it would seem that, according to him, what gives a certain group of words in a certain order a meaning as a whole, makes it a mean­ ingful sentence, is the sentence 's subjection to a rule. Thus the application of meaning-rules to sentences rather than to individual words is consistent with his general views. 10. Ibid., p. 1 9 1 . Bold lettering in original. 1 1 . Ibid., p. 1 92. Bold lettering in original. 12. Ibid., pp. 24ff. 1 3 . Ibid., p. 1 5 . Italics in original. The above analysis of 'illocutionary act' remedies an important defect in Alston' s earlier accounts of his theory of sentence meaning, which lacked a proper defmition or analysis of ' illocutionary act. ' 14. Ibid. 1 5 . Ibid.' p. 1 7 1 . 16. Ibid., p. 1 54. Bold lettering in original. 1 7. Ibid., p. 14 9. Italics in original. 1 8 . Ibid., p. 1 50. Italics in original. 19. Ibid., p. 1 8 9. Cf. ''If I intended the IA potential thesis to be a reductive defmition of sentence meaning, it would be viciously circular." (Ibid.) Similarly in defending his account against the charge of circularity in relation to one of the rules (rule RS, p. 206) he gives, he says: '' . . . There can be no circularity because no defmition or reductive analysis of sentence meaning is in­ tended." (Ibid., p. 206.) And so on. 20. Ibid., p. 1 6 1 . 2 1 . Ibid., p. 1 89. 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid. 24. Wittgenstein's ''use'' theory of word meaning too is non-reductive in Alston' s sense; although, as we saw in Chapter 3 , it does offer a defmition of ' (word) meaning,' in the case of a large

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class of expressions, as ''use in the language.'' But Wittgenstein's theory of language as a whole, also provides a prime example of ''exhibition analysis'' at its best. 25. Whether speaker meaning too constitutes a condition in that case a necessary and sufficient condition and a criterion for sentence meaning, remains to be seen. 26. Another sort of example is provided by the meaning of the sickle and hammer in the former U.S.S.R., and its meaning in Maoist China. 27. I say ' almost' insofar as illocutionary force is an element in the concept of speaker meaning, and so, is something that is added to the concept of sentence meaning in relating sentence meaning to speaker meaning. 28.

See for example the illocutionary rules in Chapter Seven of lllocutionary Acts and Sentence Mean ing, particularly pp. 23 8-248 .

29. Quoted from Readings in the Philosophy ofLanguage, Jay F. Rosenberg and Charles Travis, eds. (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 197 1), p. 393. Italics in original. 30. William Alston, Philosophy ofLanguage. 3 1 . ''Meaning and Use," Philosophical Quarterly, Vol. 1 3 , 1 963a, pp. 1 07-124. Reprinted in Rosenberg, op cit., Readings in the Philosophy ofLanguage, pp. 403-4 1 9. 32. Readings in the Philosophy ofLanguage, p. 409. 3 3 . Philosophy ofLanguage, p. 34. 34. Practical Inferences (Berkeley and Los Angeles: California University Press, 1 972), pp. 74-94, and ''Reply to Mr. G.J. Warnock," ibid., pp. 94-96. 3 5 . Ibid., pp. 94-96. 36. The preceding passages are reproduced from my review of Hare ' s book in Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, Vol. XXXIV, No. 4, June 197 4, pp. 605-6, and are reprinted with the editor' s permission. 37. ''Hare on Meaning and Speech Acts," Philosophical Review, Vol. LXXX , No. 1 , January 1 9 7 1 , p. 80. 3 8. Ibid. Italics in original. 3 9. Ibid.' p. 8 1 . 40. Ibid. 4 1 . Ibid., p. 84. Italics in original. 42. ''Meaning and Speech Acts," Philosophical Review, Vol. LXXIX, 1 970, pp. 3-24. See Warnock, op cit., passim. 43. Warnock, ibid., p. 82. 44. Ibid., p. 8 3 . Italics in original. 45. Speech Acts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1 969), p. 1 3 7. Italics in original. 46. Ibid. 4 7. Ibid.' p. 1 3 9. 48. ''The Meaning of Proper Names," Philosophy ofLanguage and Logical Theory: Collected Papers (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, Inc., 1 995), pp. 89-1 1 1 .

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49. New Jersey, 1 970, A. and K. Lehrer, eds., p. 1 5 5 . Cf. also David Holdcroft, ''Meaning and Illocutionary Acts," The Theory of Mean ing (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1 968), pp. 1 68ff. 50. If it were a family resemblance concept, we would have had one meaning of 'meaning,' say, in relation to ''reference'' (''denotation," or C.I. Lewis' ''comprehension'') in relation to referring expressions and another meaning of 'meaning' in Black's sense of 'intension' in relation to ex­ pressions that designate nonexistent things; and so on with expressions that designate logically impossible things like ''square circle." (By 'referring expression' I mean an expression designed to designate some real or unreal, fictitious or fictional object or thing.) The foregoing also applies to the supposition that ' connotation,' ' denotation,' etc., are distinct senses or meanings of '(utterance) meaning, ' though, supposedly, members of the same family of meanings. 5 1 . Cf. my criticism, in Chapter 3, of Wittgenstein' s related but not identical equation of meaning (for a large class of words) with use in the language. More on this in Part II, when we consider criteria vis-a-vis meaning.

Chapter 5 H.P. Grice on Meaning In Section I I shall critically consider Grice' s theory of linguistic meaning in its earlier form in ''Meaning''1 and its revised (''transitional'') form in ''Utterer' s Meaning and Intentions.''2 In Section II I shall consider Grice' s later, revised form of his theory of meaning.

I Grice's Earlier Account of Meaning

Jay F. Rosenberg and Charles Travis summarize Grice's earlier account as follows : One strength of the classical ideational theory lies in the relation it develops between an account of what an expression means and an account of what a person means (by an ex­ 3 pression). Grice explores, from a different angle, the possibility of reducing the former ru­ bric to the latter. He argues that linguistic meaning (the meaning of expressions) is a species of a more general sort of meaning which he terms nonnatural meaning, meaning­ NN . Nonnatural meaning, however, is to be grounded on a natural sense of meaning in which, paradigmatically, some natural phenomenon may properly be said to mean some­ thing as e.g., red spots may mean measles. What a person means to do falls, according to Grice, within the category of natural meaning and provides the requisite grounding for natural meaning. As what a person means to do is, roughly, what he intends, Grice pro­ poses to analyse linguistic meaning in terms of the intentions of persons. Thus ''Sam meant something by x," on this account, is treated as essentially equivalent to ''Sam in­ tended his utterance of x to produce a certain effect in his audience by means of their rec­ ognition of his intention. ''4

To understand and properly evaluate Grice's account, we must clearly under­ stand the distinction between ''natural'' and ''non-natural'' senses of 'mean. ' The following set of sentences exemplify the former: ''Those spots mean (meant) measles." ''Those spots didn't mean anything to me, but to the doctor they meant measles." ''The recent budget means that we shall have a hard year.'' There are still other senses of the word which Grice proposes ''for conven­ ience, also to include under the head of natural senses of 'mean''';5 such senses of 'mean' as may be exemplified in sentences of the pattern ''A means (meant) to do

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so-and-so (by x), " where A is a human agent.6 The following set of sentences exemplify the latter senses of 'mean' : ''Those three rings on the bell (of the bus) mean that the 'bus is full' ." ''That remark, ' Smith couldn't get on without his trouble and strife,' meant that Smith found his wife indispensable." Thus Grice includes under the head of ''non-natural'' senses of 'mean' any senses of the word found in sentences of the form ''A means (meant) something by x or ''A means (meant) by x that . . . '' (This is overrigid; but it will serve as an indication.)7 Grice sums up his account in the following generalizations : ''

'' is (roughly) equivalent to ''A intended the utter­ meant-NN something by x ''( 1 ) ance of x to produce some effect in an audience by means of the recognition of this in' tent1on; . . . '

''A

.

(2) ''x meant something'' is (roughly) equivalent to ''Somebody meant-NN something ' by x. '' Here again there will be cases where this will not quite work . . . ' (3) ''x means-NN (timeless) that so-and-so'' might as a first shot be equated with some statement or disjunction of statements about what ''people'' (vague) intend (with quali­ fications about ''recognition'') to effect by x. ''8

Grice' s analysis unfortunately fails to provide a satisfactory explication of 'meaning' or 'mean' as these words apply to sentences;9 since sentence-meaning is not a species of mean-NN, to which Grice attempts to assimilate it. The meaning of ''mean-NN'' is set out in Grice' s foregoing generalizations ( 1 )-(3). In his incisive essay10 Paul Ziff makes short shrift of Grice' s account by a series of examples which clearly show the distinctness of sentence-meaning and mean-NN, and the impossibility of considering the former a species of the latter. That is, Ziff shows that generalizations ( 1 ) and (2) are not equivalent, and that (3) is inadequate. For instance he shows frrst that a person can intend to produce (and may succeed in producing) a certain effect on an audience by means of a string of meaningless sounds. This indicates that the concept mean-NN is broader than the concept sentence-meaning; it leaves open the question whether semantic or utterance-meaning is a species of mean-NN. Consequently, Ziff next shows that even in those cases in which a speaker utters a meaningful sentence 's, ' 's 's ' utterance-meaning, what 's ' means, may have nothing whatever to do with the effect she intends to produce: what 's ' means-NN to her in that context. For example, he considers cases in which a token of a sentence 's ' is uttered on differ­ ent occasions, hence with the same meaning in each case, yet on some of these occasions no intention to produce an effect on an audience can be possibly present, either because the speaker is alone or because she utters 's ' in a delirium.

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Ziff concludes that ''Grice has confused the question of what a person meant by an expression 11 with the question of what she meant by uttering the expres­ sion." (Actually, we need to insert the words 'to do' before ''by uttering the expres­ sion.'') The significance of Ziff s point should become clear when we consider the question of whether there is a non-natural sense of 'mean' relating to sentences, the way Grice describes it. Rosenberg and Travis conclude: ''While there may be a non-natural sense of meaning, argues Ziff, it is a radical mistake to regard linguistic meaning a species of meaning-NN."12 I shall attempt to corroborate Ziff s conclusions regarding Grice' s foregoing account of meaning by a brief comparison of utterance-meaning and mean-NN, as well as between the latter and utterer' s or speaker's meaning. One of the common everyday uses of ''mean'' is what I refer to as ''mean-2," to distinguish it from the primary sense of 'meaning' in which word-meaning is synonymous with ' signification' (mean- 1 ); viz. ''that which the speaker or writer intends to signify, express or convey by a word or a sentence."13 Although intention is involved or included in the meaning of both ''mean-2'' and Grice's ''mean-NN," the two are actually distinct. To see this, consider the following sentences: (1)

The sentence ''Roses are blooming'' means-1 'roses are blooming. '

(2)

14 By the sentence ''Roses are blooming'' John meant-2 ' snow is white.'

(3)

By uttering the sentence ''Roses are blooming'' John meant-NN to cheer up his son who was complaining about the alleged delay in the coming of Spring.

Can we render (2) as : (2')

John intended the sentence ''Roses are blooming'' to produce some effect in an audience by means of the recognition of this intention?

I think not. For (2) is different from: (4)

John intended (meant-NN) to do such-and-such by uttering 'Roses are blooming, '

where 'to do such-and-such' does not mean ''to convey such-and-such information to an audience'' but ''to produce some (psychological) effect in an audience," such as a certain feeling, emotion, image or memory, attitude, and so on. Grice' s ac­ count does not distinguish these two very different things, 15 which makes his account appear more plausible than it really is. The confusion is common to causal theories of meaning in general, including behavioral theories of meaning. What (2) means is simply:

Meaning and Criteria

96 (2a)

The meaning- I of the sentence 'Roses are blooming ' for John, in con­ text C, was ''snow is white'' (or the conventional meaning- I of ' snow is white').

This indicates that 'mean-2 ' itself is explicable in terms of ''mean- I '' or ''meaning- I ." In other words, that ''Person P means-2 such-and-such by sentence (word) s'' means- I ''P intends s to (contextually) mean- I '' ''P intends to mean- I (contextually) such-and-such, to have such-and-such a meaning- I (in the particular context)." On the other hand, (2') cannot be non-absurdly rendered as : =

(2'a)

The meaning-NN of the sentence ''Roses are blooming," for John in context C, was John's intention to produce some effect in an audience by means of the recognition of this intention.

Nor can it be correctly rendered as: (2'b) The meaning of the sentence ' Roses are blooming' was ''John's in­ tention to produce some effect in the audience by means of the rec­ ognition of this intention." For the locution between the double quotation marks, viz. ''John's intention to produce some effect . . . '' clearly does not state what the sentence ''Roses are blooming'' actually means- I . Indeed, unless we substitute 'meaning ' for 'meaning­ NN' in (2'b), that sentence as a whole would be nonsensical. Again: (2 ') cannot be restated as (2'c) The meaning-NN of the sentence 'Roses are blooming, ' for John in C, was ''John's intention to produce some effect in the audience by means of the recognition of this intention.'' Of course the difference between conveying the (alleged) information that snow is white and the intention to produce some effect by uttering the sentence, arises paradigmatically in relation to declarative sentences. But analogous differ­ ences can be shown to arise with respect to questions, commands, value judgments, and so on. Even performative utterances, which are mainly designed to perform some kind of ''act," are no exception. For first, the meaning- I of a performative utterance is as different from that which the speaker may intend to effect by making it, as the meaning of any other type of sentence. Second, it is partly by virtue of the meaning- I of a performative utterance that such an utterance can perform the particular act(s) it does perform in various contexts . Finally, although a person who makes a performative utterance e.g., ' I promise' in the appropri­ ate circumstances, may intend to produce some effect in the audience that is quite

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different from the act characteristically performed by the sentence-in-use. A good example is promising, which depends on the meaning-I of the utterance as well as on the circumstances. So far I have assumed for the sake of argument that there is an ordinary non­ natural sense of 'means ' relating to sentences, as described by Grice, i.e., 'mean­ NN. ' But no such sense of the word does exist. In all those cases in which ' mean­ NN' is allegedly used, 'mean' simply ''means- I intend," not ''intend to produce some effect in the audience . . . '' For in every instance Grice mentions and in all similar instances, where the word 'mean' is supposed to be used in the sense Grice describes, what is really being talked about is the use of the phrase 'mean to do ' as a whole, in the sense of ''mean to produce some effect in an audience . . . '', not the use of ' mean' as such. Curiously, Grice states early in his paper that he proposes ''to include under the head of natural senses of 'mean' such senses of 'mean' as may be exemplified in sentences of the pattern 'A means (meant) to do so-and-so ' (by x) , where A is a human agent."16 Although he does ultimately attempt to ground 'non-natural' senses of 'mean' on the ''natural'' senses of the word, he (rightly) classifies sentence-meaning- I as a ''non-natural'' form of meaning. ' Moreover, he constantly uses the locution 'A meant-NN something by x in talking about ''mean-NN," apparently without being aware of or intimating that it is elliptical for 'A meant to do something by (uttering) x, ' in the sense of 'to do' I ' specified. 'What John meant-NN by (uttering) x, considered as non-elliptical, has no meaning in ordinary English. On the other hand, 'What John meant by uttering x (in context C)' does have a perfectly proper meaning. For it means the same as 'What John implied by uttering x (in context C).' But this sense of 'mean' is clearly not the one Grice is concerned with. John may imply different things by uttering the sentence 'Roses are blooming' in different situations; just as the effect he intends to produce in the hearer, if any, may vary in different situations . But suppose that on a particular occasion of uttering the sentence, he intends to cheer up the hearer by reminding him that spring is near or has already arrived. In that case what he implies by uttering the sentence would be ''Spring is coming (or has come) !'', or ''Spring is coming (or has come)!'' and the like. What he implies is the proposition that spring is coming (or has come), which is connected with the effect he intends to produce. For it is by virtue of the hearer' s grasping the utterance' s said implication in that context that, given her appropriate frame of mind, etc., she will be actually cheered up by it. The latter's recognition of this implication does perhaps entail her recognition of John's intention, which Grice stipulates as a condition of an utterance' s succeeding in producing the desired effect in an audi­ ence. I shall conclude my brief critique of Grice' s earlier account of meaning by considering, equally briefly, his attempt to ground sentence-meaning on what he calls ''natural meaning'' by attempting to ground ''non-natural meaning'' as a whole

98

Meaning and Criteria

on it. I shall argue that ''meaning-I'' cannot be successfully grounded on ''natural meaning'' without directly appealing to my thesis that (a) sentence-meaning-I is not a species of mean-NN; or that (b) 'mean-NN,' as it occurs in sentences of the ' form 'A meant-NN something by x does not mean what Grice claims it means in his generalization (2). Now there are two general types of signs in the ordinary meaning of this word: conventional signs or signs-I, and 'natural signs ' or signs-2. Some conventional shape, color, or other characteristic of some object or phenomenon, and so on may have, may be a conventional sign-I, may be conventionally used to signify some kind of thing, phenomenon, idea, etc. The sign-I of the cross and the signs-I of the Zodiac are common examples of conventional signs-I . In addition, natural objects, occurrences or other phenomena that lack any conventional meaning for any group of people, may be interpreted as a sign of the presence or existence of some other kind of obj ect or phenomenon, etc. (sign-2), by virtue of, say, a causal connection between the two. Smoke is frequently a sign-2 of (the presence of) fire. 17 Signs-2 do not mean or signify something in the way signs-I mean or signify something. Rather, they mean that something or other is (probably) the case, is a fact or putative fact. They do so by indicating (probable) presence of some particular kind of obj ect, occurrence or state of affairs at a given time and place. Insofar as a sign2 can be used as an indication of the presence or existence of something or other, it may possess medical (e.g., as symptoms of an illness or disease), scientific, philosophical, theological or other kinds of significance or meaning in a quite different sense of 'meaning. ' It is obvious that conventional signs-I too may possess meaning in another, different sense of 'meaning' ; i.e., in the sense of ''significance''; as, for instance, in the question: ''Does the sign of the cross have any meaningfor you?'' The characteristics of signs-I and signs-2 I have described point to important differences between signs even signs-I and words. To quote from my ''Words, Signs, Signals, and Symbols'': ''The relation of signifying (being a sign of) is common to both signs-I and signs-2, and is different . . . from the meaning-I rela­ tion(s). Hence ''signify'' is used in two different senses in relation to signs and words respectively. Actually, the uses of ''sign'' are closer to the uses of ''symbol'' than either of these is to the uses of ''word." One source of the tendency to link signs and words is the fact that signs signify and many words signify. The differ­ ence in the sense of ''signify'' involved in the two cases is ignored or passes unno­ ticed."18 The upshot is that Grice has chosen the wrong kind of 'meaning' to ground sentence meaning-I on; since the 'meaning' of conventional, 'non-natural' signs or signs-I is a more plausible candidate for his purposes. (In terms of Grice' s earlier examples, this means attempting to ground ''A means-NN (meant-NN) '' something by x or ''A means-NN (meant-NN) by x that . . . " on, e.g., ''Those three

H.P.

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rings on the bell (of the bus) mean that the 'bus is full' ."19 For in the case of signs1 we find the same sort of distinction between (a) what the speaker of a conven­ tional word 'w ' or a sentence 's ' means-2, and (b) 'w ' or 's ' means-1 . This parallel distinction is between (a') what a conventional sign-1 ' s user means (in a given context), and (b') what the sign- 1 itself conventionally means (stands for), if anything. In contrast to this, signs-2 provide no analogue to that which a user means-2 . A doctor cannot 'mean-2 ' (signify) by the red spots on a patient' s body anything he pleases indeed, anything at all unlike both signs-1 and words that have no well-defined conventional meaning-I. For in the latter case he can make the sign- 1 stand for anything, or make the word (within limits) mean- 1 anything he wants . Red spots, etc., 'obj ectively' or 'naturally' signify measles, by virtue of an empirical (causal) relation between the two. Indeed, the notion of, say, a doc­ tor's 'meaning' (signifying) something or other by the red spots even 'mea­ sles' cannot arise at all with respect to natural signs. Rather, as we say, red spots, etc., indicate or signify this (to e.g., a qualified physician). The only possible exception I can think of is the hypothetical type of situation in which doctors or medical scientists employ red spots, etc., either as (a) a non-contingent criterion, or as (b) a necessary and sufficient condition of measles; thereby (in [b 's] case, in effect) defining 'measles ' in terms of the presence of red spots, etc. I need not add that this is not how the word 'measles' is conventionally used. Now suppose that Grice had attempted to model ''A means-NN something by '' x on, e.g., ''Those three rings on the bell (of the bus) mean 'the bus is full'," as I suggested above. This would have meant analyzing one alleged 'non-natural' sense of ''mean'' in terms of another 'non-natural' sense of the word; rather than attempting to analyze the whole set of senses of ''mean'' he calls 'non-natural' in terms of the 'natural' senses of the word. Even then, Grice' s troubles would not have been at an end. The problem of analyzing the different 'non-natural' mean­ '' ings exemplified by x means-NN such and such'' in terms of, or grounding them on, ''A means-NN something by x, '' would still remain: even supposing with Grice that the latter is (roughly) equivalent to ''A intended the uttering of x to produce some effect in an audience by means of the recognition of this intention." (Gener­ '' alization ( 1 ).) For as I contended earlier, x means such-and-such'' is not even roughly equivalent to does not mean- 1 the same as ''Somebody means-NN " something by x. (Generalization (2).) Although the contrary may at first sight appear to be true, Grice' s account of meaning is not a version of the sophisticated behavioral theory of meaning, e.g. as held by Charles Morris and C.L. Stevenson; namely, where having a certain meaning is identified with an expression's or utterance' s regular disposition to produce a certain response in the hearer. Grice is therefore right in dissociating his own account from this type of causal theory, as well as in rej ecting it.20

IOO

Meaning and Criteria In Morris' theory ''A stimulus ... is a sign of an object if it produces a disposi­

tion to respond under certain conditions with response sequences that are also cued by the object."21 On that account the hearer's disposition to respond in certain ways, under certain conditions, is logically (analytically) connected with the stimulus' being, functioning as, a sign in general and as a specific sign in particu­ lar. On Grice' s account, on the other hand, whatever connections may exist be­ tween the former and a sentence's meaning, under different conditions of utterance, will be only contingent and variable. The exact opposite is true of the relation between the speaker's intention to produce a certain effect in the hearer, and the meaning of the sentence the sounds functioning as a sign on Grice's and Morris' theory, respectively. Finally, the speaker's intention to produce a certain effect on the hearer, and the hearer's disposition to respond in certain ways as a result of hearing a certain utterance in a particular context, are logically distinct; although they may be contingently connected in interesting ways. It might be noted here, in anticipation of the detailed discussion of meaning and criteria in Part II, that Grice's account of linguistic meaning does not confuse meaning-I and criteria of use in general, the failure to see the distinctness of the uses of ''mean-I'' and ''mean-2'' is a possible partial source of that error, hence of the logical confusion of defining features and criteria features, which we will discuss in Part II. An excellent example of the confusion is provided by Hare's discussion of ''good'' in The Language ofMorals. Let us consider Hare's relevant example. Hare writes: ''Suppose that he [my foreign friend] said to me 'That fellow just going out on the field is the best mashmak player in our country'; I might ask 'How do you mean, the best player' and he might reply 'I mean he always scores the largest number of smashes' ."22 By confusing ''mean'' (''mean-2'') in ''How do you mean ... ?'' with ''mean-I," Hare attributes to the word ''good'' a sort of mean­ ing-I which he distinguishes from its evaluative meaning-I. But since what we really have in mind (or mean-2), in asking ''How do you mean ... ?'', is ''What characteristics of the player do you have in mind or are referring to as good-making qualities?'' or ''What criteria of excellence in mashmak playing does the player exemplify?'', Hare identifies the putative descriptive meaning of ''good'' with the criteria of goodness for mashmak:23 i.e., ''always scoring the largest number of smashes." This example provides at the same time a good illustration of how the confusion of the two senses of ''mean'' may lead to the referential theory of mean­ ing-I; while it can be readily shown that this major classical theory of meaning can easily lead to the confusion of meaning-I and criteria, hence defining features and criteria-features. In discussing meaning in Speech Acts, John Searle distinguishes, as I have done, between what it is ''for one to mean something by what one says, and what ... it [is] for something to have a meaning'';24 and he intimates that Grice's account is really an attempt to answer the frrst question (though Grice thinks that

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it is an answer to the second question). Although Searle thinks that Grice's account is inadequate, he believes that It is a very useful beginning of an account of meaning, frrst because it makes a connection between meaning and intention, and secondly because it captures the following essential feature of linguistic communication. In speaking I attempt to communicate certain things to my hearer by getting him to recognize my intention to communicate just those things. I achieve the intended effect on the hearer by getting him to recognize my intention to 25 achieve that effect, and as soon as the hearer recognizes what it is my intention to 26 achieve, it is in general achieved. He understands what I am saying as soon as he recog­ nizes my intention in uttering what I utter as an intention to say that thing. 27

The last sentence in the preceding passage is certainly false. The hearer's recognition of my intention in uttering what I utter is logically neither necessary nor sufficient for his understanding the meaning-I of my utterance, hence what I am saying. (Sometimes, his understanding of what I am saying is an actual condi­ tion of his understanding my intention in uttering it.) It is, nonetheless, sometimes actually necessary and perhaps even sufficient for that: e.g., whenever I use conventional words with a new meaning, coin new words, or invent a new lan­ guage. Searle summarizes what he takes to be Grice's analysis of the notion of ''non­ natural meaning'' as follows: ''To say that a speaker S meant something by xis to say that S intended the utterance of x to produce some effect in a hearer H by ''28 means of the recognition of this intention. Searle thinks that this is defective in at least two crucial respects: ''First, it fails to account for the extent to which meaning can be a matter of rules or conventions. This account of meaning does not show the connection between one's meaning something by what one says, and what that which one says actually means in the language."29 ''Second, by defming meaning in terms of intended effects it confuses illocutionary with perlocutionary acts. Put crudely, Grice in effect defines meaning in terms of intending to perform a perlocutionary act, but saying something and meaning it is a matter of intending to perform an illocutionary not (necessarily) a perlocutionary act."30 In effect, Searle's first objection to Grice's analysis is that it confuses mean-1 and mean-2. The objection is valid as far as it goes; insofar as the confusion of the two can be regarded as a logical frrst step in Grice's mistaken analysis of sentence­ meaning-1 and the speaker 's inten tion to produce some effect upon a hearer. But if my criticism of Grice' s account earlier in this chapter is correct, his error goes considerably beyond the one Searle points out. Searle's second objection too is quite correct, assuming that his (and Austin's) distinction between 'illocutionary' and 'perlocutionary act' is adequate. But it should be clear that Searle does not imply that the meaning of a sentence consists in the potential or actual performance of an illocutionary act (which may or may not coincide with the illocutionary act the speaker intends to perform by means of

I02

Meaning and Criteria

it). As is familiar, Searle emphatically distinguishes the meaning of a sentence and the actual or potential illocutionary act(s) which the speaker performs in uttering it.31 It might be useful to add some remarks about intention and (a) attempts to perform illocutionary acts, and (b) successful performance of illocutionary acts. If A utters the sentence ''My battery is dead'' (s) with the intention to inform or warn the hearer H that the battery is dead, as opposed to blurting the sentence on the spur of the moment, he commits himself to, and so, is responsible for, s's truth. In the latter case, a condition of his succeeding in informing the hearer is that the battery be actually dead, but not that A believes that it is dead. Now suppose that I intend to inform or warn you that my battery is dead, and I utter s but you fail to hear me because, say, the room is too noisy, or because I speak in very low voice and you are too busy or too far to hear or understand what I say. My attempt to inform or warn you fails. Nonetheless, in uttering s I commit myself to s's truth; and by virtue of intending to inform or warn you, I imply that I believe that what I said is true. Trying to perform certain illocutionary acts and not succeeding for other reasons than the wrong or inappropriate choice of words, should, of course, be distinguished from merely intending and not actually succeeding in performing such acts, as well as from actually succeeding in doing what I intend and try to do. The question is whether trying to perform a particular illocutionary act P has any conditions which differ from those that are involved whenever one intends to inform, warn, endorse, question, etc., but fails (or even does not try) to do so. The answer to the question appears to be that the conditions in the three types of cases are the same, although the ''act'' (which is not a speech act at all) of unsuccessfully trying to inform or warn, etc. someone regarding a particular matter is a different act from the (illocutionary) speech act of successfully informing, warning him, and so on, regarding that matter. The former is a curiously intermediate sort of ''act," falling between actions or activities in the ordinary meaning of these words and the speech 'acts' Austin calls illocutionary acts.32 This provides a further type of case in which sameness of conditions does not guarantee or is not accompanied by sameness of the 'acts' attempted, intended, or performed. To sum up. Far from telling us what it is for a sentence to have meaning, Grice's account only succeeds in giving a correct analysis of a sense of 'mean' that is logically parasitic on, although temporally prior to meaning-I; i.e., mean-2. For (a) ''He meant such-and-such by (or in saying) T, '' although it does not mean-I the same as, does not entail (b) ''He intended T to mean-I such-and-such ... ''; which makes use of rather than analyzing or explaining the notion of meaning-I . Grice' s analysis does not clarify or analyze what meaning consists in with respect to sentences, what 'meaning' means when applied to sentences. Rather, it provides the (necessary?) conditions for the speaker's meaning the meaning of his sen-

H.P.

1 03

Grice on Meaning

tences-in-use being conveyed to (not always intentionally communicated to?) hearers. Before I tum to Grice's later revised views on meaning, it would be useful to summarize in his own words his ''transitional'' views, in ''Meaning Revisited,"33 (1 976, 1 980) on what he believes he had so far accomplished. In that paper Grice writes: ''It occurs to me that the root idea in the notion of meaning, which in one form or adaptation or another would apply to both of these cases [natural and non-natural meaning], is that if x means that y, then this is equivalent to, or at least contains as a part of what it means, the claim that y is a consequence of x. That is, what the cases of natural and nonnatural meaning have in common is that, on some interpretation of the notion of consequence, y's being the case is a consequence of x. ''34 He wants to find out ''what kinds of principles or assumptions one would have to make if one is trying to set up this position that natural meaning is in some specifiable way the ancestor [I assume logically] of nonnatural meaning."35 He reiterates that his discussion, pp. 292-296 of that paper, namely, ''provided some rationale for the kind of characterization of speaker's meaning which I went for long ago.''36

II Grice's Later, Revised Accounts of Meaning in ''Utterer's Meaning and Intentions'' and ''Utterer Meaning, Sentence Meaning, and Word Meaning''37

As we saw in our consideration of Grice's earlier theory of sentence-meaning, a main difficulty in that account is that it requires the hearer's recognition (or lack of recognition or misunderstanding) of the speaker's intention in using a particular sentence x which has nothing special to do with x 's meaning(-in-use) itself but is crucial for the intended consequence of the speaker's use of x in the particular context: the intended consequence being the speaker's belief she intends to produce in or communicate to the hearer. Cognizant of that difficulty, Grice eliminates that requirement in his revised account of sentence-meaning. He writes in ''Sentence­ Meaning and Word-Meaning'':38 The point of divergence between my current and my earlier accounts lies in the characteri­ zation of the M- intended effect (response) [''M' is for ''meaning'']. In the earlier account I took the view that the M-intended effect is, in the case of indicative-type sentences, that the hearer should believe something, and, in the case of imperative-type utterances, that the hearer should do something. I wish for the present purposes to make two changes here. ( 1 ) I wish to represent the M-intended effect of imperative-type utterances as being that the hearer should intend to do something (with of course the ulterior intention on the part of the utterer that the hearer should go on to do the act in question). (2) I wish to regard the M-intended effect common to indicative-type utterances as being, not that the hearer should believe something (though there is frequently an ulterior

104

Meaning and Criteria intention to that effect), but that the hearer should think that the utterer believes some. thmg. 39

He continues: The effect of the frrst change will be that the way is opened to a simplified treatment of the M-intended effect, as being always the generation of some propositional attitude. The ef­ fect of the second change (made in order to unify the treatment of indicative-type utter­ ances, some of which are, and some of which are not, cases of informing or telling) will be to introduce a distinction between what I might call exhibitive utterances (utterances by which the utterer U M-intends to impart a belief that he (U) has a certain propositional attitude) and utterances which are not only exhibitive but also what I might call protreptic (utterances by which U M-intends, via imparting a belief that he (U) has a certain proposi­ tional attitude, to induce a corresponding attitude in the hearer). 40

It is clear that the analysis Grice states in these passages is a considerably pared down reformulation of his earlier analysis of ''speaker sentence-meaning.'' A main reason for the reformulation is his attempt to avoid the counterexamples involving what his critics had argued is an infinite regress of intentions. 41 Grice's reformulation of his earlier analysis in ''Sentence-Meaning and Word­ Meaning'' which he hopes that ''for working purposes, the proffered definition will be adequate'' can be stated, eschewing its symbolic form in which it is couched, as follows: Dl ': ''By (when) uttering a sentence x, U intended (M-meant) that his propositional at­

42 titude (his intention, belief, thought) be recognized by his audiences or hearers.''

The following comments are in order. (1) It is clear I think that D l' is more textured and refined than the earlier version. But like the latter, it requires the hearer's recognition of the M-meaning, hence of the speaker's intention in using the particular indicative or imperative sentence. And that again, although essential for the hearer's proper response, is not adventitious to sentence meaning as such.43 For (2) the later version, like the earlier version, does not provide an analysis of sentence-meaning as such, the meaning of 'meaning' as applied to sentences (or words and phrases). Like the truth­ conditional theory considered in Chapter 2 it essentially provides a partial ''exhibi­ tion analysis'' of a speaker's use of sentences here of both indicative and impera­ tive sentences together with a certain kind of response to that use by the hearer. Another way of looking at the matter is that the later version, like the earlier, provides a set of necessary conditions hence possible criteria for the conveying or communication of a speaker's intended meaning by the use of sentences. Let me briefly explain (2). I shall return to this matter in subsequent chapters. There are two general types of situations in which ''speaker's meaning'' comes into play: (a) when a speaker uses a sentence xwith its usual, conventional mean-

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ing; and (b) when a speaker utters a sentence y in which some (but not all) of the words in it are used with non-conventional, stipulated senses or meanings. (If she uses a sentence she completely invents, she would be unable to communicate anything to the hearer, short of defining every new word in the sentence in terms of some conventional language.) In the case of (a) there is an important ambiguity in the use of 'speaker mean­ ing': the phrase may refer to sentence x 's conventional meaning, as determined by the conventional meaning of the words and phrases composing it and the rules of syntax of the particular language; by virtue of which the speaker intends to convey to the hearer the belief that x, or some other belief consonant with x 's conventional meaning. This is the commonest type of use of sentences by speakers. Or (b) the speaker may use x with its conventional meaning but with the intention to produce, say, a different belief than that x in the hearer. For instance, the belief that not-x. In the latter type of case, the speaker may be using x ironically or sarcastically; or her intention may be to deceive or mislead the hearer by lying to him, thereby producing a different belief, etc., in him than x would normally produce. In short, in this type of case the ''speaker meaning'' does not tally with, does not express or reflect x 's conventional meaning. Consequently, in this type of case Grice's analysis of ''sentence meaning-in-use'' would not really provide an analysis of sentence meaning. Indeed, I believe that the same is true in relation to (a). Grice's analysis of ''sentence meaning-in-use'' is, in effect, a sophisticated form of the later Wittgenstein's theory that for a large class of words the meaning of a word is its use in the language. If Wittgenstein's identification of (word) meaning with use in the language is mistaken, as I maintained in Chapter 3, the same, mutatis mutandis, would similarly be true of Grice's analysis, albeit not of word-meaning but of the meaning of sentences-in-use. In the present discussion that means that even in the type of situation described under (a) above, it fails to tell us what sentence meaning is. (3) In speaking about ''the bearing of my theory on 'speaker meaning''' in Illocutionary Acts and Sentence Meaning, Alston describes, by contrast, what he calls the ''Griceian approach to meaning in terms of perlocutionary intentions. On that account, for a speaker to mean something by uttering S is for that speaker to utter S with a complicated sort of intention to produce a certain kind of effect in the hearer. Sentence meaning is then exhibited as a kind of generalization over speaker meaning. "44 He then adds that he rejects ''any perlocutionary intention account of speaker meaning, sentence meaning, or illocutionary act performance.'' The reason he thinks that his own illocutionary act approach succeeds where the Griceian approach does not is that his theory ''makes possible a very simple account of speaker meaning, one that shows how it can remain constant across variations in the perlocutionary intention.'' By contrast, he claims, the ''perlocu­ tionary intentions ... vary widely; and exactly the same arguments apply to attempts

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to identify speaker meaning with perlocutionary intentions, . .

.

''45 The implication

is that the variability of perlocutionary intentions makes it impossible to arrive at an adequate general account of ''speaker meaning'' by a ''kind of generalization'' over [particular, or particular types ofJ speaker meanings. My view is that,

pace Alston,

Alston's

and Grice's

accounts stand or fall

together, are in the same boat, so far as the adequacy or inadequacy of their differ­ ent accounts of sentence meaning are concerned. The reason is that in both ac­ counts a

constant general kind of intention underlies

the particular variable or

kinds of intentions involved, determined by the speakers'

general purpose in their

use of illocutionary acts, on the one hand namely what is more properly called ''expression'' rather than ''communication," as Alston calls it

and, on the other

hand, the overall purpose in speakers' use of perlocutionary acts: viz. ''communi­ cation.'' The central question which therefore remains, and which has been the focus of this chapter as well as Chapter

4 with

respect to Alston's account, is this:

whether the ''kind of generalization over speaker meaning'' in the

two accounts

does illuminate sentence meaning in the sense of providing an adequate account of the

meaning of

'meaning' in 'sentence meaning'; in addition

to put the matter

crudely and simplistically ''usability to express the immense variety of things­ ideas and thoughts, questions, commands, etc., etc.

a speaker wishes (or intends)

to express'' (Alston), or ''usability to communicate the great variety of ideas and thoughts, desires, commands, warnings, etc., etc. a speaker wants (desires, or intends) to communicate to an audience'' (Grice).

III In the preceding sections I examined a main concept of speaker-meaning, exempli­ fied by the sentence ''By saying or uttering

x,

S meant that

P.'' As Lycan states it,

Grice analyzes the sentence thus: (G-1)

S uttered

xintending

thatA form the belief that P [whereA is

S 's hearer

or audience]; (G-2)

S further intended thatA recognize S 's original intention

[as described

in Gl]; and (G-3)

S still

further intended that A form the belief that Pat least partly on the

basis of recognizing that original intention. ''46 In this section I shall refer to the speaker-meaning involved in ''By saying or uttering

x,

S meant that

P," as S-meaning-1.

In ''Introductory Remarks'' to ''Utterer's Meaning, Sentence-Meaning and Word-Meaning'' Grice presents and analyzes a second, different concept of

107

H.P. Grice on Meaning

speaker-meaning from S-meaning-1, which was not considered in Sections I and II of this chapter. There he says that his aim is to ''throw light on the connection between (a) a notion of meaning which I want to regard as basic, namely, the notion which is involved in saying of someone that by (when) doing such-and-such he meant that so-and-so (in what I have called a non-natural sense of the word 'meant'), and (b) the notions of meaning involved in saying (i) that a given sen­ tence means 'so-and-so,'

(ii) that a given word or phase means

'so-and-so'."47 He

would like to focus attention on the basic [utterer's, or speaker's] notion of mean­ ing ''in the explication of other and (I hope) derivative notions of meaning."48 The present concept of speaker-meaning (call it

S-meaning-2), is exempli fied

by the sentence '' When U uttered the sentence 'Palmer gave Nicklaus quite a beating' U meant that

'Palmer vanquished Nicklaus with

some ease'."49 More

generally, S-meaning-2 is exempli fied by the locution, ''By uttering

x,

S meant that,"

hereafter referred to as That the word

GI!to distinguish it from G-1, etc. 50 'mean'/'meant' in '' S-meaning-2'' has quite a different meaning

from the word 'mean'/'meant' in '' S-meaning-1," and so functions quite differently from it, 51 can be seen briefly as follows: As Grice shows, G II comes into play in relation to sentences of a different sort from ''By sayings U intended to produce a certain (kind of) effect on the audi­ ence," etc., considered earlier in this chapter. There, the word 'meant' (-1) can be replaced by 'intended,' thus: ''By sayings, U meant in the sense of 'intended'­ to produce a certain (kind of) effect on the audience, etc." 'meant' cannot be replaced by 'intended to' xmeans-2

sense

''that

''that

w,'' not ''intendedto mean

In the

GII formula

intended to do what? U's uttering in the sense of S-mean-1 or any other

w. ''52

As I said, concept S-meaning-2 is quite different from concept S-meaning-1, and, unlike it cannot be analyzed in terms of the speaker's intentions, beliefs or other psychological states. This can be clearly seen in the case of, '' When U uttered (said) 'Palmer gave Nicklaus quite a beating' U meant that

Nicklaus with some ease'' is not

Palmer vanquished

as Lycan wrongly states by failing to distinguish

the two concepts of speaker-meaning

''roughly, what the speaker in uttering a

given sentence on a particular occasion

intends to convey to a hearer.''

We can restate Grice's example thus: (a) '' When U uttered the sentence 'Palmer gave Nicklaus quite a beating,' U meant that

Palmer vanquished Nicklaus

with some ease," as: (b) '' When U uttered the sentence 'Palmer gave Nicklaus quite a beating,' U

had in mind that Palmer vanquished

Nicklaus with some ease."

But here 'had in mind' does not mean ''intended to [sentence-] mean''; in contrast to G-1, where 'had in mind' does mean ''intended to [sentence-] say (not mean)."

Meaning and Criteria

1 08

Contrast that with the following: ifU misspeaks and says ''Nicklaus gave Palmer quite a beating'' whenU meant [intended or wanted to say] ''Palmer gave Nicklaus quite a beating.'' IfU is familiar with the language and correctly understands the idiom involved in ''Palmer gave Nicklaus quite a beating," he could not but have in mind or [sentence-mean] ''Palmer vanquished Nicklaus with some ease." For what, as an English sentence, the latter means, is indeed, has to be that ''Palmer gave Nicklaus quite a beating.'' In those instances in which whatU says (x) has a conventional literal meaning, w needs to have the same meaning as x for ''What U means-2 is w'' to be true. But purely literal ''translations'' can, at best, only roughly satisfy that condition when­ ever x is a live, original metaphorical or a highly symbolic, allegorical, or anagogi­ cal expression. Unlike sentences of the form ''By saying or uttering x, S meant that P'' (G-1 ), which involves meaning-I and which is analyzable in terms of S ' s intentions, beliefs, etc., it could be incorrect to suppose, as Lycan does, that (in GII) w con­ sists in an analysis of x 's ''own meaning in terms of speaker meaning'' as a result of his failure to distinguish concept S-mean-2 from concept S-mean-1 , that the sentence ''By saying xU meant w'' offers an analysis of concept x, in any sense of 'analysis,' in terms of concept w, or reduces x 's meaning in any sense of the word, tow 's meaning. For Lycan speaks of GII as involving the reduction of sentence­ meaning to speaker meaning. 53 Again, in GIT the meaning of sentence x (or, concept x) is not analyzed in terms of concept w. Rather, as I shall explain, whenever GII comes into play, sentence w is used by U to explain, clarify or explicate the meaning of sentence x, or provide information (or further information) to an inquiring audience. Indeed, for w to be what the speaker correctly means-2 by x, it must have the same or, at least, roughly the same sentence-meaning as x. In that way w 's meaning ''controls'' x 's meaning. Whenever x does not have a conven­ tional meaning, w 's meaning is controlled by what U wants (not intends !) to convey by means of GII. Lycan further states that since the speaker-meaning(-2) is what the speaker ''has in mind'' (i.e., w) in using a sentence (x), 'speaker-meaning' (S-meaning-2 in our case) has a different kind of meaning from sentence-meaning. This is true. In fact, the former has a quite different kind of meaning from sentence-meaning, not, as Lycan adds, ''a slightly different kind of meaning."54 Occasions of Formula G-2's Use

Formula GII tends to come into play, is most profitably used, ifU's utterances (x, y, z, etc.) are unclear, controversial, puzzling or downright incomprehensible to the particular audience, hence call for an explanation or clarification of their

H.P. Grice on Meaning

1 09

actual, or possible, meaning(s ). If for some reasonU is unavailable, or is unable to offer an explanation or clarification to the satisfaction of his audience, it be­ comes necessary for the audience to interpret its or their possible meaning(s). But interpretation may be necessary in any case, with respect to complex or extended utterances or writings, such as literary or other texts. In practice, GII may also become necessary if the audience misunderstands or misinterprets whatU means2. There are various sorts of expressions and sentences that do call or may call for the use of formula GII. They include: (a) uncommon idioms or idiomatic expressions of a language; (b) vague or ambiguous expressions; (c) original, particularly sustained metaphors, complex similes; hyperbole and litotes; (d) unfamiliar sayings or proverbs; ( e) symbolic, allegorical, anagogical ethical, theological, mystical or religious expressions ; (f) complex, esoteric or profound philosophical utterances; (g) puzzles and riddles; (h) private, including secret, codes; (i) complicated jokes or other humorous expressions ; (j) ironical, sarcastic or condescending remarks; and (k) curses or other expressions of hostility or contempt. With respect to all these various types of possible cases we can imagine occasions on which a puzzled person or a person simply seeking information­ asks a speaker, ''What do (did) you or what exactly do (did) you mean by saying such-and-such?''; to which the speaker may reply: ''What I mean (meant) is such-and-such," or, instead: ''I can't remember what I meant . . . It was long ago when I made those statements !'' I might add that the locution, ''What does (did)U mean by. . . '' can be rendered by ''What is the meaning of what U is saying (said)?''; where 'meaning' in it is the S-meaning-2, whenever the inquirer is familiar with x 's source. For example, ''What does Buddhism mean by 'the sound of one hand clapping' ?'' can be ex­ pressed by ''What is the meaning-2 of 'the sound of one hand clapping'?'' by an inquirer familiar with the source of that famous phrase. I shall now illustrate some of the items in (a)-(k) above. Grice's example about Palmer and Nicklaus provides a simple example of the use of an English idiom (a); while Blaise Pascal's ''Man is a broken reed," and J.P. Sartre's ''Man is a useless passion'' illustrate (c) and (f); while the riddle of the Sphinx in Sophocles' Oedipus Rex illustrates (g). Jesus ' ''Blessed are the poor in spirit'' and the other Beatitudes in the Sermon on the Mount, illustrate GII's ethical-religious use in (e). The following imaginary exchange between an Arab Head of State and the U.S. President, in Washington, at the height of summer, illustrates (d). The Head of State, translating from Arabic, says: ''Mr. President, 'The snake is standing on its tail today!' ''; whereupon Mr. Bush (concerned, thinking that he's being informed about a possible terrorist plot against theU. S.),

1 10

Meaning and Criteria

asks: ''How (what) do you mean, Your Excellency?'' Whereupon the Arab calmly replies : ''I mean it' s sizzling hot in this city today!'' Other examples that illustrate various items in the above list are: ''What exactly is the meaning of the Nazi Swastika (the Soviet Hammer and Sickle)," ''The meaning of the Eucharist?'', where the inquirer may be asking for information rather than being puzzled by what she is inquiring about. I shall end this section with an example that illustrates the opposite of (a)-(k); where GII does not come into play because of the audience's awareness of what the speaker means. In P.D. James ' Unnatural Causes, 55 the suspect in an apparent murder of the mystery tells Adam Dalgleish, who is investigating the case: ''Come in Adam, dear boy [condescension] I've been watching out for you. I know you've been spying for that dreary little friend of yours [Inspector Reckless, who is officially in charge of the case] [sarcasm, hostility] but I don't hold it against you [irony, sarcasm] . Just leave your rhino whip outside [sarcasm] and help yourself to whatever drink you prefer."

111

H.P. Grice on Meaning Notes 1.

The Philosophical Review, Vol. LXVI ( 1 957). Reprinted in Readings in the Philosophy of Language, Rosenberg and Travis, eds. (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1 9 7 1 ), pp. 436-444.

2. Op cit., Vol. LXXVID ( 1 969). 3 . That is, between utterance and utterer's meaning. Actually, the concept theory is more plausi­ ble or rather, less inadequate as an account of utterer's meaning than of utterance meaning. For what one has in mind in uttering a word or sentence, in the sense of what one intends to re­ fer to, name, describe, etc., is, in effect, rendered as ''the concept one has in his mind in uttering a word or sentence.'' To that extent, we can say, pace Rosenberg and Travis, that that implies a confusion of utterer' s and utterance-meaning rather than a strength of the theory. 4. Rosenberg and Travis, Readings in the Philosophy of Language (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 197 1 ), p. 393. Italics in original. 5 . Ziff, op cit., p. 43 7. 6. Ibid. 7 . Ibid. 8 . Ibid., p. 442. 9. Ziff notes in ''On H.P. Grice' s Account of Meaning," op cit., p. 445, that Grice' s account is apparently not intended to apply to the utterance-meaning [meaning-I] of words and phrases, hence contra Rosenberg and Travis, does not ''explore the possibility of reducing . . . [utterance­ meaning] to . . . [utterer' s meaning].'' ill any event, such a reduction is I believe impossible, if by ''utterer' s-meaning'' we mean the meaning intended by individual speakers as opposed to the speakers or users of the particular expression as a whole, collectively. Even then, there are im­ portant differences to be noted later between the ''language users' intended meaning'' and ''the . utterance-meanmg, '' at a given trme. .

.

10. Op cit., pp. 444-450. 1 1 . Or, we may add, what the expression conventionally means-1 which may sometimes be precisely what the speaker intends to mean by it in the particular context. 12. Rosenberg and Travis, op cit., p. 393. 1 3 . Although I speak of this as a second sense (sense-2) of 'meaning,' it should be emphasized that, as stressed elsewhere in this book, the meaning of 'meaning' involved in this sense (or ''sense'') is the same as in sense-1 ; i.e., it has the same meaning as 'signification. ' No new, different meaning of 'meaning' is involved in the case of what I call ''sense-2." Perhaps it would there­ fore be better if we speak here of two ''uses'' rather than two senses of 'meaning,' both of which are uses of 'meaning' in the primary sense of ''signification." 14. We can imagine that John is a foreigner with a very imperfect knowledge of English, or that he deliberately used the ''wrong'' sentence to cause merriment. 1 5 . See the discussion of Searle's emendation of Grice' s account later in this chapter. 16. Op cit., p. 437. First italicization Grice's, the second mine.

Meaning and Criteria

1 12

17. See my ''Words, Signs, Signals, and Symbols," Philosophical Forum, Vol. 1 , No. 4, New Series, Summer 1 969, pp. 493-508. 1 8. Ibid., p. 50 1 . 19. I believe that this attempt too is doomed to failure, given Grice' s explication of the former. But no matter.

20. Rosenberg and Travis, op cit., pp. 438-439. But Grice's account and the behavioral theory are species of the causal theory of linguistic meaning.

2 1 . Roger W. Brown and Don E. Dulaney, ''A Stimulus-Response Analysis of Language and Meaning," Language, Thought, and Culture, P. Henle, ed. (Ann Arbor, Ml: University of Michigan Press, 1 965), pp. 7 6-77. 22. Op cit., p. 1 09. 23 . Ibid., pp. 1 09-1 1 0. I have criticized that view in ''Value Words and Value Judgments," The Journal of Value Inquiry, Vol. II, No. 2-3 (Fall 1968), pp. 1 66-1 86, passim. 24. Op cit., p. 43. 25. We should add: ''sometimes, not always.'' Sometimes his recognition of my intention defeats my intention; as when I intend to influence his feelings or attitude by what I say or the manner in which I say it. 26. Provided that my utterance successfully conveys, by means of a linguistic convention, what I intend (mean-2) to say. 27. Searle, op cit., p. 43. 28. Ibid. 29. Ibid.

30. Ibid., pp. 43-44. 3 1 . Ibid. 32. It would be philosophically enlightening to explore unsuccessful attempts to perform this or that illocutionary act; for example, whether they should be classified as some kind of mental-cum­ physical activity, and, if so, the nature of the mental activity involved. That type of situation is important in practical life, because unsuccessful attempts at verbal communication are quite common and have important consequences for us. The breakdowns I have in mind include breakdowns in communication by the mass media, in telephone conversations, telegraphs, let­ ters and e-mail.

3 3 . Studies in the Way of Words (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1 989), pp. 283ff. 34. Ibid., pp. 29 1-292. 35. Ibid., p. 292. 36. Ibid., p. 296. 3 7. Ibid. ' pp. 8 6- 1 1 6; pp. 1 1 7- 137. 38. First published in Foundations ofLanguage, Dordrecht, Netherlands, Boston, MA: D. Reidel Publishing Co., Vol. 4, August 1 968, and reprinted in Studies in the Way of Words, Essay 6, ''Utterer' s Meaning, Sentence-Meaning, and Word-Meaning," pp. 1 1 7- 1 3 7 .

H.P. Grice on Meaning

113

3 9. Ibid., p. 1 23 . Italics in original. 40. Ibid. Italics in original. 4 1 . In Section ''3. Alleged Counterexamples Directed against the Sufficiency of the Suggested Analysans," in ''Utterer' s Meaning and Intentions," pp. 93ff., Grice considers and attempts to respond to the counterexamples. On p. 99 he gives what he thinks is a general way of avoiding ''potential counterexamples'' in the way he proposes on pp. 1 23-1 24 of ''Sentence-Meaning and Word-Meaning," part of which I quoted above. ill the same vein, on p. 99 he writes: '' . . . We could eliminate counterexamples, . . . but . . . by requiring U not to have a certain sort of intention or complex of intentions. Potential counterexamples of the kind with which we are at present concerned all involve the construction of a situation in which U intends A, in the refel ction pro­ cess by which A is supposed to reach his response, both to rely on some 'inference-element' (some premise or some inferential step) E and also to think that U intends A not to rely on E. Why not, then, eliminate such potential counterexamples by a single clause which prohibits U from having this kind of complex intention?'' 42. Grice, ''Utterer' s Meaning and Intentions," p. 1 24. 43. I mean ''meaning'' insofar as the term applies to (a) the conventional meaning(s) of sentences, as the product of the meanings of their component words and phrases, as well as (b) speaker' s sentence-meaning. Although, as we shall see in later chapters in Part I, Grice rejects the idea of conventional meaning in some of the essays in Studies in the Way of Words, he does admit that idea in other essays. More important, unless there is such a thing as conventional meaning in the case of words, phrases and sentences, the whole idea of speaker's meaning e.g., as meaning that sometimes dife f rs from conventional meaning would not at present as opposed to the time when language frrst arose, make sense. Even if a speaker or a group of speakers invent a totally new language, it can only be understood against the backdrop of some present conventional lan­ guage or languages: either as replacing one such language or as an addition to such a language. (Note Grice' s conventions for conversation in Chapter 7 of this book.) 44. Op cit., p. 249. 45. Ibid. 46. Lycan, Philosophy ofLanguage, pp. 1 03-104. 47. Grice, ''Utterer' s Meaning, Sentence-Meaning, and Word-Meaning," op cit., p. 1 1 7. 48. Ibid. 49. Ibid., p. 1 20. Italics in original. 50. It is not unusual for speakers (particularly governments) to say something but not mean what they say. But I shall not pursue that line of discussion here. 5 1 . Although Lycan seems to fail to distinguish the two meanings of ' speaker-meaning.' Thus in his Summary of the Chapter 7, ''Psychological Theories: Grice' s Program," he states that ''' Speaker-meaning' is, roughly, what the speaker in uttering a given sentence on a particular occasion intends to convey to a hearer'': which applies to S-meaning-1 but, as we shall see, not to S-meaning-2. This, notwithstanding the fact that he adds the following: [l] ''Grice offers an analysis of speaker-meaning in terms of speaker intentions, beliefs, and other psychological states, . . . ''; and [2] ''Grice has also offered an analysis of a sentence's own meaning in terms of speaker-meaning.'' (Ibid., p. 1 1 3 .)

1 14

Meaning and Criteria Similarly Colin McGinn, in Wittgenstein on Meaning: An Interpretation and Evaluation, Aristotelian Series, Vol. 1 (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1 984), p. 1 67, describes Grice's project as ''explaining semantic facts . . . in terms of the propositional attitudes which accompany the use of sentences. [''See H.P. Grice, ''Meaning . . . and subsequent work in this tradition."] The Gri­ cean programme is precisely a programme of semantic reduction: it claims to reduce semantic facts to psychological facts of certain kinds, in such a way that semantic vocabulary can always in principle be replaced by psychological vocabulary, which latter vocabulary provides an ade­ quate conceptual analysis of that semantic vocabulary. In short, a Gricean is precisely someone who is out to tell us what meaning consists in in 'completely dijferent terms '." (Ibid., p. 167.) The italics in 'completely different terms' are mine; the rest, in the original. Ignoring, e.g., the exaggeration in it, this description applies to S-meaning- 1 , but not to S-meaning-2, and there is nothing in his description of the ''Gricean programme'' about S-meaning-2. Finally, in ''Grice, Herbert Paul'' in the Routledge Encyclopedia ofPhilosophy, Edward Craig, General Editor (London and New York: Routledge, 1998), Vol. 4, p. 1 73 , Judith Baker states that ''[M]eaning, Grice argued, . . . is to be analyzed in terms of intentions, on the part of an utterer, to produce a particular response to an audience. Utterer's meaning provides the basis for an analysis of utterance-type meaning, the meaning of words and sentences.'' Once again, this description applies to S-meaning-1 but not to S-meaning-2, and Baker says nothing about the latter. She too seems to be unaware of S-meaning-2 as distinct from S-meaning-1 .

52. But it is possible to combine G-1 and Gil thus: ''U said x meaning w, so as (or in order) to produce a certain kinds of effect on the audience." Note that in ''By saying x U did impress the audience'' the concept of speaker-meaning does not enter the picture. 5 3 . Op cit., p. 1 1 3 . 54. Ibid., p. 1 0 3 . 55. Unnatural Causes (New York, NY: Simon and Schuster, 200 1 ), p. 1 0 1 .

Chapter 6

Conventions and Rules Introductory

In Chapters 2 through 5 I attempted to show that none of the accounts considered is successful in providing an adequate account or defmition of linguistic meaning, including Wittgenstein's definition, in Philosophical Investigations, of word meaning (for a large class of words) as ''use in the language''; although I claimed that ''use," in a certain sense, determines word meaning, while in another sense it is determined by it. Similarly with sentence meaning. Nevertheless, the theories surveyed provide, in their different perspectives or approaches, considerable insight into word and sentence meaning, by tracing their myriad connections with other fundamental concepts; such as the concepts of criteria, rules, practices and institutions. In other words, by providing a conceptual ''map of the logical terrain'' of language/speech, through Wittgenstein's favorite method in Philosophical Investigations christened as ''exhibition analysis'' by Stephan Komer.1 In Chapter 3 I briefly considered Wittgenstein's conception of rules as deter­ mining the meaning of linguistic expressions in language-games as practices. In this chapter I shall elaborate on the concept of a practice in relation to speaking and writing a language, using John Searle's term 'speech' in Speech Acts to cover both sorts of linguistic activity. Chapter 7 will further explore the nature of prac­ tices as well as institutions, and will, I hope, clarify further my contention that the conventions/rules of language form one of three types of constitutive (C-) conven­ tions/rules, helping to defme the speech-practice. Finally, continuing the outline of the actual and possible relations between various sorts of language-games and ordinary speech, begun in Chapter 3, I shall show some of the interconnections of the multifarious language-games that at a given time constitute a given language' s speech, within the framework of a speech act theory, such as William Alston' s or Searle' s. To prepare the ground for Chapter 7 this chapter will focus on linguistic conventions and rules, as well as on the question of how they help define the practice of speech. Conventions and Rules

Controversy continues to swirl round the question whether the meaning of expres­ sions is determined by conventions and/or by rules; and if they are or to the

1 16

Meaning and Criteria

extent they are determined by rules, the nature of the rules. My answer to the first question is that in different ways both conventions and rules play a role in deter­ mining the meaning of expressions. As to the second question, my view is that the rules that determine or help determine the meaning of expressions are the rules we learn in school. They are not the putative deep-lying universal rules of Noam Chomsky's transformational grammar as John Searle for example holds. As I said, Searle does not mean by ''rule of language'' what is usually meant by the phrase and what I myself mean by the term; viz. the ordinary phonic, orthographic, calligraphic, semantic, syntactic and other grammatical rules (and conventions)2 of any given natural language such as English or Swedish;3 the rules that, as G .P. Baker and P.M.S. Hacker say, are ''the humdrum rules we teach children."4 For example Searle writes: Are languages (as opposed to language) conventional? Second, are illocutionary acts rule governed? Third, is language rule governed? . . . The answer to the frrst is obviously yes . . . The second question is . . . more important. . . Must there be some conventions or other (French, German, or what have you) in order that one can perform illocutionary acts, such as stating, promising, requesting? And I want to say that the answer to that is, in general, 5 yes.

Later he adds a third question: ''are the conventions [for languages] realiza­ tions of rules?'' His answer: ''in general, yes."6 Again: When I say that speaking a language is engaging in a rule-governed form of behavior, I am not, especially concerned about the particular conventions that one invokes in speaking this language or that . . . but the underlying rules which the conventions manifest or real­ ize . . . Now, when I say that speaking a language is engaging in a rule-governed form of be­ 7 havior it is in the sense of an answer to question three that I intend this remark.

The fundamental reason underlying Searle' s view that the practice of speech is defined by the putative deep-lying universal rules of transformational grammar is that in Speech Acts he is concerned to provide a framework for speech/language in general (Speech): a framework, therefore, that would be applicable to speech in all actual and possible languages. For that to be possible universal constitutive rules that set up or define the practice of Speech must exist. In addition to the universal rules that define Speech, the speech of each individual language (English, French, Latin, etc.) would be defined by its own special constitutive conventions. I shall not concern myself with whether universal rules of the kind Searle assumes exist. But one thing is clear. If they do not exist8 if no universal constitutive rules that defme all languages/speech exist the whole concept of a single all-embracing Speech-Practice, of speech in general would become problematic. Apart from that the concept of Speech/Language in general is only an abstract idea corre­ sponding to nothing that in fact exists; for only particular speech-practices relating

Conventions and Rules

1 17

to particular languages do exist; and they, quite possibly, have various crisscross­ ing ''family resemblances'' between their diverse grammatical and other rules and conventions. The resemblances would be greater and more numerous in the case of related language groups, and especially in the case of the members of the same language group; as we find, for example, between the various Romance or Ger­ manic languages. It follows from the preceding that if universal constitutive rules, such as the putative universal rules of depth-grammar, do exist, the concept of Speech (''speech in general'') would be what I have elsewhere called a ''quasi-essentialist concept," determined by (a) a set of ''common features'' running through the whole set of languages, together with (b) a set of crisscrossing ''family resemblances." If (a) is false, the abstract concept of Speech would be a bona fide ''family resem­ blance concept." Since (c) all human speech aims at communication, that aim would also be a common feature of the concept of ''speech in general.'' We can state the preceding in terms of Speech Act Theory thus : given their putative common underlying constitutive rules [(a)], the set of practices, SP, constitutive of the speech of the languages there are would share the trichotomies of J.L. Austin's, John Searle's and William Alston's Speech Act theories. Over and above these we would find (d) the various crisscrossing defining conven­ tions/rules of SP 's various members. As noted earlier, Searle maintains that natural language (speech) is defined by constitutive rules . Although he rightly distinguishes these rules from regulative rules, he erroneously supposes that the constitutive rules are intrinsically norma­ tive. As I shall endeavor to show in Chapter 7, only the regulative rules of language (speech) are intrinsically normative, while constitutive rules are only derivatively normative; deriving their normative function (including the distinction between correct and incorrect use of language) from the practice's goals, which, in a differ­ ent way, also determine the nature of the regulative rules that apply to it. Searle's view of the intrinsic normative function of constitutive rules ulti­ mately stems from his descriptivism with respect to the ''is''/''ought'' distinction with respect to practices and institutions, in arguing erroneously as I have attempted to show in ''Institutions, Practices and Moral Rules''9 that the creation of a practice or an institution ipso facto gives rise to (moral?) obligation, makes the practice's or institution's constitutive rules intrinsically normative. In ''Codes and Canons," Chapter 7 of The Critical L the literary critic Norman N. Holland states the following about conventions and rules: ''We can separate loose from tight cultural feedbacks by the shibboleth, 'No member of this culture would normally say the rule is otherwise. ' 'Not otherwise' rules are mostly conventions : the flag; uniforms; money; units of time, and so on. Red means stop and green means go. ' Otherwise' rules are all the things we normally differ about, including many things we assert as 'facts. ' Like the facts about welfare or capital10

11

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Meaning and Criteria

ism or the Arabs or AIDS."12 And, '''Not otherwise' cultural codes depend upon the culture to which we belong. ' Otherwise' cultural codes depend on the 'inter­ pretive communities ' we belong to within the culture. ''13 ''Language provides our most familiar sets of ' otherwise' and 'not otherwise' schemata." 14 ''Reading letters or single words provides one example of testing a physical reality by means of 'not otherwise' cultural codes. Other 'not otherwise' codes in reading would be understanding the relationship of an adj ective to its noun or a subj ect to its predicate in a sentence."15 So far I have no quarrel with the passages I have quoted, except that, instead of distinguishing rules and conventions Holland identifies 'not otherwise' rules as mostly conventions. He also fails to defme or explain either 'rule' or 'convention, ' or to give reasons why he claims 'not otherwise' rules are, and what ''rules'' are not conventions . He rightly states that ''there may be 'otherwise' ambiguities in an 'not otherwise' code of application . . . ''; but that leads him to the illicit conclusion that ''that is why the rules are also hypotheses or, conversely, we derive the hypotheses to apply from the rules we know."16 Not only does his conclusion not follow from the patent fact that there may be ambiguities (and/or vagueness) in the rule's application or rather, the rule itself may be vague and so, open to different interpretations, hence to ambiguity but it is an exaggeration to say that the openness of a rule to interpretation makes the rule also a hypothesis; although he does say that we derive our interpretations (and hypotheses) ''from the rules we know.'' If ''not otherwise'' rules are (also) hypotheses, or we derive hypotheses from the rules, it would, a fortiori, also be true that ''otherwise rules'' are (also) hy­ potheses, etc. The fact that he uses 'hypothesis' too loosely or too broadly can be seen from the following about the meanings of words. He writes: ''Perhaps the most pervasive example of 'could be otherwise' rules is the meanings of words. Words look as though they mean according to a one-to-one code as recorded in a dictionary, but the actual process is more complicated . . . Words do not simply 'mean' or 'signify. ' Rather, we make them mean by bringing to bear some set of tests. When I hear 'film' in the context of movies, am I hearing about The Sky of 0, mm. Stock, or dirt on the lens? Which works in the context? I have to construe to fmd out, I have to hypothesize."17 And ''We differ about the meaning of words, and it is normal to do so. So it is with sentences. ''18 Yes, indeed; but first, many words have more than one dictionary sense or meaning, and only when they are used in sentences in particular contexts can we normally tell the intended sense or meaning in these contexts. Ambiguity arises when, but only when, the sentence­ cum-context fails to enable us to know the intended sense or meaning involved. 19 If we ''bring in some set of tests to make words mean," then, contrary to what he says, we are not literally making them mean or as he adds, ''we supply meanings to words'' something they did not mean until then, but select the already-existing

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meaning that fits the particular sentence(s) and context(s). If, as sometimes hap­ pens, particularly in literature and in professional technical language, no existing meaning of the word fits, we assume that the author or speaker is using the word with a new, stipulated meaning, and try to ferret out that meaning from the context. Holland again appears to confuse or teeter on the brink of confusing the meanings of words, which he says ''are canons," and the ''themes that run through a set of associations'' (or the associations themselves) when different readers read 'whip,' and differ as to whether what is meant is ''chef or a politician or a masochist."20 Holland suggests the ''terms 'codes' and 'canons' to divide rules according to this 'otherwise' shibboleth. By this defmition, codes cannot, if you are functioning as a normal member of the culture, be otherwise. We all use codes to know that a g is a g or a garter belt a garter belt. ' Canons ' can be otherwise, depending on the interpretive community you belong to within a given culture.'' ''The meanings we supply to words are canons ."21 In considering word meanings as ''canons'' Holland seems to be implying that word and therefore sentence meaning is essentially reducible to speaker mean­ ing: the particular meaning the speaker gives the particular word or sentence in a particular context. What is clear is that Holland, as a 1 960s and 1 970s pioneer reader response literary critic, claimed that the ''reader was central.'' He says: ''I, for one, argued it was the reader who decides such things as interpretations, evaluations, the boundaries (?) of the text, or the technique for looking at the text."22 Although I fully agree that in literature reader response is particularly important, we must not exaggerate the role played by readers in determining, in the sense of deciding, the meaning of the words and sentences in a given literary text. Still more, we should not exaggerate that role in the case of words and sentences used in everyday discourse or in professional, technical language. Thus we must not exaggerate the flexibility of word and, especially, sentence meaning, identify­ ing it with fluidity of meaning or even with reader's creation of meaning ex nihilo. Thus I disagree with the deconstructionist postmodernist that ''all readings are misreadings," and that it is a dogmatic exaggeration to claim that ''All [all possi­ ble] readings fail to exhaust the possibilities of [a great literary work, not] the [meaning ofjust any] text.'' At the same time I agree with the traditional critics­ though not for the simplistic reason that ''the meaning is right there in the text words on the page'' that some interpretations of a literary text hence responses to it may be mistaken. An example is Freud's interpretation of Hamlet, the Prince of Denmark, as suffering from an unconscious Oedipus complex, or his disciple Jones' attribution of homosexuality to Hamlet as the explanation for his rejection of Ophelia. In these and similar cases what is at issue is not the meaning of the words on the page i.e., what a given character says, or what the author says but the interpretation of a character's behavior: whether his or her behavior

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provides any evidence to support a particular interpretation of it. The obj ectivity of meaning and the obj ectivity or subjectivity or interpretation here are confused. At this point we should briefly pause to consider when a reader response is really a response to a text and not a new ''creation'' of hers. That is, what are the criteria for adequate, defensible responses (for there can be many adequate23 responses) to a text? To answer this question adequately would take us too far into theory of interpretation. For our present purposes, the following will have to suffice. In the interpretation of actual social, political, economic or other situations or happenings, the criterion for an adequate interpretation or explanation of the facts is the existence or lack of existence of a direct or indirect causal relation between the facts themselves as effects, and some other, present or preceding event(s) or situation(s) as their cause(s). In the case of texts, it is clear that that kind of relation and that kind of criterion are absent. 24 The author, of course, is a text's causal agent. But what the author intends to compose or create and what she actually composes or creates, may or may not coincide. As T. S. Eliot wrote, ''Between the intention and the execution falls the shadow." To sum up. First, unless a text suffers from widespread vagueness or ambigu­ ity, or consists of or includes highly unfamiliar, idiosyncratic or hermetic jargon, no interpretation of the meaning of the language it is couched in would be neces­ sary; although it would be misleading to say that the meaning is in the text: unless 'in' is understood metaphorically or in a special sense with shudder quotes around it. Although I disagree with it, a great advantage of Wittgenstein's view that meaning is use in the language is that it demystifies the process by which a sound or shape acquires meaning, and the meaning resulting from the process. Second, Holland and other reader-response literary critics appear to confuse linguistic meaning, meaning in the case of the ''signification'' of words and sentences, which any text that is not gibberish would have, with the quite different nonlinguistic meaning or sense of 'meaning' as ''import'' or ''significance'' of a text as a whole. It is this import or significance that a literary, social-political, philosophical or other kind of text may call for interpretation, not the linguistic meaning, the signification of the individual words, or the meaning of the sentences that compose the text. Classic examples of literary works crying for interpreta­ tion(s) are James Joyce' s ''Ulysses'' and, especially, ''Finnegan's Wake," by an author who essentially forges a language of his own. In contemporary philosophy, Martin Heidegger' s Being and Time is another example that immediately comes to mind.

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The distinction between conventions that are not rules and rules that utilize con­ ventions as guides for present and future usage as heuristic devices appears to resolve, inter alia, the problem of whether the ''rules of language'' or the ''conven­ tions of language'' are normative, hence prescriptive, or merely descriptive. Lin­ guistic conventions, like all other types or kinds of societal conventions, are not, as conventions, normative or prescriptive. The description of these conventions is a description of habitual behavior. By contrast, when rules utilizing these conven­ tions are formulated the aim is to guide behavior, albeit that alone would not give them a normative force. Still, it is a historical fact that grammarians and linguists who formulate, systematize and present these rules in grammar books or writings on linguistics normally intend them to have normative force, not something to be followed or eschewed at the speaker' s whim or desire. Hence the ideas of correct and incorrect usage arise in relation to rules. The societal goal in general of giving normative force to people's linguistic usage is not an idle one but, within reason, has an obvious perfectly good reason: society's need to communicate clearly and unambiguously by means of language. It is, indeed, a primary if not the whole reason for the existence of language in the first place. To that end a fairly high degree of uniformity in usage hence, within limits, a normative force with respect to individual usage; particularly with respect to syntax (innovation in literature being a noteworthy exception), is essential. Greater latitude in word usage without detriment to clarity, precision and understanding, whenever (and they are not always) these qualities are desired, is, however, possible. In short, in all but the most conservative languages the rules of language are flexible and allow for considerable variation and for exceptions . Rules Webster 's New Collegiate Dictionary lists ( 1 ) 'the regular course of things ' or 'regularity' as one ordinary sense of 'rule' (rule-1 ). This sense of the word is, for example, true of sheer regularities of conventional human behavior but not of regularities in the physical world, which consist of natural laws, not rules. When­ ever regularities of human behavior become guides to action, as in the case of linguistic regularities, they become rules in (2) a second sense of the word (rule-2). But a rule may be of this latter sort without any individual' s or group 's consciously or deliberately following it at all, or following or obeying it in a regular manner. Even when regularities of behavior become rules in this sense they do not do so simply qua regularities. For in the present, second sense a rule is a precept or maxim, a standard or norm, a regulation, a guide to action. Positive laws are rules in this, more important sense of 'rule. ' Other examples are moral rules, as well as rules of etiquette and the rules governing games and sports. An essential feature

1 22

Meaning and Criteria

of rules-2 is that they are either intrinsically normative or, through a certain logical or conceptual process, become normative in a broad sense. They provide standards of correctness that govern the relevant form of behavior. The following points are worth noting in relation to the foregoing: ( 1 ) It is granted that actual natural languages have not originated with the laying down of specific rules: that speaking a natural language is not, historically, a product of explicit and formally promulgated rules-1/2 : an obvious difference between natural languages and artificial languages. As far as that point is con­ cerned, Paul Ziff is correct in maintaining that ''Rules have virtually nothing to do with speaking or understanding a natural language,"25 and as we shall see, partly correct in arguing that speaking a language is concerned with conforming to and deviating from regularities.26 (2) As noted earlier some departure from the regularities of common usage is normally allowed, except in the case of the most conservative languages. But as I also noted, that is only true within flexible limits. Different communities or socie­ ties are permissive or the opposite in different degrees, largely depending on their general conservative or lib eral temper as communities or societies. The attitude of the majority of language users also depends on the departure' s intended purpose, or on the contexts in which it is made. Western particularly American society generally welcomes departures from convention by creative writers. But for many even poetic license has its limits. One obj ection to the language-rule theory, mentioned by Kenneth Stem and not considered by Searle in Speech Acts, viz. ''the fact that these are 'rules ' whose violations are numerous, and very often considered salutary,"27 can be met by again acknowledging that the rules-2 of (some, perhaps many) languages are quite flexible and many deviations from standard usage are deemed as exceptions, not rule-violations. 28 Again, departures from convention are salutary if utilized in creative writing as opposed, in general, to everyday practical discourse. The difference in degree of permissibility is accounted for by the aims of creative language, such as in works of literature, as opposed to the aims of everyday language communication. Further, the absence of anywhere near-perfect conformity to the rules in everyday discourse does not as it does not with regard to any other forms of behavior and any other kinds of rules render the concept of a rule-2 meaningless or inapplicable in relation to it. A community's moral rules provide good examples of frequently violated rules. Of course, some or all may also admit of exceptions . In the interests of common intelligibility, hence communicability, the prescrip­ tions of uninflected or moderately inflected languages are more concerned with ensuring grammatical than semantic uniformity. There, as regards all other prac­ tices and all institutions, the general operative Regulative Rule (Rule-R) is: ''Act so as to maximize the institution's/practice' s desirable goals." But the prescriptive force of linguistic convention is much weaker even in highly authoritarian

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societies than the prescriptive force of moral, or, generally speaking, legal, rules, and is reflected in the absence of all but psychological sanctions against gross deviations outside the sphere of creative writing. Social rej ection in the form of contempt and ridicule are the usual sanctions used by societies, or certain segments of them, to penalize those who indulge in so-called incorrect or substandard language. This is also true of slang, patois and dialect, spoken by entire communi­ ties or sizeable parts of them. In all these cases socioeconomic factors and class discrimination add a further normative here a strictly social-dimension to the linguistic normative force of what is considered educated usage. The logical distinctness of these two quite different sources of the prescriptiveness of gener­ ally-accepted usage is evident from the fact that the distinction between ''correct'' and ''incorrect," ''proper'' and ''improper'' usage does not usually coincide in their case. For instance, a provincial dialect as a whole, i.e., both what speakers of that dialect regard as linguistically correct and what they regard as incorrect usage, may be airily dismissed by the more sophisticated city-dwellers as ''unrefined," ''sub­ standard'' language and the like. In contrast, linguistic prescriptiveness, hence the notions of linguistic ''correctness'' and ''incorrectness'' appealed to by the particu­ lar dialect's speakers are relative to the dialect' s conventions, make sense only within the dialect itself. The confusion of the two sorts of prescriptiveness can easily lead to the error of dismissing the peculiarly linguistic prescriptive element as nothing but an arbitrary, ephemeral social fad or fashion, essentially no different from the mild normative force attached to ''correct'' social manners and to diplo­ matic protocol. We need not be reminded at this point that, on pain of dying or becoming fossilized, any language must adapt itself to new exigencies and circumstances by the growth or expansion of its word-store as well as the evolution of existing meanings. But here too a community must strive to strike a flexible, hence a shifting balance between innovation and evolution on the one hand and stability on the other. (3) The rules of grammar, stated explicitly as guides to linguistic behavior (or as E-rules-2 as I shall call explicit rules-2) are, once again, to be distinguished from the regularities of behavior they enjoin. The rules of syntax listed in grammar textbooks are examples of such E-rules-2, arrived at ex postfacto by grammarians and linguists. Further, the different definitions of the words found in good diction­ aries, which are invariably couched in ''descriptive'' terms,29 correspond to the normative semantic rules-2 of the particular language. Thus the rule, ''Use word 'x ' to mean such-and-such'' corresponds to the definition '' 'x ' means such-and­ such in language L. These rules enshrine, and, through the grammar books in which they occur, serve to help perpetuate ''correct'' speech and writing. The sanctions wielded by teachers and parents in teaching natural languages are one obvious but important source of the normative force that generally accepted ''

Meaning and Criteria

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linguistic regularities possess. Retrospectively and abstractly, a language then can be viewed as consisting of at least two sets of rules: (a) a set of usually flexible C­ rules, and speaking a language as a practice constituted by these C-rules together with others (e.g., those specifically pertaining to the phonics, orthography and calligraphy of the particular speech/writing), and (b) a set of R-rules-2 providing guidelines for the effective or eloquent, or the most effective or eloquent, use of language for the particular ends for which it is or may be intended in particular situations. Only with respect to children learning their first, native tongue as opposed to persons, especially adults, learning a foreign language and even then only in certain systems of education would the putative obj ection that ''the rules of language are followed even though speakers do not know they are doing so''30 be true. But that only means that (some31) native speakers of a language are usually trained to speak in the prescribed manner without being aware of the exact nature and extent of these regularities: often, without being able to state them in general terms in the form of E-rules-2. But it would be a contradiction in terms to speak of a rule-2 's being observed (followed) without anyone being aware of doing so. That is even more obvious with respect to the rules of an artificial language, which are expressly laid down by some individual or group, in a sense of ' laid down' similar to the one involved in the laying down of a country's laws. (The latter rules belong to a second species of the genus ''explicit rules.") Some may follow the legal rules simply because they have been trained to do so; but that cannot be true of the legislators themselves. In ''Two Concepts of Rules''32 John Rawls characterizes what he calls ''the practice conception of rules'' as ''defining a practice," specifying a ''new form of activity." He adds that on that conception The rules cannot be taken as simply describing how those engaged in the practice in fact behave: it is not simply that they act as if they were obeying the rules. Thus it is essential to the notion of a practice, that the rules are publicly known and understood as defmitive; and it is essential also that the rules of a practice can be taught and can be acted upon to . y1eld a coherent practice. 33 .

On the different, ''summary conception'' of rules, rules are thought of as summaries of decisions arrived at by applying some general principle to particular cases, hence are logically posterior to them. But ''in the case of actions specified by practices it is logically impossible to perform them outside the stage setting provided by those practices. "34 Leaving aside Searle's conception of ''constitutive rules''35 in terms of the putative universal rules of transformational grammar, these rules coincide with Rawls ' ''practice rules." Besides constitutive and regulative rules, Searle also distinguishes institutional facts from ''brute facts," of which those described by ''This stone is next to that stone," and ''I am in pain," are examples. 36 Searle is

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inclined to believe that ''No set of brute fact statements can entail an institutional fact statement without the addition of at least one constitutive [C-] rule."37 But since a constitutive rule on my conception is, as such, non-normative or purely ''descriptive," Searle' s last statement would only be true once the C-rule becomes normative in the way I described earlier. 38 Note that regulative rules in Searle' s usage are not necessarily summaries from past decisions and so, do not logically coincide with the ''summary rules'' described by Rawls: something that is particularly important in relation to moral rules. ''Summary rules'' are just one possible sp ecies of regulative rules; for nothing in the definition of 'regulative rule' entails their being summary rules. On Searle' s definition, ''regulative rules regulate activities whose existence is independent of the rules; . . . ''39 From this it does not follow that they are summaries from past decisions; but as Rawls points out, constitutive (or practice) rules too are not inductive generalizations or summaries in the way just described. If we divide rules into ''instrumental'' and ''non-instrumental'' rules, we can readily see that linguistic C-rules are instrumental in at least two main respects: (a) directly, as rules for forming meaningful words and sentences, and (b) indirectly or at least less immediately, insofar as the sentences they are used to form are themselves used to perform various illocutionary and perlocutionary speech acts. In this they satisfy one of the two conditions B.J. Diggs lays down in ''Rules and Utilitarianism,"40 for a rule' s being what he calls an ''instrumental rule." The condition is that these rules ''prescribe action which is thought to contribute to the attainment of a goal. This is the 'design' of such rules, at least in the sense that if the prescribed action does not effectively contribute to the attainment of the goal, for the most part, then the rule itself is subj ect to criticism."41 But unlike instru­ mental rules on that account (or D-instrumental rules as I shall call them), the C­ rules of natural languages are not laid down, legislated or made the rule, ''by a party which has power or authority of some kind; . . . ''42 They therefore lack the second fundamental characteristic of D-instrumental rules. But like some of these rules ''one cannot learn 'what the rules are' simply by determining what general procedures most effectively promote the goal."43 Although not laid down, they are conventional rules-2. A language's C-rules, like complex D-instrumental rules, do have a ''social dimension'' in some sense; and that includes the fact that ''it makes sense to ask whether a speaker or writer is obligated to follow a particular rule, or whether this is one of his duties, . . . though in point of fact the answer to these questions is ''no," or, at least, ''no, except in a weak ' social' sense of ' obligated'." As empha­ sized in this chapter one needs to speak and write according to flexible C-rules primarily because one may otherwise fail to communicate what one desires to communicate. Again, only in special cases, as in language classes in schools and colleges, are penalties attached to one's breaking C-rules, in addition to the ''natu''44

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ral'' penalty of ''simply . . . not 'getting the job done' ."45 In this as well as other important respects, a language's C-rules are social rules, in contrast to moral rules.46 According to Diggs an important characteristic (or rather part of that charac­ teristic) of D-instrumental rules is that ''the goal of any set of instrumental rules is 'logically independent' of these rules."47 By that he means that ''it is logically possible for one to attain the goal which a set of instrumental rules is designed to serve without these rules having been followed''48: for instance, when such rules have not been laid down. This is clearly not true of a language's C-rules; since by 'following the rules' Diggs does not appear to mean ''the conscious following of the rules." It is not true with respect to both the formation of sentences and the performance of speech acts to serve the communicative goal of language. 49 In this sense too the C-rules of language are not D-instrumental in Diggs ' sense. The second part of the characteristic in question Diggs attributes to D-instrumental rules is that ''the actions as well as the goal may be said to be logically independent of the rules,"50 in the sense that ''it is logically possible to act and follow. . . the rules without attaining the goal . . . ''51 This too is obviously untrue of C-rules, so far as the immediate goal of forming correct and meaningful sen­ tences is concerned. Note that a speaker's goal of e.g., eliciting a certain response from a hearer the intended perlocutionary phase of the speech act-depends not just on the meaning of the sentences uttered but also on the variable circumstances in which they are uttered. Consequently the goal-promoting activity and the goal itself, in the present sense, are only partly dependent on the C-rules involved. Diggs distinguishes a further sense of what I called ''D-instrumental rules," i.e., where the goal is ''over and beyond'' the action and the rules . He writes: ''there is no contradiction in saying that action on the rules will not contribute to the goal. Within its context the question 'Is this a good rule? ' is one of practical fact and experience."52 This is clearly not true of a language' s C-rules respecting their employment' s immediate goal. If a sentence 'S ' in language L, constructed in accordance with a putative rule R in L, is ill-formed, R cannot be correctly consid­ ered a syntactical rule of language L. It may nonetheless be a bona fide rule in some other language or languages. The situation is somewhat different with respect to the perlocutionary phase of a speech act. As pointed out earlier, the uttered sentence's meaning only partly determines its intended goal. There is therefore no contradiction in saying that action on the rules may not realize the goal or even contribute to its realization. For example, it is perfectly possible for someone to ask an innocent question with the intention of eliciting desired information, only to elicit an angry, defensive retort from the hearer, caused by the latter' s pent-up resentment for the speaker. She interprets the question as a thinly veiled insinua­ tion, suggestion or even an order. Other examples can be multiplied almost indefi­ nitely. But this is obviously a different matter from the general question whether

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a particular C-rule or set of rules of language L is a good rule or a good set of rules. C-Rules and R-Rules I said earlier that C-rules are ( 1 ) derivatively, not intrinsically normative. Here I shall defend that view by arguing that they derive their normative force from the relevant R-rules of the particular practice P; consequently, (2) they evaluate speech differently from R-rules. As stated earlier the normative force of C-rules is essen­ tially connected with, indeed is a logical consequence of their character in setting up institutions or practices. The evaluative function of normative R-rules is, likewise, essentially connected with their own regulative character. These and other differences, if borne out, would show that the C-rule/R-rule dichotomy is sound, and would provide important grounds for it. To begin with, the normative character of C-rules is not connected with the mere fact that the institutional acts A, B, C, etc. constituting or forming part of an institution or practice !IP are made possible by, hence cannot exist apart from these C-rules. (Of course, A and B, etc., say, may be qualitatively the same as another set of institutional acts existing in another institution/practice !'IP' which has some similar C-rules as !IP.) The important thing is that A, B, C, etc., may either con­ form or not conform to these rules. But ''conformity'' and ''non-conformity'' to the C-rules (or to a particular C-rule) must be clearly distinguished from A, B, C 's being ''correct'' or ''incorrect," or ''right'' or ''wrong," which are normative, pre­ scriptive concepts. They come into play when the C-rules that make these notions applicable to the actions they define, acquire a normative, prescriptive force: a force they directly receive from !IP 's regulative principles or rules, which are intended to regulate and evaluate I/P 's performance and its success or failure in attaining the values (e.g., moral values) and practical goals for which it is or was designed. If an institution or a practice is expressly created by, usually, a group of individuals, they would normally attempt to provide it, through their choice of defining C-rules, with a an organization and a modus operandi calculated to help enab le it to attain the ends envisaged. Similarly the goals, hence indirectly, the C­ rules of institutions and practices that grow (and change or evolve) insensibly over a usually long period of time, acquire a normative, prescriptive force from the importance and value its supporting community attaches to it and its goals. Lan­ guage illustrates these things in an outstanding degree. Such practices as promising and institutions/practices as marriage suggest that the concept of an institution and the concept of a practice need considerable tightening as well as clarification. For one thing, these concepts are probably open­ textured, and so the line between a C-rule and a mere convention (rule- 1) is proba­ bly fuzzy, not sharp . If true, one thing this would entail is the haziness of the

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difference between one's merely following a uniform social mode of behavior­ which may be purely habitual, unreflective or unconscious and one's acting in obedience to its dictates, consciously (if not deliberately) following it. Moreover, ''uniformity of a certain mode of behavior'' itself is a matter of degree, and there is no precise point at which what we call uniform behavior becomes non-uniform or random. All this is relevant to speaking a language. What complicates the situation further is that one and the same kind of action can be a non-conventional, ''brute'' or ''natural'' activity or a conventional even institutional action in Searle' s sense. Kissing and killing are two examples. Both are frequently ''brute'' acts ; yet kissing someone on the lips, say, especially on certain social occasions, is often (not always !) a matter of convention: frequently governed by an elaborate social code or protocol, possibly consisting in or includ­ ing various C-rules. Again, killing someone is frequently a ''natural'' act; as when it is done out of revenge or for money. But ceremonial, sacrificial killing as part of certain primitive religious rituals is clearly a conventional act. It is also I think governed by certain normative C- (and R-) rules. To be proper or correct the ritual must proceed in a certain prescribed order and manner. (Cf. promising, particularly in the case of legal contracts, and the practice-ceremony of getting married.) Whenever they are conventional acts or activities, the symbolic character of certain forms of kissing and killing appears to be partly determined by the C-rules that define the activity as a complex practice. The essential point in relation to my contention that the C-rules that define institutions and practices are normative (albeit only derivatively), is this. So long as some or all institutional acts are (defmitely?) in conformity with the particular C-rules of an institution/practice !IP, they count as bona fide acts within !IP. They are instances of getting married, christened, named, etc. Here incorrectness con­ sists in the subject's violating rather than merely making an exception to the relevant C-rules. With regard to institutions and complex practices, incorrectness consists in a subject's violation of some but not all of the institution' s or the practice' s C-rules. The structure of an institution or of a complex practice allows a subj ect 's violation of an increasingly larger number of its C-rules without that being tantamount to her the abandoning the institution or practice. 53 Only when most or all of the C-rules are violated would we say that she is now (correctly) participating in a new, different, institution I' or practice P'. Logically at this point I' or P' becomes the frame of reference of what does or does not count as a viola­ tion of (some but not all of) its conventions or C-rules. The applicability of these observations to the playing of conventional games­ and not all games, especially not all children's games, are so and to language and speech, is obvious. I shall now turn some of the characteristics of R-rules, and their differences from C-rules.

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First, not all R-rules are normative, prescriptive. For example, rules of thumb, guides to certain practical activities are non-normative. But other R-rules, e.g., traffic regulations, provide a standard of correctness and incorrectness for certain activities . Still other R-rules merely describe a convenient, economical, efficient, safe or speedy or the most efficient, speedy, etc. way of doing certain things . To that extent the concepts of correctness and incorrectness do not apply to the activities performed either in conformity or not in conformity with them. It is true that the concepts of goodness and badness, and certain other value concepts, do apply to them. But the standards that evaluate these activities as good or bad, etc., in terms of their efficiency, speed and the like are not the practical R-rules them­ selves but other, more general R-rules . For example, R-rules that stipulate that convenience, economy, efficiency, speed and safety are desirable ends. Second, taking games as our example, one can make either correct or incorrect moves in a game: moves permitted or forbidden by the game's C-rules. But playing a game correctly, in accordance with its C-rules, is one thing and playing it well or ill, hence winning or losing, is another thing. To win or to lose one must play in accordance with the particular C-rules, must ''play the game''; but as we all know, that is far from enough to win a game or a match! For instance, frequent double faulting or overshooting in tennis are not just ''moves'' contrary to the rules of tennis : they are poor tennis, unskillful tennis. Good tennis playing is skillful playing, with grace thrown in as an aesthetic criterion. The same is true, mutatis mutandis, of the marital state. Like winning a game, being a good spouse, parent or child, etc., is not just following the relevant marital C-rules butfollowing them well. This must not be confused with the usefulness or goodness of the practice itself, as a kind of activity or series of connected activities. True, many bad­ unworkable, unhappy marriages are due to one or both partners ' violation of the relevant rules: their vows of love, devotion, unselfishness and so on; what they promise to the other and resolve to be and do when they marry, and/or thereafter. But the rules they violate are not the C-rules of the institution of marriage; they are R-rules, necessary for a marriage's success and well-being; rules ''regulating'' marriage. The success of a particular marriage is judged by how well or ill it conforms to the moral and social R-rules of marriage accepted by the particular group or society, or to the couple's individual ideals. These R-rules are prescrip­ tions stipulating what married couples are expected to do; what they ought to do to make their marriage work, including the realization of the societal ideals the particular group or society desire marriage to help realize. To sum up the discussion of C- and R-rules so far: The concepts of correctness and incorrectness only apply to individual institutional acts, while the notions of moral, social, or legal goodness and badness, rightness or wrongness, etc., defined by the R-rules, apply primarily to !IP as a whole and only secondarily, or as a consequence, to its different components as well as the individual institutional acts

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within it. This difference neatly corresponds to Rawls' analysis in ''Two Concepts of Rules,"54 in his discussion ofjustifying an act(ion) vis a vis justifying a practice. The practice of speaking a language clearly illustrates the foregoing: well­ formed sentences are evaluated in terms of their precision or vagueness, clarity and intelligibility or unintelligibility and ambiguity, and for stylistic and formal (struc­ tural) goodness and beauty; while any given language as a whole is judged in terms of its efficiency, the richness of its vocabulary, its grammatical simplicity or complexity, difficulty or ease of its acquisition and mastery, its precision and flexibility, expressive power, euphoniousness and beauty or the opposite. These good- or poor-making qualities themselves are teleologically determined by the overall communicative aim of speaking and writing a language. The standards of correctness and incorrectness of presumptive moves within a given practice are primarily provided by the entire set of C-rules defining it rather than any particular C-rule(s) in that set. To participate in a practice of any degree of complexity hence, excluding e.g., promising and betting one needs to perform a number of interconnected moves. For practices, like institutions, are wholes: indeed, some if not all practices are organic wholes, consisting of a set of interdependent parts. In the last analysis therefore a practice's entire set of C-rules, not just some particular rule or even each and every rule considered separately, provides the standards of correctness and incorrectness, etc. Since organicity admits of degrees, a given practice' s set of C-rules, hence the practice itself (and the institutional acts that can be properly performed in it) may form a more or a less tightly knit whole than other practices. But this is a different matter from the question of how much or how little of the behavior of different cultural groups is rule-governed. As one would expect the important concepts of obligation and commitment are closely connected with the evaluative roles of an institution's or a practice's C- and R-rules. For instance, as members of various institutions and part of various practices, all of us have a commitment and an obligation to do certain things as follow-ups or sequels to certain institutional activities; such as keeping a promise that has been made or making a marriage work. One interesting question is whether the commitment and obligation are determined by the particular institu­ tion's or practice's C-rules or by some R-rule(s) that evaluate it. The fulfillment of a promise is the raison d 'etre of making a promise; the creation of a workable marriage is a main purpose of getting married; and, among other things,55 commu­ nication is the raison d 'etre of language and of speaking a language. Absent these goals and the making of promises, getting married, and language and speaking a language would become or at least tend to become meaningless, without any rhyme or reason. The specific commitment and obligation involved in each par­ ticular institution or practice are determined by their particular nature; they are logically intimately connected with both the C-rules and the normative R-rules

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pertaining to it. The exact point at which the commitment and obligation to keep a promise, to be intelligible, and so on, logically enter the picture, appears to be this: they or their force is provided by a general R-rule that stipulates, as a built-in safeguard for the institution's or practice's preservation and proper func­ tioning, that anyone performing institutional acts that fall within its purview must ''play the whole game," must play the game all the way, in accordance with its C­ rules. This special R-rule and the commitment and obligation involved are a corollary of the collective impulse that creates the institution or practice, the desire to bring about certain collective states of affairs deemed valuable or good. The rule proscribes the rej ection or elimination of any C-rules that would weaken or change the institution or practice. This meta-rule, which I shall call a Conservative Meta­ R-rule, or CMR-rule (usually together with more specific safeguards) is built into all socially cherished institutions and practices. Penalties of one sort or another, of varying degrees of severity, are at least theoretically stipulated to penalize those who, in violation of the meta-R-rule pertaining to it, tamper with the C-rules of socially accepted institutions or practices. The degree of innovation or change the CMR-rule allows depends on its rigidity or flexibility, and on the severity or leniency with which its infractions are penalized. These things clearly vary with culture or society and, in a given culture, with the time's conservative or liberal temper. The direct relevance of this to our earlier discussion of the normative force of the R- and the C-rules of language should be evident. We must finally take a closer look at the logical relation between the C-rules ABC defming an institution I and its dependent practice(s) P, on the one hand, and to the normative R-rules regulating them on the other. Our earlier analysis I think shows that both types of rules are partly or wholly determined, in a logical or in a factual sense, by I's or P 's conventional values/goal(s) VG. Further, that while its normative R-rules are logically speaking wholly determined by VG, the C-rules are only partly determined by it. For the latter, and so the character of !IP at a given time, always depends in part on contingent historical factors. At a given time and in different historical periods, the same or similar goals give rise to a plethora of partly if not entirely different institutions and practices, defined by partly or perhaps wholly different C-rules. The manifold institutions of marriage in different cultures and societies illustrate this well. Similarly with the bewildering variety of natural languages in the world. A particular VG defines the range or class of possible institutions and practices (Class C) that can provide possible means for its realization. The specific forms the members of that class happen to take at a given time and place are beyond its possible determination. As for their axiological R-rules, they would be generally constant across the whole range of a particular community's or society's institutions and practices, so long as its general goals and values do not significantly change.

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It is commonplace that some institutions and practices lack a well-defined, generally accepted function or functions, or goals; as a consequence, they may be evaluated by different R-rules by their participants, and/or by different members of the particular community. A possible example is the marital state and relation­ ship. The practice of speaking a language is I think an example to the contrary; inasmuch as there appear to be certain broadly defined functions and goals lan­ guage is generally thought to have in all the societies or in all parts of the world I know of, though, e.g., superstitions about the supposed magical powers of certain forms of language such as incantations, have been laid to rest in many parts of the world with the advent of modem science.

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Notes 1 . For a discussion of Exhibition Analysis see my A Critical Study in Method (The Hague, Netherlands: Martinus Nijhoff, 1 967), Chapter Six.

2. Among the rules familiar to speakers and writers of elementary English, for example, are the various grammatical rules, including those that determine spelling, the parts of speech and syn­ tax, as well as its idioms and idiomatic expressions. Among the linguistic conventions of English I might mention are conventions regarding calligraphy and pronunciation. What Max Black calls the ceremonial use of language is also conventional. 3 . These, as I maintained in Chapter 4, consist in one type of constitutive rules of language-games in Wittgenstein' s sense of the ' language-game.' Although, following Searle, I shall continue to speak of the ''practice of speech'' in this chapter, it is more adequate to the multiplicity and vari­ ety of language-games to think of ''speech'' as either (a) an ever-expanding, never completely delimited set of practices (i.e., of language games), or (b) as a complex ''practice'' comprising a multiplicity of practices like the various ''departments'' in e.g., fmancial institutions or medical clinics, each with its own set of constitutive linguistic rules in our sense. For convenience, I shall adopt the latter alternative in this chapter and, like Searle, speak of ''the practice'' of speech in this book as a whole; but always bearing in mind the ''practice's'' great complexity. More will be said about this in Chapter 7. 4. Speech Acts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1 970), p. 3 8 . 5 . Scepticism, Rules and Language (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1 984), p. ix. 6.

Searle, op cit, p. 4 1 . On page 40 he states the question as ''must there be rules (realized some­ how) in order that it be possible to perform this or that illocutionary act?''

7.

Ibid.' p. 4 1 .

8 . For example, G.P. Baker and P.M.S. Hacker state in Scepticism, Rules and Language (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1 984): ''The explanation for this [what they call ''this new form of [rule­ ] scepticism'' stemming from Saul Kripke' s (mis)interpretation of Wittgenstein in ''Wittgenstein on Rules and Private Language''] is in fact at hand. Rule-skepticism was expounded against a philosophical and cultural milieu in which it was becoming commonplace among avant-garde intellectuals of a language as a highly complex calculus of rules, and to conceive of understand­ ing as a hidden process of operating this calculus or depth-grammar. The rules of grammar which constitute the 'theory of meaning of the language' are, of course, not explicitly known to anyone. Unlike the humdrum rules of language we teach our children, they are objects pos­ tulated by the transformational-generative grammarian, the cognitive psychologist or the philo­ sophical semanticist . . . Rules which no one cites in explanations of the correct thing to do, which no one refers to in justifying what he has done or in criticizing others who have acted incor­ rectly, which need high-powered philosophers and linguists to discover them, and which, once formulated, are unintelligible to most people who allegedly follow them, are indeed dubious ob­ jects'' (ibid., pp. viii-ix). And so on.

9. Mind, Volume LXXXVI, No. 344, October 1 977, pp. 479-496. Cf. also the way in which, in A Theory ofJustice, John Rawls unquestioningly accepts Searle' s descriptivism with respect to institutions and practices.

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10. As I noted in Chapter 4, William Alston, in lllocutionary Acts and Sentence Meaning, com­ pounds Searle' s error by frrst agreeing with Searle that the rules that define speech are intrinsi­ cally normative, and so, essentially collapsing the constitutive/regulative distinction by arguing that the preceding rules are ''regulative rules.'' 1 1 . New York: Columbia University Press, 1 992. 12. Ibid., p. 3 5 . 1 3 . Ibid. 14. Ibid., p. 36. 1 5 . Ibid. 16. Ibid. 1 7 . Ibid.' p. 3 7 . 1 8 . Ibid. 19. For a detailed analysis of linguistic ambiguity, see my ''Ambiguity,'' Philosophy ofLanguage and Logical Theory: Collected Papers (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, Inc., 1 995). See also my ''Vagueness," pp. 3-24, in the same volume, for an analysis of linguistic vagueness and its distinction from other concepts (such as open texture) frequently confused with it. 20. Ibid., p. 3 8 . 2 1 . Ibid. 22. Ibid., p. 1 1 6. 23. See my The Concept of Art (New York: New York University Press, 1 9 7 1 ), passim, for a discussion of this question. 24. Note that here interpretation involves description and explication. 25. Semantic Analysis (Cornell, Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1 960), p. 34. But we saw above that ''regularities of behavior (which do not preclude deviations from them)'' are rules in sense (1 ) .

26. Ibid. Cf Kenneth Stem, ''Review of John R. Searle, Speech Acts, Metaphilosophy, Vol. 1 , No. 4, October 1 970, p. 3 57. 27. Ibid., p. 3 5 8 .

28. The distinction between exceptions to and violations of a rule is of considerable importance, particularly in relation to moral, social and legal rules. Thus exceptions are perfectly permitted by C-rules, by the incorporation of appropriate qualifications or specifications into them. See John Rawls, ''Two Concepts of Rules," Readings in Contemporary Ethical Theory, K. Pahel et al., editors (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1 970), pp. 225-249. This is of special inter­ est in relation to the C-conventions/rules of language. I said ''some, perhaps many languages'' because the most traditional, conservative lan­ guages do not allow even slight grammatical departures from including any exceptions to,­ the prescribed, age-long grammatical rules. This is particularly true of classical Arabic, for the very special reason that the Qoran is universally regarded by Arabs and Muslims as the ideal to which classical writing and speech ought always to conform.

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The situation is quite different with the many Arabic regional, spoken dialects in the Middle East and North Africa, each of which follows its own semantic and grammatical con­ ventions, making it sometimes difficult for someone familiar with one of the dialects to under­ stand some of the other dialects. I might also mention, among many other examples, the diversity of Armenian dialects in the various regions of Turkey, until the beginnings of the 20th century, carried over to the United States by the older generations of Armenian immigrants. 29. With the proviso noted by Hilary Putnam regarding dictionary definitions, discussed in Chapter 12. 30. Stem, op cit., p. 3 5 8 . 3 1 . I say ' some' because linguists and philosophers specializing in that language may also follow rules in full awareness of them. 32. In Pahel and Schiller, pp. 225-249. 3 3 . Ibid., p. 242. 34. lbid., p. 243. 3 5 . ''How to Derive 'Ought' from 'Is'," Pahel and Schiller, p. 1 66. Cf. also Speech Acts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1 970), pp. 33ff. 36. Ibid., pp. 50f. Cf. also pp. 1 85-1 86. 37. Ibid., p. 1 8 5 . 3 8. See also my ''Institutions, Practices and Moral Rules,'' Mind, Vo1. LXXXVI, No. 344, October 1 977, pp. 479-496. 39. Ibid. 40. Pahel and Schiller, pp. 260-282. 4 1 . lbid., p. 262. 42. Ibid. 43. Ibid. 44. Ibid. Italics in original. 45. Ibid. 46. For an interesting discussion of some of the main differences between social and moral rules, see Kurt Baier, The Moral Point of View (lthica: Cornell University Press, 1 958), passim. 47. Ibid., p. 263. 4 8. Ibid. Italics in original. 49. I do not say 'the ultimate goal' because the performance of speech acts itself is normally a means to various individual and communal ends. 50. Ibid., p. 264. 5 1 . Ibid. 52. Ibid., p. 263. 5 3 . However, in the case of many if not all practices there is no absolutely defmite number of C­ rules that must be followed in order that one may be unquestionably said to be performing a

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particular institutional or practice act. This allows for doubtful cases of acts relative to a particu­ lar institution or practice. That is, whether certain acts are or are not bona fide ''practice-'' or ''institutional-acts," relative to a particular practice or institution.

54. Pahel and Schiller, pp. 225-249. 5 5 . There is also the moral obligation to speak the truth, as part of the general moral obligation not to deceive others in any way, by what one says or does.

Chapter 7

Language and Speech as Practice Introductory

In Chapter 3 I briefly considered Wittgenstein' s conception of rules as determining

the meaning of linguistic expressions in language-games as practices; and in Chapter 6 the constitutive conventions and rules (C-rules) that define an institution or practice and the regulative rules (R-rules) that regulate and evaluate it, were analyzed. In this chapter I shall provide a fuller analysis of the concept of a prac­ tice, with special attention to the practice of speaking and writing a language, using John Searle' s term 'speech' in Speech Acts to cover both sorts of linguistic activi­ ties. I shall argue, inter alia, that the semantic, syntactic and other conventions and rules that determine speech constitute one of three fundamental types of C­ conventions/rules that, together, set up or defme the practice of speech as a whole. Continuing the general sketch or outline of various interconnections between different sorts of language-games and ordinary speech, begun in Chapter 3, I shall also provide a schema within which the ever-expanding set of multifarious lan­ guage-games that we find in a given language, say English, at a given time, can be logically placed within a Speech Act Theory such as that of John Searle's or William Alston's. I Institutions and Practices : An Overview

The words 'language,' 'writing, ' 'speech,' and 'speaking' are examples of a type of expressions that R.M. Hare, in The Language ofMorals, 1 labels ''functional words." For like all other words of this nature, they involve the notion of some use, function, purpose or aim (or a number of these) in their everyday uses; or the notion of a certain use, function, and so on is an integral part of the concepts they convey. That in the case of the entire class of functional words I attempted to show in some detail in ''Common Names and 'Family Resemblances' ."2 The major uses or functions of speech are familiar to all, and for our purposes may be briefly labeled as ''communication'' in a broad sense that includes ''expres­ sion," in their various everyday and technical meanings and senses; ''performance'' in J.L. Austin's use of 'performative utterance'; ceremonial and ritual uses; and so on. As is commonplace, the Austin-Searle speech act theory of language is, among

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other things, a sustained effort to provide clear and precise characterizations of some of the main uses or functions of speech, particularly in terms of the concepts of illocutionary and perlocutionary phases of speech acts. But even in Searle' s richer and more articulated version, the theory is far from perfect. Certainly it is incomplete. But its limitations and its imperfections (some of which were noted in Chapter 6), are not particularly germane for the purposes of this chapter. To say that language has the aforementioned uses or functions is to say that different languages serve, well or ill, certain human ends. Indeed, humankind' s creation and universal utilization of language constitutes an excellent expression of Homo sapiens ' essential goal-directedness as a species. Certain of his/her basic goals, the values he/she has striven to realize and the evils he/she has heaped on himself/herself and on the rest of nature, help to distinguish him/her from nonhu­ man animals. This is apart from whether, as Ernst Cassirer claims, Homo sapiens is distinguished from all other animals by his/her creation and utilization of '' sym­ bolic forms." It is also apart from whether language can be profitably classified as a symbol-system in some technical sense of 'symbol' ; and fmally, whether lan­ guage is totally or only in some degree absent from the rest of the animal kingdom. In ''Two Concepts ofRules''3 and A Theory ofJustice 4 John Rawls defines an institution as ''a public system of rules which defmes offices and positions with their rights and duties, powers and immunities, and the like. These rules specify certain forms of action as permissible, others as forbidden; and they provide for certain penalties and defenses, and so on, when violations occur. "5 To this we must add the words 'conventions or . . . ' before the word 'rules ' in the foregoing defini­ tion, to allow for institutions partly or wholly defined by conventions. Corresponding to Rawls' definition of 'institution, ' speaking a language exhibits an essential feature of a practice in Rawls ' semi-technical usage, where a practice is ''any form of activity specified by a system of rules [and we must add, 'or conventions ' ] which defines offices, roles, moves, penalties, defences, and so on,6 and which give the activity its structure. As examples one may think of games and rituals, trials and parliaments."7 Indeed, if speaking a language exhibits the other essential characteristics of a practice, as I believe it does in agreement with Searle (and the later Wittgenstein in relation to language-games), it would be a full-fledged practice of a certain kind. For I have claimed in ''Institutions, Practices and Moral Rules''8 that all institutions and practices as understood here have certain functions or uses; or that they arise and are maintained or sustained by humankind's need to achieve certain collective goals. The concept of some kind of use or function, and/or some purpose or goal, is an essential part of the everyday concept of an institution in general. 9 Likewise with practices : such as promising, marrying, playing tennis or speaking a language. 'Institution' and 'practice, ' as names of certain human creations, are functional terms themselves. This is readily seen from the ways in which we apply 'good' and 'bad' (or 'poor') and other

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evaluative expressions to institutions and practices . 10 In a sense this claim is stronger and certainly more directly relevant to the conceptual analysis of speech as a practice than the historical, factual claim. 1 1 Still, as with all other functional words, the uses of 'language'/' speech' reflect the empirical fact that human beings are essentially goal directed and act and fashion things with some conscious goal in mind, or are naturally impelled by an unconscious or semiconscious urge to satisfy their basic interests and needs. Sooner or later these human propensities leave their conceptual imprint on the languages in which they are labeled and described. 12 In ''Language and Speech as Institution and Practice''13 I was inclined to think of language as some kind of institution an Ur-institution underlying and inform­ ing the plethora of institutions and practices in any given society. I say I tended to think of it in any way because I was not quite sure that it is in fact some kind of institution. On further thought I have come to agree with the anonymous reader of an unpublished paper of mine entitled ''Sp eaking of Doing," that, in his own words, ''A language cannot be fruitfully looked at as an institution. Certainly, there are constitutive and regulative linguistic rules for describing linguistic competence (knowledge of a natural language one speaks) (syntactic, semantic, phonological rules at least). Doubtless there are rules of linguistic performance as well. But neither of these facts in the least supports viewing language (or a language) as an institution."14 The reader did not state why the facts he/she mentions as well as other facts he/she did not mention do not support the view that language (or any given language) is an institution. The reasons why I myself now believe that language is not an institution is that language is in fact the set (or set ofsets) of the (1) constitutive conventions/rules that define the practice of speaking and writing15 in what is called English, or French, or German, and so on; together with (2) the regulative (or R-) conven­ tions/rules that regulate and evaluate the linguistic competence of speakers and writers in English, French, or German, and so on, as the case may be. The two general classes (or classes of classes) of conventions/rules, (1) and (2), are con­ ventions/rules of the practice of speech. I therefore now believe that language is an umbrella concept under which, at a given time, we primarily (but not exhaus­ tively) subsume the existing rules of types ( 1 ) and (2). Another way of describing language is as the repository of the vocabulary of the particular speech, together with to the grammatical conventions/rules that determine the ways in which that vocabulary is to be employed in speech. If a speech happens to die out, the ''lan­ guage of that speech'' dies, becomes a ''dead language." The vocabulary and the erstwhile conventions/rules are no longer used. Since the reasons I had for my inclination to think of language as an institution rested on certain facts about institutions and practices, it should be instructive to note these reasons here.

I 40

Meaning and Criteria

First, I wrongly supposed that all practices without exception do indeed, can only exist by virtue of being associated with or attached to, consequently de­ pendent for their particular character, on some institution or set of institutions . Further, that practices, as sets of convention- and/or rule-organized activities, constitute the practical ''arm'' of, apply or implement the associated institution' s constitutive and regulative conventions/ rules; thereby furthering the institution' s goals. But the belief that no practice can exist except in association with some (particular) institution or set of institutions is false. For example, games and sports are independent of any particular societal institution or set of institutions. This meant that it is possible for speech too to exist as a practice without being neces­ sarily attached to or associated with an institution. The fact that we ordinarily talk of ''sp eaking English, French, German, etc." does not therefore mean that ''Eng­ lish," ''French," ''German," etc. are, must be, particular institutions; species of ''(human) language'' as an ''institution in the generic sense." I also thought that with regard to any practice P associated with and dependent upon some institution or set of institutions A, the constitutive conventions/rules that define and the rules that regulate A-cum-P are conventions/rules that respec­ tively defme and regulate A in the first place, and only as a consequence or secon­ darily, define and regulate P as a (particular) practice. Hence that the constitutive conventions/rules that define speech as a practice and those that regulate it, must be the conventions/rules that define and regulate the putative associated language. Ergo language (or a language) itself must be an institution. Second, institutions have their own members over and above the individuals who participate in practices attached to them, together with ''offices and positions with their rights and duties, powers and immunities, and the like," as Rawls says. For example, medical institutions clinics and hospitals, and research centers are staffed with doctors, nurses, research scientists and other employees, only some of whom practice medicine. In addition, many doctors have a private practice, and are only associated with a clinic or a hospital. We find a similar situation in the educa­ tional and religious fields. But none of these things is true of language (or a lan­ guage). Indeed, in order to be an institution in anything like the term's usual meaning, language must be some kind of organization which, clearly, it is not. Returning to the question of the general nature of institutions and practices, we need to draw an important distinction at this point between what I shall call institutions-I and institutions-2, and between practices-I and practices-2. An institution- I consists of ( I ) an interrelated set of C-conventions/rules together with (2) the goals that these conventions/rules are designed to further through their creation of actual institutions-2. It may be desirable also to include in the concept of an institution-I (but not institution-2), (3) the regulative, e.g., utilitarian and moral rules that regulate and evaluate the institution as a whole, and so, with the necessary qualifications or modifications, its various positions and offices : not

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however as general regulative rules that often apply to a lot of other institutions and practices and to ''natural'' (non-conventional) individual behavior as well, but as they specifically apply to the particular institution/practice or kind of institu­ tion/practice. An institution-2 consists of ( l ) ' s and (2) ' s specific exemplification or em­ bodiment, in an actual societal organization operated by people occupying various offices and positions working cooperatively in one degree or another, to realize the institution' s overall goals. A similar distinction is drawn by Rawls. He says: ''An institution may be thought of in two ways : frrst as an abstract obj ect, that is, as a possible form of conduct expressed by a system of rules; and second, as the realization in the thought and conduct of certain persons in a certain time and place of the actions specified by these rules."16 Corresponding to the above distinction a practice-I is an interrelated set of C­ conventions/rules; while a practice-2 is the cluster of organized activities consti­ tuting applications or exemplifications of these conventions/rules in particular places and times. In a ''dependent'' practice-2 those who participate in the practice are usually the functionaries of the associated institution-2. However, an independ­ ent practice-2 17 would have its own participants. I shall speak of the set of C-conventions/rules as a whole that define an insti­ tution' s basic structure as part of the foundations, as some of the presuppositions of the institution' s dependent practices. For examp le, the Constitution of a par­ ticular political system defmes, among other things, the structure or a large part of the basic structure of its government as a complex of economic, political, legal, military, and other institutions. But in my usage it does not strictly form part of the practices associated with these institutions; e.g., the country's law courts, such as their legal proceedings. In addition to the fact that institutions include various components that are not and perhaps cannot or should not be included in practices in general, as well as components that I think are advisable to exclude from the concept of a dependent practice, all practices-2 without exception are distinguished from institutions-2 in consisting in a body of organized and interrelated communal activities together with their conventional meaning, import or signification as a practice, ifany. 1 8 Consequently, the concept of a practice-2 , also includes the societal significance and other implications of these communal activities for those who partake of it or have an understanding of it. In the terminology of IPMR, they consist of systematic and organized conventional acts as opposed to ''natural'' or ''brute'' actions . The same is true of institutions-2. Likewise, conventional activities within an institu­ tion which I shall call ''institutional acts'' like the specific activities that con­ stitute a practice-2 henceforth called ''practice acts'' have an (e.g., a social) import or meaning relative to the institution.

1 42

Meaning and Criteria

There appear to be two sorts of activities ''within'' some or all institutions-2 and two corresponding sorts of activities ''within'' some or all practices-2. An institution' s C-conventions/rules (1) define acts or activities (EI-acts) absolutely essential to it as a particular institution. But once set up institutions-2 may permit (2) certain other activities (NEI-acts). These activities are not defined by the C-conventions/rules, and are entailed by any EI-acts within the institution-2. They qualify as activities ''within'' the institution either because they enable certain EI­ acts to be performed or because they reinforce, enrich or supplement certain EI­ acts within it, helping them realize their intended functions . And so on. In the same way we can distinguish what I shall call (3) EP-acts and NEP-activities forming part of some or all practices-2. Like EI-acts, EP-acts are convention or rule gov­ erned; while NEP-activities, like NEI-activities, are not convention or rule gov­ erned. Games and sports provide good examples of the EP-acts/NEP-activities distinction. In tennis, for example, walking and running across the court are clearly part of the practice called tennis but are not, strictly, defined by the rules of tennis. Still, they are necessary for the activities governed by the rules of tennis, such as returning the ball (within the court). They are therefore NEP-activities. In the case of speech the following perhaps qualify as NEP-activities : the various forms of body language that normally accompany speaking. Some are conventional while others are ''natural'' expressions of attitude, feeling or emotion. The former have cultural, communal meaning, but not necessarily the latter. Some may have a personal meaning. The latter, perhaps, are NEP-activities.19 The situation is complicated by the fact that some activities within an institu­ tion or practice may be NEI- or NEP-activities relative only to some specific institution I or practice P. Relative to some other institution(s) T, S, etc., or practice(s) Q, R, etc., they may be EI- or EP-acts . Another complication is that older institutions and practices acquire hallowed traditions in the course of time, which, though conventional in nature, are not practices. It is difficult to draw a line between these traditions and the institutions and practices proper. Indeed, a case can be made for considering these traditions as a bona fide part of them.20 All institutions/practices appear to be of two types in terms of the EI-acts or EP-acts they involve. The EI-EP-acts involved in the first type of institution/ practice are designed to provide direct or indirect means for the realization of some state of affairs S, to create some artifact A, or to initiate activities or states of affairs distinct from the EI-EP-acts in question. The EI-EP-acts defined by the second type of institution/practice, are performed ''for their own sake.'' More precisely, these acts are designed for entertainment and relaxation, intellectual or spiritual stimulation, and the like, under optimum conditions. These conditions or states of affairs are not actually distinct from the EI-EP-acts. Marriage ceremonies I think exemplify the former, while games and sports exemplify the latter, type of

1 43

Language and Speech as Practice

practice. A civil ma rriage ceremony establishes a legal bond, creates a marital state, distinct from the proceedings leading up to it, and the marital state begins only when these proceedings are completed. In the case of the games and sports I know, nothing corresponds to or is similar to that. Institutions/practices can be said to be created and/or maintained for two general sorts of reasons. First, to make possible desired institutional or practice acts; or second, to create or to bring about desired states of affairs distinct from the institutional or practice acts through which they come to be. It is clear that an institution or a practice may be created or maintained for both of these sorts of reasons. In these instances an institution/practice combines elements of the two basic types I distinguished. The practice of speech is an example of the complex or hybrid type. For first, the expression and the communication of ideas of language

the propositional, cognitive use

is an end for which speech is a means. The ideas expressed and

communicated are essentially distinct from the language that conveys them. 21 Another way of saying this is that ''propositional meaning'' is separable from the speci fic verbal medium or means of its expression and communication. ( The same is true of the use of symbols in literature, and of logical and mathematical symbol­ ism.) By contrast, emotive ''meaning'' and dynamic ''force'' (or ''signi ficance'') cannot be completely separated from the speci fic verbal medium or means of their expression and communication. Again, the aesthetic and other pleasures, and the sensuous and mental stimulation that a sensitive and discriminating hearer or reader derives from heightened language or a pleasing style, is I think completely inseparable from the delight in and stimulation by the speci fic features of the language employed:22 its imagery, symbolism, and the many other devices of good literature. In the literary employment of language, for example in poetry and fiction, the cognitive as well as expressive, emotive, and dynamic aspects of language conspire to create a variety of aesthetic qualities. These inhere in the language and its particular form. They would therefore suffer a sea change if ''translated'' into colors and lines, musical sonorities or masses and volumes, and are only partially preserved in translation into another language and speech. Nevertheless, the relation of language and the thought it conveys is partly or wholly different from the relation one discerns in most or all institutions (and practices) of the second variety. For example, it is quite unlike the relation of the marital state to the legally-constituted ma rriage ceremony that brings it about. It is true that ideas can be conveyed by extra-linguistic means. In that sense they are actually separable (or separate) not only from the activities of speaking and writing but also from the particular sentences that convey them. In

Social Practices23 Theodore R.

Schatzki distinguishes two types of prac­

tices: ''integrative'' and ''dispersed'' practices. Although he thinks that such things

1 44

Meaning and Criteria

as ordering and questioning are ''dispersed'' practices, it would appear that from his defmition of these two types below, speech would be an ''integrative'' practice in his usage. He puts aside a third notion of a practice, in which ''practicing is learning to do something by repeatedly working at and carrying it out.'' Practicing the piano would be an example of a ''practice'' in this sense. ''Dispersed Practices'' Schatzki defines ''dispersed practices'' as follows : I label a frrst category of spatiotemporal practice ' dispersed' to emphasize that practices of this sort, in contrast to those of a second category I will call 'integrative, ' are widely dis­ persed among clifferent sectors of social life. Examples of dispersed practices are the prac­ tices of describing, ordering, following rules, explaining, questioning, reporting, examining, and imagining. [?] As Wittgenstein writes, ''To obey a rule, to make a report, to give an order, to play a game of chess, are customs (uses, institutions) [ Gepflogenheiten, Gebrauche, lnstitutionen ]'' (Pl, 1 99). The dispersed practice of X-ing is a set of doings and sayings linked primarily, usually exclusively, by the understanding of X-ing. This un­ derstanding in tum, normally has three components: (1) the ability to carry out acts of X­ ing (e.g., describing, ordering, questioning), (2) the ability to identify and attribute X-ings, in both one's own and another' s cases, and (3) the ability to prompt or respond to X-ings. Another expression for 'the ability to' in this context is 'knowing how to' .24

In short, a dispersed practice is a ''set of doings and sayings linked primarily, usually exclusively, by the understanding they express. ''25 He adds : Moreover, in conceiving social integration as the harmonization of 'lifeworlds' and life­ worlds are essentially knowledge (practical and propositional), Habermas' s analysis does not easily accommodate the fact that social integration is secured within phenomena (prac­ tices) that are spatiotemporal entities and not merely configurations of such action­ determining components of knowledge as goals, themes, plans, and defmitions of situa. tions. 26

''Integrative Practices'' Turning to ''integrative practices," Schatzki says : By integrative practices I mean the more complex practices found in and constitutive of particular domains of social life. Examples are farming practices, business practices, vot­ ing practices, teaching practices, industrial practices, cooking practices, recreational prac­ tices, industrial practices, religious practices, and banking practices. Like dispersed practices, integrative ones are collections of linked doings and sayings. The doings and sayings involved are joined by: ( 1 ) understandings of Q-ing and R-ing (etc.), along with ''sensitized'' understandings of Q-ing and Y-ing (etc.), the latter carried by the transfigured forms that the dispersed practices of X-ing and Y-ing adopt within integrative practices; (2) explicit rules, principles, precepts, and instructions; and (3) teleoaffective structures comprising hierarchies of ends, tasks, projects, beliefs, emotions, moods, and the like. I will

Language and Speech as Practice

1 45

henceforth refer to the understandings, rules, and teleoaffective structure that link an inte­ 27 grative practice's doings and sayings as the 'organization' of the practice.

Item ( 1 ) clearly applies to a practice as understood in this chapter and book; similarly with item (2), except that at least some of the C-rules and R-rules of language may be implicit rather than explicit, as well as that the practice of speech is non-hierarchic in terms of ''ends, tasks, proj ects'' and the multifarious other activities that speech consists in or involves . In fact, Schatzski' s definition of ''integrative practices," which I italicized in the above quotations, as ''practices found in and constitutive of particular domains of social life'' is inapplicable to speech, which, in a fundamental sense, embraces the whole of society' s life, and in that sense, the whole of social life."28 But speaking a language does not consist in linked ''dispersed practices'' either; although the set of language-games that constitute it are, as I point out, linked through the phonological, calligraphic, semantic, syntactic and other ''primary'' C-conventions/rules common to all as constitutive parts of the practice of speech. Moreover, each language-game has it own additional, characteristic ''secondary'' C-conventions/ rules, which determine the sayings possible in it. I believe that the reason why Schatzski defmes ''dispersed practice'' as he does is that he follows Wittgenstein' s view in Ph ilosophical Investigations, that questioning, ordering, etc., which are normally made in and through language, are thought of as individual language-games ; whereas on my concept of it, speech consists of a single embracing practice with an open set of different language­ games as constituents . (See Chapter 3 .) Schatzki maintains that ''The entirety of a practice' s organization is normative. By 'normativity' I mean, in the first place, oughtness or rightness. The under­ standings, rules, . . . that organize a practice specify how actions (including speech acts) ought to be carried out, understood, prompted, and responded to; what specifically and unequivocally should be done and said (when, where . . . ); and which ends should be pursued, which proj ects, tasks, and actions carried out for that end. ''29 With one exception, this is perfectly correct, and fits in with the view of a practice, including the practice of speech, described in this chapter. The exception is that the part starting with ''what specifically and unequivocally should be done and said . . . '' is too strong in relation to speech. Schatzki criticizes Habermas for not adequately capturing what Schatzki calls the ''' harmonization' of lives within practices . . . through normatively guaranteed 30 or communicatively achieved consensus [using the same rules]." I think there is a hint of an intriguing suggestion here that practices create community. This question is worth considering in its own right, though it is not germane to our own purposes. Let me merely say that, although assuming that some practices do create various sorts of community, and that some may even

Meaning and Criteria

1 46

create good and moral communities, that is not necessarily true of speaking a common language. For one thing, although the ''articulation of intelligibility'' is perhaps a necessary condition for community, it is not a sufficient condition for it. Considerably more is needed for the existence of a community in any ordinary meaning of the term.

II C-Conventions/Rules of Practices

It is now time to turn to the C-conventions/rules of practices in general and to consider their varieties and interrelations, paving the way for a consideration of the C-conventions/rules of speech. In dependent practices, the C-conventions/ rules are, ipso facto, defming conventions/rules of their parent institutions ; since it is by virtue of the latter that they are defining conventions/rules of the dependent prac­ tices . There appear to be three types of C-conventions/rules defining practices, or PC-conventions/rules for short. (A) The frrst type consists of those PC-conventions/rules that define a practice P-1 's essential structure, the set of interrelations of EP-acts that constitute the fundamentals of P-1. (B) The second type consists of those PC-conventions/rules that provide the necessary conditions for and so are presupposed by a practice P-1 with an essential structure defined by some set of PC-conventions/rules of type-A. For the set ofEP­ acts that essentially constitute P-1 to obtain, type-B conventions/ rules must be practiced or followed; and, (C) The third type consists of PC-conventions/rules that jointly provide necessary and sufficient conditions for the happy, felicitous or non-defective performance of the set of EP-acts comprising P- 1 as a practice.

Conventions/Rules of Type-A The following conventions/rules appear to be of this type: ( 1 ) ''General eligibility conventions/rules'' and ''specific eligibility conven­ tions/rules'' relative to the particular practice.31 The former define the qualifications of would-be participants in the practice; the latter detail the conditions or define the specific qualifications that those who are eligible to participate in a particular practice P-1 must satisfy to qualify for a particular office, position, rank or role in the practice. (2) The second variety of type-A conventions/rules consists of those that (a) defme the activities jointly comprising the essentials of the particular practice P-1; i.e., the various possible ''moves'' in it. Therefore (b) they exclude, explicitly or by implication, certain other possible activities from P-1, as not moves within it.

Language and Speech as Practice

1 47

The conventions/rules detailed in (1 ), which delimit the class of possible participants in a practice, are not, strictly speaking, part of the C-conventions/ rules of all practices. For instance, no such eligibility conventions/rules exist in the case of any language I know of. What determines whether anyone is a potential speaker, say, of English, is the natural capacity required for learning language in general and English in particular, not any rules or conventions. But certain socie­ ties or dominant segments of them sometimes exclude allegedly undesirable or inferior groups by discriminatory educational practices ; preventing them in effect from learning or using a certain elitist idiom or mode of speech, such as the Queen's English or the speech of the Boston Brahmin. If any social conven­ tions/rules are invoked, they are implicit and well concealed or un-avowed for obvious psychological, social and moral reasons . Still, all practices appear to require specific eligibility C-conventions/rules; since it appears that roles, offices and positions are part of the structure of all practices . All practices without exception involve a variety of possible roles ; e.g., every­ day informal speech involves the roles of speaker/writer and hearer/ speaker, but no offices or ranks. As I noted in IPMR, ''The opposite is true of speaking or writing ex officio, in a given social, legal, religious, or other official capacity. For instance, as part of some practice or institutional activity.''32 The allied EP-acts of formal learning/teaching a language, associated with the educational institution of schools and colleges, obviously involves offices and ranks as well as roles : a distinction between student and teacher and a school's or college's instructional and administrative hierarchy. But even formal instruction is not a practice. The conventions/rules involved appear to create (or, at least, are designed to create) a formal matrix especially a set of optimum conditions for the cultivation of the ''natural'' activity or process of learning and teaching. (Unfortunately the reality and the ideal here tend to be vastly different!) (3) It follows from the above that among the basic PC-conventions/rules defining the essentials of a practice we must include conventions/rules that define the roles, offices, or ranks involved, as the case may be. The specification of the duties or responsibilities, and the rights or privileges entailed by a practice P-1, is tantamount to a determination of the various offices, ranks or roles in P- 1. Thus in the case of speech the detailing of the duties or responsibilities, and the rights or privileges of speakers/writers and hear­ ers/readers, implicitly generate the C-conventions/rules i.e., the specific phonetic, semantic, and syntactic conventions/rules of this or that speech, such as English or French speech, cannot be generated in this way. They must be separately created or laid down.

Meaning and Criteria

148 C-Conventions/Rules of Type-B

In the preceding subsection I outlined the varieties of C-conventions/rules (usually, C-conventions) which defme practice acts in a particular practice P-1. In addition to these, all practices necessarily involve a second type of C-rules (not conven­ tions). That is, certain (1) general logical or contingent preconditions of practices in general, qua practices; and (2) specific or relatively specific logical or contin­ gent preconditions of individual practices P-1, P-2, P-3, etc. These are conditions that must be fulfilled so that the particular set of practice acts, defined by type-A conventions/rules, may be possible. If P-1 and P-2, etc., are dependent practices, these preconditions may also be involved in the relevant institutions. In the case of speech the preconditions have two subsets: general precondi­ tions (G-conditions) of all speech acts, considered as a complex whole; and relatively specific preconditions (RS-conditions) ofparticular speech acts. Both sorts of preconditions are therefore preconditions of all instantiations of a particu­ lar speech act, such as stating, inquiring or commanding. In addition, there are (3) specific preconditions of a particular phase or aspect of a speech act; namely, preconditions of illocutionary and perlocutionary acts, which I shall call L­ conditions, IL-conditions and P-conditions respectively. Finally there are (4) still more specific conditions of type-B relating to the illocutionary acts of, say, stating or commanding, and so on; and other highly specific conditions relating to the perlocutionary act of warning, defying or flattering, and so on. An obvious G­ condition of speech acts in general is a speaker's presence.33 A fortiori, a speaker's presence is an L-, and IL-condition and a P-condition of speech acts . But the presence of a hearer/reader34 is an RS-condition, not a G-condition. It is not either logically or contingently necessary for the existence of either a locutionary or an illocutionary act. The hearer or reader need not physically hear or see what she ''utters," so long as she mentally ''hears'' it. Again, the ''utterer'' need not be aware of or understand what she ''utters ." She may be in a delirium, be drunk, or talking in her sleep. I might add that the conditions of illocutionary acts Searle considers in Speech Acts35 are putative necessary and sufficient conditions of all illocutionary acts, and so, putative universal IL- (type-B(3)) conditions. Type-C Rules

So far I have neglected a very important and familiar feature of practices : their liability to what we might call ''infelicities," ''unhappiness'' or ''defects," following but extending J.L. Austin' s and Searle's usage in relation to speech acts.36 Searle writes : There are various kinds of possible defects of illocutionary acts but not all of these defects are sufficient to vitiate the act in its entirety. In some cases, a condition may indeed be in-

Language and Speech as Practice

I 49

trinsic to the notion of the act in question and not satisfied in a given case, and yet the act will have been performed nonetheless. fu such cases I say the act was ''defective." My no­ tion of a defect in an illocutionary act is closely related to Austin's notion of an ''infelicity.'' Not all of the conditions are logically independent of each other. Sometimes it is worth­ while to state a condition separately even though it is, strictly speaking, entailed by an­ 37 other.

With appropriate changes, the distinctions between infelicity/felicity and defect/lack of defect apply to all practices . For that we must add to type-B rules a second sort of necessary and sufficient condition of practice acts, which I shall label type-C C-rules. These rules must be followed so that a given practice act, generically speaking, may be non-defective. The defect/lack of defect distinction requires a retrospective clarification of our earlier characterization of type-A C-conventions/rules. They must now be understand as conventions/rules that define the set of possible non-defective moves within a practice P; with the proviso that in each case these conventions/rules have implicit reference to the relevant conventions/rules of type-C. In other words, conventions/rules imply the defect/lack of defect distinction insofar as they pre­ suppose conditions of type-C. The practice of promising provides a good illustration of the foregoing types of C-conventions/rules. In its case we find ( I )(a) C-conventions/rules that define the act of promising, and (b) conventions/rules that define the act of fulfilling a promise; (2)(a) preconditions of the act of promising, and (b) preconditions of the act of fulfilling a promise; and (3) the C-rules/conventions that determine (a) non­ defective promises as well as those that determine (b) the non-defective fulfillment of a promise (if defective fulfillment of a promise is possible). Promising both resembles and differs from many other practices, including speech. It consists of two as against, say, three or more sorts of components, logically related in a special way. For example, it differs from the way the various aspects of a sp eech act are related. From this it follows that there are two materi­ ally different sets of C-conventions/rules of types A, B and C relating to promises. So far I have talked about the various types of constitutive conventions/rules that define a practice in general (a practice- I ), to the exclusion of the regulative conventions/rules of practices-2. Since different types of practices have different societal uses or functions, aims or goals, I shall consider regulative conven­ tions/rules in relation to speech as a practice- I , which is our chief concern. Functions/Goals of Speech as a Practice

Different societies can be viewed as partly different experiments in resolving essentially similar human problems in living; partly different ways of collectively coping with the human condition. In their different ways, all societies strive to realize, in their own ways, in institutions and practices among other things, the

1 50

Meaning and Criteria

essentially common human values. Whatever the situation with other practices may be, speech is a human creation whose expressive and communicative functions and goals appears to enjoy universal or near-universal acceptance. This cannot but be true inasmuch as some form of expression and of communication is absolutely indispensable for the functioning of all institutions and all other practices in any society, at any time; and linguistic expression and communication in particular, are absolutely indispensable for the existence and survival of all but the most primitive communities or societies. Indeed, it is doubtful whether the term 'society' can be properly applied to any interdependent group of people lacking any kind of lan­ guage. As in the case of other practices whose ends are socially prized, society im­ poses a general obligation on language users to help advance its intended goals, to employ language in conformity with them. Stated as an imperative, as a general R-rule, it would run thus: ''Act so as to maximize the desirable goals of language." A similar R-principle, mutatis mutandis, underlies all other societal institu­ tions/practices prized by a sizeable (especially by a dominant) segment of a community or society. As noted in effect in Section II the prescriptive force of this obligation varies with place and time. Given the immense, pervasive importance of language in the lives of all human beings, it is not surprising that the obligation to maximize its desired goals is complex, ubiquitous, far reaching in its implica­ tions. It has both logical and practical aspects and both moral and non-moral social facets; including the speakers' responsibility to employ language responsibly. An extremely important aspect of this is the responsibility to use language truthfully. Closely related to it is the obligation, hence the responsibility, to use language rationally, in accordance with the rules of valid reasoning, hence self-consistently; in order that linguistic formulae may be employed for the effective expression and communication of what one intends or desires to express or communicate. The obligation to be responsible, rational and truthful is a moral-social imperative, predicated on the idea that the proper ends of the employment of language are expression and communication. The responsible rational and truthful employ­ ment of language is also deemed a necessary if not also a sufficient condition for the realization of these and other ''proper," normal ends of language use. Clearly truthfulness is the last thing one would or should indulge in if the speakers' aim is to mislead or deceive ! Similarly, irresponsibleness and irrationality may be the ''proper'' thing to indulge in if one's aim is to confuse the hearer. But deception and confusion, misinformation, and the like are not ''normal'' or ''proper'' aims of language use the way these aims are traditionally intended or generally conceived of_3s The distinction between ''normal'' or ''proper'' goals G of a practice P and other goals which it may be used to further, is important. G constitutes what P's champions consider its desirable goals, and think of misuses or abuses of P

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relative to G as undesirable uses of it. In the course of time if not initially these ''proper'' goals, G, become part of P' s accepted concept. One would therefore expect that these goals would conceptually determine the C-conventions/mles that P' s creators or initiators consciously or unconsciously utilize in setting up P: and that I believe is precisely what we find. I refer of course to the three types of C­ conventions/mles distinguished in chapter 6 and in this chapter. 39 The preceding remarks also apply, with the necessary changes, to institutions. The prizing of certain societies' goals underlies, and results in, the evolution­ ary rise or express creation of the many kinds of institutions/practices we find in the world in human history. It is that which impels human groups to impose moral and other imperatives on their members and to enact positive laws to further and protect these goals, and through them, whatever further goals they may serve. These groups also create customs and traditions and sundry political, legal and other institutions/practices to enforce or reinforce the prescribed modes of behav­ ior. That these things are true of language and speech is obvious. I shall now consider some of these things in relation to H.P. Grice's Principles of Conversa­

tion. Grice' s Principles of Conversation as General Regulative Rules of Speech as a Practice

In ''Logic and Conversation'' Grice formulates a set of so-called Principles of Conversation, relating to conversation. These are principles any speaker/writer who obeys what Grice calls the Cooperative Principle is committed to observing. In terms of the distinction between C-mles and R-mles, these are R-mles that, according to Grice, regulate and evaluate conversation. 40 Grice characterizes the Cooperative Principle thus : Our talk exchanges do not normally consist of a succession of disconnected remarks, and would not be rational if they did. They are characteristically, to some degree at least, coop­ erative efforts; and each participant recognizes in them, to some extent, a common purpose or set of purposes, or at least a mutually accepted direction. This purpose or direction may be fixed from the start (e.g., by an initial proposal of a question for discussion), or it may evolve during the exchange; it may be fairly defmite, or it may be so indefmite as to leave very considerable latitude to the participants (as in casual conversation). But at each stage, SOME possible conversational moves would be excluded as conversationally unsuitable. We might then formulate a rough general principle which participants will be expected (ceteris paribus) to observe, namely: Make your conversational contribution such as is re­ quired, at the stage at which it occurs, by the accepted purpose or direction of the talk ex­ change in which you are engaged. One might label this the COOPERATIVE 41 PRINCIPLE .

Grice distinguishes four categories of conversational principles.

Meaning and Criteria

1 52

Quantity maxims ( 1 ) Make your contribution as informative as is required (for the current purposes of the exchange). (2) Do not make your contribution more informative than is required.

Quality maxims (Generally, ''Try to make your contribution one that is true.") ( 1 ) Do not say what you believe to be false. (2) Do not say that for which you lack adequate evidence. Relation maxims (''Be relevant.'') Manner maxims ( 1 ) Avoid obscurity of expression. (2) Avoid ambiguity. (3) Be brief (avoid unnecessary prolixity). (4) Be orderly.42 The Cooperative Principle and the Principles of Conversation which exemplify it fit in nicely with the general purposiveness or intentionality of language use. They also fit in nicely with our brief discussion so far of the normal goals of language use: expression and communication, and the performative uses of lan­ guage. In fact the Cooperative Principle itself is entailed by the obligation and responsibility (or the commitment) imposed on language users by the putative desirability of the societal goals of language and speech I noted. Insofar as Grice' s principles stipulate, inter alia, that in their use of language speakers must act responsibly, must act as responsible members of society, they are principles of rational behavior.43 A corollary of the demand for responsibleness, as I characterized it, is the demand for truthfulness or negatively, for the avoid­ ance of lying, deception or dissembling. Note Grice' s quality maxim (1). It may be noted that in addition to conversation, Grice's (regulative) principles apply or can be made to apply to scientific, philosophical and legal language use. The main exception is literary language, particularly in works of literature; where the usual distinction between ''normal'' or ''proper'' and ''improper'' uses, drawn earlier, does not obtain. Any use of language for an aesthetic end is, in principle, ''proper'' or ''justified." For one thing, the aims of the aesthetic uses of language are quite different from the everyday practical and the straightforward theoretical propositional uses of language. These differences are reflected in the regulative principles to which, e.g., literary critics appeal in evaluating the aesthetic merits of the language of a poem or novel, etc. These aesthetic regulative rules provide a different sort of distinction between ''proper'' and ''improper'' uses of particular forms, devices, literary styles, and so on, in a particular work, from the distinction pertaining to the extra-aesthetic uses of language. They evaluate the literary, aesthetic excellence or lack of excellence in heightened language, euphony (''verbal

Language and Speech as Practice

1 53

music''), coherence and unity, and imagery. In general, the conventions/rules of ''good (excellent, etc.) English," ''good (excellent, etc.) German," etc., serve quite different ends than clarity and efficiency of verbal expression and communication; but like phonetic, semantic, and syntactic C-conventions/rules vary with the age and society.44 Liberal, open societies avoid the danger of a language's drowning in a sea of cliches: most particularly, in the literary uses of language, where freshness and innovativeness are of special importance. Grice' s Cooperative Principle can be considered a general regulative (R-) principle following from the normal ends of language/speech together with the nature of speech as a special kind of practice. For these regulative principles to be efficacious they must fit in with the means through which the desired ends are to be realized. I have in mind the three types of C-conventions/rules of natural lan­ guages. Grice' s four categories of Principles of Conversation are R-principles well adapted to (a) the performance of speech acts, and to (b) the happy performance of such an act, as well as to (c) the preconditions of (a) or (b). Quantity maxim ( 1) and manner maxims ( 1 ) and (2) are connected with and adapted to the type-A C­ conventions/rules of language; while the relation maxim and manner maxims (3) and (4) are connected with and adapted its type C C-conventions/ rules. The quality maxims and quantity maxim (2), though not required for success or happi­ ness in the strict sense, are nonetheless well-designed to ensure the satisfaction of the general ends of speech, particularly the communication of ideas. Thus they can be regarded as rules governing ''success'' or ''happiness'' in a broad sense. One of the more obvious yet important facts about language is that its immediate goals are part of a larger complex of societal ends. These part/ whole or means/ends rela­ tionships are some of the ways in which language/ sp eech or a particular lan­ guage/speech is closely connected with other institutions/practices in society. But actual societies45 are, of course, far from monolithic and certainly not organic wholes of tightly knit institutions/practices built on a common infrastructure supporting the various institutions/practices . Such all-guiding, particularly ''ration­ ally'' designed blueprints or plans at best only exist in the pages of Utopian litera­ ture, with B.F. Skinner' s Walden Two a particularly good representative. It remains that all existing societies are stratified, in part because of the internal stratification of the institutions/practices they include. They are also stratified in the presently more important sense that some institutions/practices are logically foundational, belong to the logical base of all human societies, while others rest on them. Speech, together with its near relation, ''body language," comes as close as any human practice to being foundational in this sense. Only the simplest, most primitive forms of family organization are, at best, possible in its absence. Whether they would qualify as institutions/practices in our sense is difficult to say without detailed examination.

Meaning and Criteria

1 54 Notes

Reprinted, with additions and changes, from my Philosophy ofLanguage and Logical Theory: Collected Papers (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, Inc., 1 995). 1.

Oxford Clarendon Press, 1 952, pp. 1 OOf.

2. In George Pitcher, ed., Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations (New York: Doubleday, 1 966), pp. 205-230, and CNFR, pp. 263-287. 3 . Readings in Contemporary Ethical Theory, Kenneth Pahel and Marvin Schiller, eds. (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1 970). 4.

Cambridge, Mass, 1973.

5 . Ibid., p. 55. As we shall see later, ''the penalties and defenses, and so on, when violations occur," are provided for not by an institution's C-conventions/rules but by its regulative (or R-) rules). 6. The same remarks regarding the R-conventions/rules that evaluate and regulative these ''penal­ ties and defenses, and so on," made in note 6 with regard to institutions, also apply, mutatis mutandis, to practices. 7. ''Two Concepts of Rules," p. 225, n. l . Searle thinks of speaking a language as a practice; although he does not use the term. But as we shall see his approach is different from the ap­ proach adopted in this chapter and elsewhere in this book. 8 . Mind, Vol. LXXXVI, No. 344, October 1 977, pp. 479-496. Hereafter referred to as IPMR. 9.

The Random House Dictionary of the English Language, College Edition, defmes an institu­ tion in its everyday understanding as ''an organization or establishment devoted to the promotion of a particular object, esp. one of a public, educational, or charitable character.''

10. See Philosophy of Language and Logical Theory: Collected Papers, passim. We also of course apply evaluative terms to language, e.g., by judging some languages as richer, more ele­ gant, more powerful, or more precise than others. 1 1 . In IPMR the two claims are not distinguished; but on p. 487 only the factual claim is made. I mean the claim that (as far as we know) all institution/practices that have existed in the past or now exist have some societal function or use, purpose or goal (or a number of these). 12. In The Concept ofArt (New York: New York University Press, 1 9 7 1 ) I argued in detail that ' art' and related terms are also functional words and involve the notion of aims (not uses or functions) in their everyday employment. Nonetheless, that particular works of art are not infre­ quently given a variety of practical uses in certain circumstances. More importantly, since time immemorial, the different arts and art in general have played fundamental roles in individual and collective human life. Cf. my analysis of the uses of 'game' in CNFR, as the name of a main kind of practice. 1 3 . CNFR, pp. 229-259. 14. Since the author of these words is unknown to me, I can only thank him or her without being able to give him his or her due. 1 5 . Or on the later Wittgenstein's conception, the set of existing language-games. There are of course important differences between spoken and written language: the conventions and rules determining correct spelling and other orthographic aspects of written language are additional to those for instance, the phonological conventions or rules that determine correct spoken

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language. But as I stated earlier, I use ' speech,' like Searle, as shorthand for ' speaking and writing a language.' 16. Op cit., p. 55. 17. A dependent practice-2 may become an independent practice-2 if it continues to exist after the associated institution-2 has ceased to exist. It may also become an independent practice-2 by be­ coming detached from the associated institution-2. Whether actual examples of either exist is an interesting historical question. 1 8 . Some dependent practices, such as ceremonies and rituals, have a social, political, military or religious meaning as a whole. But other practices, such as games, do not. 19. Perhaps the figurative uses and stylistic devices of language, particularly as they occur in the imagery and cadences of good literature, constitute a different sort of NEH speech activity. 20. Why they are not themselves practices interesting question.

i.e., what feature(s) of practices they lack is an

2 1 . Irrespective of whether these ideas are incapable of expression and apprehension apart from some language that conveys them. The cognitive functions of language can be fulfilled in principle by any language and its corresponding speech, limited only by the various familiar restrictions and difficulties attendant upon translation from one language to another. I am ignoring the difficulty of separating the cognitive content of metaphorical or other figurative utterances and the figurative language used to convey that content. The same is true with respect to the cognitive use of symbolic language. 22. Cf. my The Concept ofArt, Chapter 4, concerning aesthetic enjoyment in art in general. The above is also true with regard to the non-verbal media of music, painting, sculpture, and so on, as well as with regard to gestures, looks, actions, etc., that have ''human'' or ''existential'' meaning. Consequently, what is expressed /communicated cannot be ''translated'' without loss into another medium. To the extent that the language is aesthetically satisfying, this is also true of verbally-expressed and communicated meaning, including propositional meaning. 23. Cambridge University Press, 1 996. 24. Ibid., p. 9 1 . 25. Ibid., p. 9 1 . My italics. 26. Ibid. 27. Ibid., pp. 98-99. My italics. 28. I say ''in that sense," since there is a sense in which speech can be said to be a particular domain of social life, distinct from, for example, the domain of action as such, be it conventional or ''natural.'' 29. Ibid., p. 1 0 1 . 30. Ibid., p. 90. 3 1 . Cf. IPMR, p. 484. 32. Op cit., pp. 485-486. 3 3 . ''Speakers'' in the present, inclusive sense covers persons who are deaf and blind but are able to use sign language.

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34. Or more generally, someone or something, such as an animal or a computer, that can be affected by or respond to the ''utterance.'' 3 5 . Ibid., Chapter 3 . 36. See Austin, ''Performative Utterances," Philosophical Papers (Oxford, 1 96 1), pp. 220-239. 3 7. Speech Acts, p. 54. 3 8 . See CNFR for a discussion of the ''normal''/''proper''/''not normal''/''improper'' distinction in relation to functional expressions or concepts in general. 39. As will be recalled, I added another type of C-convention/rule in Chapter 6. I mean the precon­ ditions (type B) of a practice P, as well as the conditions for the happiness of the practice-acts that can occur within P. For 'happy institutional/practice act' means ''an institutional/practice act conducive to the realization of the normal or proper goal(s) G of a practice P." But the actual C-conventions/rules of type A of a given practice are only one subset of the possible C­ conventions/rules of type A, and the particular (normal or proper) ends G of practice P logically determine. The same is true of the C-conventions/rules of types B and C relative to P. The ac­ tual set of these conventions/rules in the case of speech, the phonetic, semantic, syntactic and other C-conventions/rules of a particular language or group of languages largely depends on highly variable historical factors, including historical accidents. This is a basic difference be­ tween the C-conventions/rules of natural languages and the presumably more rational and con­ sistent C-conventions/rules of artificial languages. 40. Regarding situations in which, say the hearer asks a question and the speaker does not or cannot provide a precise answer, Grice speaks of ''the hypothesis that the hearer is led to make in order to reconcile a given utterance with his assumption that the speaker is obeying, as far as possible, the maxims of conversation." This hypothesis he calls a ''conversational implicature." An exam­ ple is provided by ''Grice's frrst maxim of quantity (Grice, 1 975, p. 45). According to it a speaker should make his contribution as informative as the situation requires. If someone asks me: 'What time did John arrive?' and I answer, 'He arrived this afternoon,' I have given less information than I was asked to give and have thus violated the maxim of quantity. My hearer will assume that I could not have been more informative without violating another maxim, for example, the second maxim of quality according to which I should not say something for which I lack adequate evidence. In the present case, if I do not know exactly when John arrived, but just that he came in the afternoon, I cannot be more informative without violating the second maxim of quality. Thus, the hypothesis that I do not know exactly when John arrived allows my hearer to continue presuming, as he is supposed to, that I am respecting the maxims of conver­ sation insofar as possible." Francois Recanati, Meaning and Force, The Pragmatics ofPerfor­ mative Utterances (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1 987), p. 1 1 9. 4 1 . Syntax and Semantics, Volume. 3: Speech Acts, Peter Cole and Jerry Morgan, eds. (New York, 1 975), p. 45. 42. Ibid., 46. 43. Grice describes the conversational principles as ''merely special instances of rational purposive behavior, which seems a reasonable possibility'' (ibid., p. 4 7). 44. It would be interesting to ask why conservative societies and cultures emphasize indeed, insist on ''purity'' of language; though even a liberal country such as France insists on such purity in the French language. Although there are other reasons why conservative societies insist on

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strict adherence to their languages' constitutive and regulative rules, cultural pride in every case is one possible reason.

45. Not excepting the former Soviet and the mainland Chinese societies, many of whose institutions and practices were or are, at least in theory, built from the master plan of Marxism-Leninism and Marxism-Maoism, respectively.

PART II

Meaning and Criteria

Chapter 8

Criteria In this chapter I shall attempt to clarify the uses of 'criterion' as I employ the term in this book. I shall first define the word and analyze some of its uses. Next I shall distinguish criteria from ''necessary and sufficient conditions," ''truth-conditions," and finally, ''evidence."

I Criteria

The word 'criterion, ' hence the concept of a criterion, is used by contemporary philosophers in various ways . It is essential therefore that the way in which I propose to use it in this enquiry be made clear at the outset. ( 1 ) Webster 's Third New International Dictionary defines 'criterion, ' in the relevant senses, as follows : 1 :a ''characteristic mark or trait . . . '' and 2 :a ''a standard on which a decision or judgment may be based . . . ; a standard of reference . . . an identifying indication: a basis for discrimination; GROUND . . . '' These, with certain important qualifications, modifications or additions are the ways in which I employ the word. The only important way in which I shall depart from the dic­ tionary definition (2 :a) is by distinguishing a criterion and a standard of value; although it is llllclear whether the word ' standard' in that definition is intended to include value judgments. Philosophers and others commonly apply 'criterion' to such things as objects, events or activities, relationships, situations, and states of affairs, and I shall do the same. That is, I shall speak of any one of these things as a criterion insofar as it possesses a criterion-feature or set of criteria-features, in the sense of ''characteris­ tic marks or traits," ''identifying indications," etc. But since this use of ' criterion' is logically secondary, at least for our purposes, I shall usually speak of ''criteria­ features." Some philosophers also speak of criteria as tests, operations, or propo­ sitions, but this is a confusion, as I shall have occasion to point out later. In what follows I shall speak of the dictionary' s two senses of 'criterion' I stated above as senses one and two of the word, respectively. (2) I shall speak of a ''criterion for using or applying an expression 'x '," or a ''criterion'' for 'x ' for short. With respect to certain types of expressions, e.g., common and abstract nouns, adj ectives, many verb s and adverbs, a criterion for

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Meaning and Criteria

applying an expression 'x ' is also a criterion for the existence of a certain obj ect, characteristic, state of affairs or other phenomenon. There a criterion for a word 'x ' is also a criterion for the truth of statements formed from sentence ''This is an X'' and to that extent, any other sentences in which 'x ' may or does occur. Here a criterion is frequently a characteristic or some other feature of an obj ect, occur­ rence, and so on; i.e., a criterion-feature. But since I shall use 'criterion' in as inclusive a sense as possible, namely, in relation to the correct application of almost all types of expressions there are, 'criterion for applying 'x ' in my usage, does not always mean ''criterion for some phenomenon's etc., being the case'': for example, in relation to conjunctions and auxiliary verbs. The qualification ''almost all'' is prompted by the fact that we apply many P-predicates (in P .F. Strawson' s usage) to ourselves without appeal to criteria in the ordinary meaning of this word (Wittgenstein, Strawson). Further, there are other types of expressions we apply at best only on the strength of very general and highly flexible criteria. Proper names and interjections are good examples . 1 (3) A criterion for the application of a word 'x ' therefore sometimes coincides with a (or the) sufficient condition(s) for a thing A 's being an X· though as I shall show later, 'criterion' and 'condition' are distinct in meaning. At the same time my use of 'criterion' is essentially the everyday one. As in my own usage, a criterion in everyday usage need not be logically or contingently necessary or sufficient. The satisfaction of a particular criterion may form only part of the ground for applying a particular expression in a given context; and its lack of satisfaction provided other criteria are satisfied may not imply that the expression is inapplicable in that context. Also, in both ordinary and my usage a characteristic can be a criterion for two or more distinct phenomena; or more generally, it may provide some basis for applying, in a particular context, two or more non-synonymous expressions . That is, some of the criteria for two or more expressions may overlap. In order to ascertain with any confidence which of the possible expressions is applicable in that context we need to appeal to other, non-overlapping criteria. (Cf. the behav­ ioral criteria for the other-ascriptive use of certain P-predicates.) Again, there can be a plurality of sufficient criteria for applying a word 'x '; though if these are conventionally (in general, non-contingently) connected with 'x 's ' meaning they cannot be logically independent of it. Two criteria will be independent if one is conventionally connected with x 's ' meaning while the other is not; i.e., if the latter is an empirical, contingent criterion (a ''symptom'' in Wittgenstein' s uage in Philosophical Investigations). They may also be independent if both are empirical criteria. (4) I think that in ordinary discourse we usually speak of appealing to a certain meaning-criterion only when we are uncertain as to whether a particular expression applies in a given context; or when our employment of it is challenged or ques­ tioned. This is true even though in these instances we do appeal to some character-

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istic or the phenomena which the expression designates as a ground for the expres­ sion's employment. This, as we shall see, is essentially connected with the fact that in everyday discourse we do not usually speak of appealing to criteria in applying an expression to things we ourselves are experiencing at that time, or have just experienced, particularly objects of ''inner'' experience; e.g., in relation to the self­ ascriptive use of certain P-predicates. But I shall not use the phrase 'appeal to a criterion' in the foregoing, restricted manner. I shall speak of appealing to criteria whenever we appeal to, e.g., some characteristic(s) of a phenomenon as a basis for ' ' applying a word x to it. Similarly I shall sp eak of appealing to the relevant syntactical rules of a particular language as criteria for the use of an auxiliary verb, a conjunction, etc., in a particular sentence. (5) Finally, any feature f of any thing ''T'' that helps or enables someone to ascertain whether (a) an expression 't ' applies to it in a particular context, or (b) to ascertain ''T's '' empirical properties, whether or not it happens to be a con­ ventional criterion for expression 't ' or for ''T's '' possession of certain proper­ ties would qualify as a criterion in my broad usage; provided that, as noted above, f's presence does not constitute or provide grounds for judgments concern­ ing ''T's '' possession of some kind of value or goodness. (Indeed, the question of which particular features of particular things happen to be conventional criteria for the latter is often a moot question.) There are various sorts of what I shall generically call ''conditions for correctly applying a word or phrase," which must be distinguished from one another as well as from criteria. Some of the main ones are: (a) ''necessary and/or sufficient conditions," and (b) 'truth-conditions. ' II Criteria and ''Necessary and Sufficient Conditions''

A central distinction to be drawn in this chapter is between criteria and ''necessary

and sufficient conditions," in a sense of the latter different from 'presupposition' in any of its relevant senses; e.g., the sense in which a presupposition is an antece­ dent condition, or, as Webster 's Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary defines it, as something required ''as an antecedent in logic or fact," as well as from 'standard conditions .' The distinction between criteria and necessary and sufficient condi­ tions logically arises whenever it makes sense to speak of the conditions that some particular obj ect, occurrence, quality or other thing must satisfy (though not in the sense of the standard conditions that should prevail), such as the features it must exhibit, in order that it may be properly called an A. In fact we can characterize a condition more generally as a condition for applying a word or phrase 'a. ' This would allow us to speak, as I wish to do, of conditions for applying non-referring as well as referring-type expressions; e.g., ''syntactic expressions," e.g., 'is ' and

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'provided that,' which are meaningful, being governed by syntactic rules, though they do not refer to anything. This may make it less easy clearly to distinguish conditions and criteria; but it is a convenient way of conceiving of conditions. In the case of referring-type expressions, such as 'book' or 'red, ' a sufficient condi­ tion for applying a word 'a ' would be a characteristic or relation, a capacity or disposition, use, aim or purpose, whose presence in a phenomenon P suffices for 'a 's ' correct application to it. The sufficient condition for 'red' is redness or being red; so the sufficient condition for applying 'red' to an object P is its being red. This characterization should not lead us to identify necessary and sufficient condi­ tions with meaning, by identifying them with connotation in the formal logician' s sense, and identifying the latter with meaning. Note the logician' s definition of 'connotation' as ''a characteristic or set of characteristics a thing must possess so that some expression, 'x, ' may apply to it." Note also Max Black's identification of connotation with ''one mode'' of meaning.2 Elsewhere3 I gave reasons for reject­ ing the identification of meaning and connotation. There I attempted to show that meaning determines connotation or, if you like, determines necessary conditions of application rather than beng identical with it. I am not particularly averse to equating connotation and ''necessary condition," except for the fact that the latter concept, as I have characterized it, is broader than the former, which only applies to referring-type expressions . The existence of conventions or rules of language governing the employment of a word x ' is a necessary and sufficient condition of 'x 's ' having meaning, hence uses, applications. Consequently we may characterize ''(necessary or sufficient) condition for applying 'x ''' as a (necessary or sufficient) convention/rule or set of conventions/rules, semantic, syntactic, or both, governing 'x 's ' correct applica­ tions''; taking ' (semantic or syntactic) convention/rule' as independently defmable. This is another way of saying that the particular conditions C for applying x ' can be stated by means of some semantic and/or syntactic convention/rule R. But this characterization may incline us to slip into what I consider as the error of equating 'necessary and sufficient condition' with 'meaning' ;4 if, like many linguistic philosophers, we erroneously equate ''meaning'' with ''conventions/rules for the use of a verbal expression." Yet even without this equation, necessary and suffi­ cient conditions are sometimes mistakenly identified with meaning. I shall note one such example later. With regard to referring-type expressions, a necessary and sufficient condition is a basis for classification: it is a necessary and sufficient condition for some thing A 's being, in principle, an entity of a certain kind, of its being classifiable as a memb er of a certain class, whether or not it is or has been so classified. In C.I. Lewis ' terminology, a necessary and sufficient condition determines the ''compre­ hension'' of some actual or possible general name 'x. ' This is probably one reason why conditions and criteria are so easily confused, or not distinguished. For in the

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case of referring-type expressions, as I noted earlier, a criterion for an expression 'x 's ' correct application is a characteristic or relation, occurrence or event, or other phenomenon, which also constitutes, in principle, a criterion for some individual a 's being an entity of a certain kind, a member of a certain class. That is, in these instances a criterion for something a 's being an A is, by the same token, a criterion for the general name's correct app lication to a; and vice versa. Perhaps the chief reason for confusing the two notions5 is that the necessary and sufficient conditions for applying 'a, ' whether 'a ' is a referring or a non-referring type of expression, provide in principle, directly or indirectly, logically possible (or potential) criteria for 'a. ' If 'a ' is a referring-type expression the necessary and sufficient conditions logically provide possible criteria for identifying something as an A or not an A. If at a given time these features are unknown, or we are unaware that they are com­ mon and peculiar to certain things, they will clearly not be in actual use, will not be ''actual criteria'' in my usage. Although of considerable both theoretical and practical importance, the distinction between criteria in actual use and possible or potential criteria, does not annul the distinction between conditions and criteria. Despite the fact that neces­ sary and sufficient conditions do provide actual or possible criteria, the basic distinction between the two concepts remains. What, then, is a criterion as distinct from a condition? The answer is that in the case of referring-type expressions, it is a ''characteristic mark or trait'' that, in fact or in principle, enables us to discover or ascertain whether some putative object, event or occurrence, quality or property, state of affairs, or some other kind of phenomenon, S, is the case. It may be a means for ascertaining (l )(a) whether a particular known phenomenon possesses a certain feature or certain features, and so, whether a particular general name or description is applicable to it; or (b) the identity of a particular thing, person, or animal, etc. It is type ( 1 ) (a) of criterion that has hitherto occupied us in this chapter and will largely occupy us in the rest of this book. In addition to (1 ), a criterion may also be (2) a means for discovering whether certain putative entities, or certain putative qualities, properties or relations, exist in the universe as a whole or in some particular part of it. These may be conven­ iently called ''existential criteria'' as against ''semantic or syntactic (in general, linguistic) criteria.'' The foregoing two types of criteria are related in the following way. Suppose (to simplify a much more complex scientific procedure) that some nuclear physicist performs a complex series of experiments in quest of possible new subatomic particles, using the possibly relevant criteria CR of type (2) for the detection of such a particle, if it does exist. And suppose that, wielding certain existential criteria CR, she discovers solid evidence for the existence of a new subatomic particle, which she tentatively calls 'particle W.' Further research may reveal the

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conditions FR under which particle W exists, comes into existence; i.e., conditions for anything to be properly called ' (an instance of) particle W' or for the truth of statements of the form: ''X is (a sample of) particle W." FR in turn may well provide criteria of type ( l )(a), MR, for 'W's' correct future app lications. Stating the matter in terms of semantic rules, any criterion of type (2) that enab les us to identify a certain kind of entity P in the first place, necessarily enables us to identify, and to re-identify, hitherto unobserved specimens or exam­ ples of P; thereby providing a basis for the application of the appropriate semantic rule to it.6 Depending on the kind of linguistic expression it happens to be, a word 'x 's ' meaning, determines, at least in part, the logical or conventional necessary and/or sufficient conditions for 'x 's ' correct app lications in sentences. The relations between criteria and necessary and/or sufficient conditions will be further considered in subsequent chapters. Here let me merely add the general remark, subj ect to later qualification or modification, that each of the meanings and each of the senses of a word 'x, ' if any, determines at least part of the logical necessary and/or sufficient conditions of 'x 's ' conventional applications in sen­ tences. These conditions, in turn, determine the logical, non-contingent conven­ tional criteria for the discovery of 'x 's ' correct applications in non-idiomatic literal phrases and sentences. The meaning of a sentence 'S ' (say in which 'x ' occurs), together with the pragmatic conventions/rules for the applications of 'S ' in actual or possible situa­ tions or contexts,7 non-contingently, conventionally determines 'S 's ' range of conventional literal applications or uses in actual and possible contexts or situa­ tions. This does not apply to, e.g., the conventional uses of sentences containing special idiomatic expressions. As I argued in Part I, Chapter 3, the concept of ''use'' in the later Wittgen­ stein's sense of the word, whether in the case of individual words, phrases or sentences is different from the concept of a word's, a phrase's or a sentence' s (literal) meaning(s). Knowledge of an expression 'x 's ' uses presupposes knowl­ edge of 'x 's ' meaning and (therefore) its conditions together with the conventional directives for its correct application in sentences. In the case of sentences knowl­ edge of the use( s) of a sentence 'S ' includes knowledge of the conventional prag­ matic directives for 'S 's ' correct applications in actual and possible contexts . These things show the aptness of one of Wittgenstein' s famous remarks about meaning and use: ''Don't look for the meaning, look for the use." A defmition of an expression 'x ' usually states the necessary and sufficient conditions, if any, for 'x 's ' application. But it would be a serious error to conclude from that that 'x 's ' meaning is identical with the statement of the necessary and sufficient conditions for x 's ' applications, or for something' s being an x. For one thing, that would equate an 'x 's ' meaning and its definition, which as I use 'defini-

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tion, ' is not the same as 's ' meaning but is a verbal expression (the definiens) that formulates, sets forth or states it. For instance, the phrase ''degree of tem­ perature below the freezing point'' states the meaning of 'degree of frost. ' The meaning is that which is stated, described, or referred to by the phrase 'degree of temperature . . . ' Consequently Janna Thomp son is mistaken in speaking of ''the meaning of 'A ' the statement of the necessary and sufficient conditions for being an A . . . '' 8 The error is compounded if necessary and sufficient conditions are equated with criteria. In stating what she calls the Wittgenstein Thesis, she attrib­ utes her move to Wittgenstein (and Norman Malcolm). On that thesis ''The criteria of concept A are types of phenomena whose presence [sic.] justify a judgment that something is an A. Giving the criteria of A is thus the same as giving a sufficient condition for being justified in saying that an individual is an A, and is often, though perhaps not invariably, the same as giving necessary conditions for such a judgment."9 The logical result of these two assertions is the equation of criterion and meaning which contradicts the fact that Wittgenstein, by his admission, did allow that the meaning of an expression can be different from the list of criteria for 10 it. Thompson herself states that ''the Wittgenstein thesis allows the meaning of ''A '' . . . can be different from the list of criteria for A . . . ''11 The distinction between criteria and conditions would remain if, contrary to fact, all words or all entities, qua called by some general name, or qua classified into kinds, respectively, did have necessary and sufficient conditions. The signifi­ cance of this point for the concept of criterion should become clearer in Chapters 1 3 and 14. It might be argued that criteria are nothing but conditions in an epistemological capacity; or more correctly, that one and the same characteristic serves (I would say: 'may serve') in two capacities; as a condition for a thing' s being something or other (or for its being some particular individual thing), and a criterion for the correct application of certain expressions to it. On this view a necessary condition is in principle part of a criterion, and a sufficient condition is in principle a crite­ rion as a whole. Where we have two indep endent sufficient conditions, S-1 and S2, they would serve as two alternative criteria. With the parenthetical qualification I added, the preceding statements, as far as they go, are true. But first, I must emphasize once again that not all necessary and sufficient conditions can function in principle as criteria. (Some fairly detailed illustrations of this will be given in the next section.) Second, various sorts of natural regularities can be utilized as criteria with some degree of assurance, even though they may not be invariant features and so cannot constitute logically common, or common and peculiar, characteristics of the objects that exemplify them, qua called by a particular general name. That is, they cannot be logically necessary, or necessary and sufficient, conditions for applying that name. However, some or all of them may, as a matter of fact, be common or even peculiar to the obj ects in question. In the latter case they would

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also constitute actual, non-logical sufficient conditions. Even then, the distinction between criteria and conditions remains.

III Criteria and Truth-Conditions

To clarify further the distinction between conditions and criteria, consider the relation between the former and truth-conditions. For conditions in our sense provide or can function as truth-conditions, and conversely. It is clear that if ABC are necessary and/or sufficient conditions for something A 's being an x, ABC constitute necessary and/or sufficient conditions for the truth of statements of the form ''A is an x. '' (It follows that ABC also constitute necessary though not sufficient truth-conditions of more complex non-vague statements in which 'A ' and ' ' x occur.) But the converse is false with respect to the truth-conditions of state­ ments about the individual rather than the generic or ''essential'' features of things. Consider the statement ''I am tall." A (one) sufficient truth-condition of this statement is my being, say, six feet tall or the truth of the statement ''I am six feet tall." But being six feet tall is an individual feature of my body; hence can be neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition of anything in our sense; since 'conditions ' has been hitherto used to refer to general features shared by some or all members of a class C, and to ''family resemblances'' exhibited by some mem­ bers of C. We can of course, if we like, make a necessary and/or sufficient truth­ '' condition N of a statement ''S is (an) x a necessary and/or sufficient condition of S 's being an x, whenever feature(s) N may consist in, if we broaden the definition of 'condition' to include features that are or may be necessary and/or sufficient for a thing S 's being a particular object, etc. The question is whether the phrase 'conditions for a thing' s being a particular obj ect 0, etc. ' can be given a clear meaning; and what features of 0 would or could count as necessary and/or suffi­ cient conditions for its being a particular obj ect, etc. It is noteworthy that if this way of talking can be given a clear meaning and I do not propose to enter into the large question of the ''conditions of individuation," as we might call it it would not materially affect the distinction I have drawn between conditions and criteria but would only extend it beyond its present confmes. For following ordinary usage I have included in the class of ''criteria," criteria for the identification of particular things as individuals, when for instance we speak of appealing to certain criteria in identifying a particular person as a certain John Smith or Mary Martin, etc. (Consider for instance how a detective or a court of law might speak in this way, in relation to individuals whose identity is uncertain or whose alleged identity is being questioned.) In this type of case the criteria consist in individual or even unique features of the obj ect or the person, etc., in question.

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I shall now illustrate with a few examples the difference between (a) criteria and (b) conditions that cannot actually provide criteria. I shall start with conditions and criteria of synonymity of verbal expressions . Although philosophers have formulated a number of adequate or more or less adequate conditions for the synonymity of certain kinds of expressions, very few criteria of synonymity have been forthcoming. In any event the conditions I have in mind cannot, on pain of circularity, provide criteria of synonymity of individual words or phrases, or of sentences of any kind; whereas in the ordinary and my employment of 'criterion, ' a criterion that cannot in principle be utilized to iden­ tify something is a contradiction in terms . Not that no conditions of synonymity whatever provide viable criteria of synonymity! For instance, I believe that in the case of common and abstract nouns, adjectives, and some verbs consisting of individual non-compound words though not, as is familiar, in the case of phrases or sentences identity of reference in a strict and specific sense of 'reference' is a viable criterion of synonymity. Indeed, if, per impossibile no conditions of synonymity did provide any criteria of synonymity, 'synonymous with' and 'having the same meaning as ' would have no meaning whatever. Stated more generally, if a non-compound word 'w' has meaning, it must have some criterion or criteria of application; since having meaning entails at least sufficient conditions of applica­ tion, either in a logical or a contingent sense, and these in turn entail the existence of a criterion or criteria for applying 'w. ' (Of course the reverse would be true whenever criteria determine an expression's meaning. In determining its meaning they would also determine at least the necessary conditions for its application.) Regarding nouns, adjectives, and many verbs and adverbs, a sufficient condi­ tion of synonymity of two words or phrases 'x ' and y ' is that they convey the same concept(s) or have the same intension(s). This is so because identity of the con­ cept(s) conveyed is a logical consequence of the synonymity of words conveying it (them): by the very meaning of 'concept' as generally used as roughly equivalent to 'idea' in one of its ordinary meanings. But it is not logically possible to ascertain whether 'x ' and y ' convey the same concept except by ascertaining whether they have the same meaning. So this condition cannot serve as a criterion of synony­ mity. 'Concept X' can only be defined or explicated, or the referent of this phrase can only be logically fixed, in terms of the concept of meaning, 12 and the concept of ''same concept'' can be fixed only in terms of the concept of ''same meaning.''13 There is a further way in which a criterion may differ from a condition. As Wittgenstein holds in The Philosophical Investigations and Strawson in ''Per­ sons," we do not apply certain P-predicates to ourselves on the strength of what we ordinarily call criteria. But if the application of a P-predicate such as 'pain' or 'anger' to ourselves is warranted, i.e., if ''I am in pain (angry)'' is true at a given moment, there will be ''non-observational'' grounds for their application, satisfying the sufficient conditions for applying '(I am) in pain' or the truth-conditions of the

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sentence-in-use ''I am in pain." For instance, a sensation of pain of a certain quality would constitute the non-observational condition or ground for our uttering the true statement ''I have a toothache!''14 to describe our having a toothache. But as both philosophers emphasize, we do not appeal to any criteria or any evidence in applying certain P-predicates to ourselves. Therefore the fact that we do not speak of either criteria or evidence in relation to the self-ascriptive use of some P­ predicates, should not lead us to suppose that we cannot meaningfully speak of sufficient conditions or truth-conditions, hence also of grounds, for applying them. As Wittgenstein and Strawson have also observed, the situation is otherwise with the other-ascriptive uses of P-predicates . In their case we obviously do appeal to (behavioral) criteria as well as to the subj ect's reports in the ordinary (and in my) use of the word 'criterion. ' It should be added that although the word 'criterion' is not ordinarily employed in relation to the self-ascriptive use of certain P-predicates, the mental experience which constitutes ''necessary and sufficient conditions'' for the application of these predicates to ourselves could theoretically provide criteria were the word ordinarily used in that context. The present type of divergence between the uses of 'criterion' and 'condition' is, therefore, of a different sort from the one noted in the preceding section. The question is why 'criterion' is not ordinarily employed in relation to the self-ascriptive use of certain P-predicates, notwithstanding the fact that ''necessary and sufficient conditions'' for their application viz. the occurrence of a certain state or experience exist. My view is that this is probably connected with the fact that the concept of evidence does not ordinarily apply to a person's self-ascriptive use of these expressions. I mean that it makes no sense for me to say that I appeal to any evidence as a ground for my saying, or being aware, that I am in pain. Thus I believe that nothing can theoretically count as evidence for or against the exis­ tence of some state of affairs S unless some sort of criterion exists for S 's correct employment. But I also believe that the converse is true: that, theoretically, nothing can constitute a criterion for the existence of a given state of affairs, S, or for the correct application of expression 's ' unless it makes sense to speak of evidence for or against S 's existence. The preceding, if true, means that criteria and evidence go hand in hand. But the question remains why neither is used in relation to the self-ascriptive employ­ ment of certain P-predicates. Perhaps the answer lies in the ''incorrigibility," save verbally, of certain self-avowals, the meaninglessness of talking about the speaker' s being mistaken about them-if it is true that any self-avowals are so. But to attempt to ascertain whether that is true would carry us too far afield.

Criteria

171 IV Criteria and Evidence

I said that the everyday concept of a condition appears to be only applicable to types of situations where the concept of evidence is at home: presumably, there­ fore, when we make statements that can be meaningfully challenged. It makes sense when we can say, in response to a legitimate challenge by our interlocutor, ''I know (believe) that such-and-such is the case, because . . . '' and then appeal to evidence. When we do that we generally if not always appeal to a criterion. Again, if this is true the concept of evidence should be applicable to a person ' s claims about her motives, intentions or purposes, since we talk of criteria for someone' s having or not having a particular motive, intention, goal, and so on. And it is true, of course, that people do sometimes demand evidence for our claims respecting our motives, intentions or goals. This is not contradicted by the fact that we speak of the ''evidence of the senses ." For we appeal to the evidence of our senses in de­ fending our claims respecting the objective reality the veridical, non-illusory or non-hallucinatory character of something we sensibly perceive; although, as philosophers from Plato on have warned us, the ''senses'' are notoriously ''decep­ tive." Still, as Descartes emphasized, the sheer givenness of what we sensibly perceive, whether illusory, hallucinatory, or veridical, is ''indubitable''; and pre­ cisely with respect to the quale of the given the concept of''evidence of the senses'' lacks no foothold. In other words, the range of application of the concept of evidence here exactly parallels, in the respects under consideration, its range of application to mental states or experiences. Nevertheless, the parallelism may not extend to our ascription of various visual, auditory or other perceptions to others, on the strength of their verbal reports. An exploration of the relation between criteria and evidence closely parallels our earlier sketch of the relation between criteria and truth-conditions, given the close relation between truth-conditions and evidence. Evidence for a proposition P is ipso facto evidence that P's truth-conditions are satisfied; and vice versa. Like truth-conditions, evidence is, in one direction, narrower than the generic concept criterion (of which criterion for applying a word or phrase is one species), and comes into play only in relation to statements or propositions. This should not be confused with the fact that the ''propriety," in some sense, not just of statements but also of questions and commands, and performative utterances, can be properly challenged. For as we saw in the preceding subsection the concept of a criterion of some sort though not necessarily also the concepts of evidence and truth­ conditions is applicable whenever the concept of a challenge is. The propriety of particular commands or questions can be in questioned in principle, in some special way. Consider: ''Your question (command) is quite improper: you should know, e.g., that the person you are addressing cannot possibly know the answer (is

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not in a position to comply) !'' The propriety of a command may also be challenged by one's claiming that the speaker has no right to make it. (Cf. some performa­ tives, e.g., promises.) In every case a demand for justifying reasons in one sense or another is made; but justifying reasons cannot be simply equated with evidence, and certainly not with truth-conditions. To see some of these points more clearly, consider ''This (0) is red." The criterion for the truth of this statement for correctly describing some obj ect 0 as red, is (a) ''being red," not (b) the tests or procedures we may have to go through to ascertain 0 's color. This means, among other things, that we must distinguish: (i) the evidence that a certain obj ect or colored patch, which looks red, is actually red; and (ii) ''being red'' as a criterion for 'red' (or for ''This is red."). The criterion is ''being red," ''redness,"15 not a particular patch of red or a red object. But the evidence for a patch's or object 's being red and not merely appearing red under certain lighting conditions, hence for the correctness of the ascription ''This is red," is that it looks red to a normal person under normal environmental conditions . The statement ''Facts F constitute evidence for the proposition expressed by 'This is (an) X'," consequently for all other propositions partly or wholly about X entails, inter alia, ''This satisfies criteria C, for expression 'x '." The distinction between criterion and evidence is extremely important, in light of Wittgenstein's equation of criterion with decisive evidence in Philosophical Investigations; a position accepted by many of his followers. Consequently, it will be an important part of our discussion in the next chapter, which is concerned with the vagaries of the concept of criterion in recent linguistic philosophy.

Criteria

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Notes 1 . Here as elsewhere in this book, I am ahnost wholly concerned with the literal meaning and uses of expressions. The various figurative uses of language raise interesting questions regarding the propriety of speaking of criteria for figurative expressions. But I shall not consider these or re­ lated questions.

2. Critical Thinking, Second Printing (New York, 1 953). 3 . A Critical Study In Method (The Hague, 1 967), Chapter Three. 4. Or, roughly equate the two. See P .F. Strawson, ''On Referring," Essays in Conceptual Analysis, Antony Flew, ed. (New York, 1 966), p. 28, footnote 1 , where the author distinguishes what he considers to be the usage of 'use' in which 'use' (of a particular word, phrase, sentence) (roughly) 'meaning,' from other current usages of 'use.'

=

5 . The confusion of conditions and criteria of meaning(fulness), of truth, synonymity, dreaming, being in pain, etc., are just a few common examples.

6. Concerning criteria vis-a-vis conditions, Keith Yandell, in his Commentary on a paper I once presented at the Eastern Division Meetings of the American Philosophical Association on Con­ ditions and Criteria, suggested that the distinction between criteria and conditions in the present sense may be clarified in terms of a distinction between ''subjective'' and ''objective'' proposi­ tional terms drawn by George Mavrodes: '''T' is a propositional term if it can 'reasonably' fill in the blank in ' S is . . . , ' where S is some proposition or set of propositions." Thus 'known,' 'true,' 'refuted,' 'necessary,' and ' questioned' are propositional terms. T is a subjective propo­ sitional term if 'S is T' entails 'There is some person or group of persons who is in some psy­ chological state or attitude relative to S. ' 'Belief and 'doubt' are subjective propositional terms. T is an objective propositional term if 'S is T' has no entaihnent of the sort indicated. ''Further, Yandell suggested that 'condition' is analogous to an objective propositional term and 'criteria' is analogous to a subjective propositional term. But this is not true, since 'criterion,' like 'condi­ tion, ' is an ''objective'' propositional term. One's utilization of features F of a phenomenon P by a person or a group of persons as (sufficient) conditions for classifying it as or calling it a ''K,'' like the utilization of F as a criterion for applying 'K' to it, presupposes one's being in the psychological state of ''believing that the entity in question possesses features F. '' But we must be careful to distinguish a condition or a criterion as such, and its utilization. That is, we must distinguish the features F of objects 0, X, W, R, which are conditions for 0 's, X's, W's and R 's logical inclusion in class K, and F's utilization by a language community as conditions B as the logical basis for the ''creation'' of class K. The utilization of features F sometimes, not al­ ways, presupposes the user's belief that certain objects possess these features; i.e., that class K is not an empty class; whereas F, as conditions for certain things' being Ks does not presuppose or entail that belief. More exactly, the fixing of an expression 'a 's ' meaning entails the fixing of its logical, non-contingent necessary and sufficient conditions of application in sentences, if any; and vice versa. (See later.) With respect to criteria that are non-contingently, e.g., conventionally connected with the meaning of an expression a D-criterion in my usage the criteria for an expression 'a ' are logically fixed by its necessary and sufficient conditions of application, C. A fortiori, there can be no D-criteria for correctly applying 'a ' to something unless there are conditions for doing so. We may therefore say that necessary and sufficient conditions logically provide (possible) D­ criteria. The same is true of syntactic (and ''existential) criteria." Applying the expression 'k' to something 0 on the strength of a criterion C presupposes one's believing that 0 exhibits F. But

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7. Any student of language quickly learns that mere knowledge of the dictionary meanings and senses of a particular expression, 'x ' does not enable her to use 'x ' correctly in sentences. X's ' correct, idiomatic uses cannot be learned from 'x 's ' literal meaning alone. A similar situation obtains, mutatis mutandis, with respect to the uses of sentences in actual or possible contexts. 8. ''About Criteria," Theoria, p. 32. 9. Ibid., p. 30. Italics in original. 10. Cf. Anthony Kenny, ''Criterion," The Encyclopedia ofPhilosophy, Paul Edwards, ed. (New York: Macmillan Co. and The Free Press,' 1 967), Vol. 2, pp. 25 8-261 . See also Chapter 1 0 in this book.

1 1 . Op cit., p. 32. 12. See my A Critical Study in Method, Chapters Three and Four. See also William Alston, Philosophy ofLanguage (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1964), pp. 24-25, for very similar criticism of the concept theory of meaning.

1 3 . The logical positivist' s Verifiability Principle in its various forms provides other examples of conditions of synonymity that cannot provide a viable criterion of synonymity.

14. The concept of a ''ground'' is thus broader than the concept of a criterion and should not be equated with it, as Webster' s defmition of ' criterion' does. It is also broader than the concept of evidence, since the latter concept is ordinarily applicable only where the concept of criterion is applicable. (See above.)

1 5 . This is not to say that a criterion-feature is some sort of Platonic entity. Still, the criterion should be distinguished from instances of redness, which satisfy the criterion. Strictly speaking, the redness of a particular red apple is not a ''criterion-feature'': rather, it is an instance of the generic quality that is the criterion for correctly applying the word 'red' or the sentence ''This is red," to the apple.

Chapter 9

''Criterion '' in Recent Analytic Philosophy It will be recalled that in the preceding chapter, in discussing the logical re­ lations between the concept of a criterion and related concepts I left out a discussion of the relation or relations of the former concept to the concept of evidence, including the differences between the two. I shall therefore begin this chapter with that question, in continuing the attempt to clarify the con­ cept of criterion as I employ it in this book. Criteria and E vidence

Wittgenstein's Account in PI As may be recalled, the discussion of the concept of criterion in Chapter 3 focused on Wittgenstein 's Philosophical Investigations, and almost exclu­ sively on linguistic expressions. But that concept and the concept(s) of a cri­ terion in The Blue and Black Books, from which subsequent concepts of a criterion in linguistic philosophy largely derive, is (are) not as clear as one would wish. The struggles of Rogers Albritton with it (them) in ''On Witt­ genstein's Use of the Term 'Criterion' ,"2 is one well-known example. Since the same is true of almost all followers of Wittgenstein, one encounters in the literature, including Norman Malcolm and P.F. Strawson, the critical discus­ sion of the concepts of criterion in analytic philosophy since Wittgenstein are intended to apply to them as well. The absence of a single accepted usage or set of consistent usages in the literature is not what troubles me most in the uses of ' criterion' or the con­ cepts of a criterion following the later Wittgenstein. That could be readily re­ medied if they were adequate in other respects. Some of the controversy swirling round Wittgenstein's concept of crite­ rion in PI involves Wittgenstein's putative view that a criterion constitutes ''decisive evidence. " As we saw in Chapter 3, Hacker supposes that to be the case in explicating that concept in Insight and Illusion ( 1 972), where he speaks of ''criterion'' as ''non-inductively decisive'' although he confuses criterion and condition by adding the word ' condition' to 'non-inductively decisive. ' 3 ( 1 ) In ''Criterion," Anthony Kenny attributes to Wittgenstein in PI the view that a criterion provides decisive evidence. He says: ''Some passages in

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the Investigations suggest so." He cites Section 56 as evidence that there ''a criterion for p 's being the case is 'the highest court of appeal' to which we might appeal to settle whether p. ''4 Again, in discussing the criterion/ symptom distinction in PI, Kenny says: ''One conclusion which we might draw from this is that a criterion differs from a symptom in being a decisive piece of evidence. Quoting Section 56, he says: ''If medical science calls an­ gina an inflammation caused by a particular bacillus,'' i.e., if that is the meaning, and so the definition of 'angina' is ''an inflammation caused by a particular bacillus," it obviously follows that if ''we ask in a particular case 'why do you say this man has got angina?' then the answer 'I have found the bacillus so-and-so in his blood gives angina, ' then the finding of such a ba­ cillus settles beyond appeal the question of whether he has angina. ''5 Kenny rightly disputes that claim. He believes that in some cases a crite­ rion is not ''decisive evidence.'' His own view, with which I agree, is at least partly based on the argument that '' . . . If there are two independent criteria for a single state of affairs, it is possible that the two criteria may conflict, and in that case, at least one of them is not decisive. ''6 Whether that possibility is actually exemplified in any case or cases, the evidence for someone's being in a certain mental state (e. g., in a state of bodily pain) at a given time may depend on the joint presence of a number of behavioral expressions, none of which alone may suffice to enable one to say with any degree of confidence that that person is in pain (and/or be able to give its precise location). This is most clearly true in the case of young children, but may also be true with regard to adults whom we do not know well and may be, for some reason of their own, playacting or pretending to be experiencing pain in the circum­ stances. Any number of such possible situations can be imagined as the crite­ rion, or what we may call the defining criterion of angina. However, what Wittgenstein says in Section 56 simply applies the puta­ tive medical definition of 'angina. ' The question is whether this application of a definition constitutes evidence that the man has angina. Contrary to Kenny's claim about Wittgenstein's view, the answer to the question is sim­ ply ''No.'' What would constitute evidence strong evidence that the man has angina would be the discovery that he has a certain bacillus in his blood, and that 'angina' means having a certain bacillus in one's blood. But medical evidence, like all empirical evidence, is not decisive. For instance, the bacil­ lus in the man' s blood may behave very much like but be in fact a mutation of the bacillus causing angina. Or it may be a new, hitherto unknown bacillus that the technician or scientist may confuse with the angina bacillus. And so on. Note that the word ' evidence' in this context is Kenny's; that Wittgen­ stein himself does not use the word in connection with criteria.

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In sum, the ''highest court'' (PI, Sec. 56) to which we can appeal is the satisfaction of the criterion for the medical use of ' angina,' which requires the joint presence of two logically different sorts of things: (a) the criterion for ' angina,' and (b) the presence of a certain bacillus in a person 's blood, whose presence in it is verified by medical evidence. Continuing his claim that Wittgenstein in PI considers a criterion as de­ cisive evidence, Kenny notes that ''Some passages in the Investigations might suggest . . . that 'criterion as decisive evidence' is Wittgenstein's. At one point Wittgenstein raises the question of what we regard as the criterion for remembering a color as bright. It is possible, he reminds us, for a color to strike one as brighter on one day than on another, and yet for one to have reason to believe that one must be wrong and that the color is, despite ap­ pearances, the same. ''This shews us, he concludes, 'that we do not always resort to what memory tells us is the verdict of the highest court of appeal'.'' (Sec. 56.) From this we may conclude that, for Wittgenstein, a criterion for p 's being the case is 'the highest court' to which we might appeal to settle whether p.7 This example is essentially like the angina example except that here the perception that the color looks different in the different instances does not count as evidence against what is seen as being the same color: precisely be­ cause, as far as the ordinary meaning of the 'same color' is concerned, the differences perceived under different lighting (as well as other perceptual conditions) are discounted as irrelevant to the perceived object's ''real'' color. That is, here, unlike in the angina case, the evidence of our senses functions negatively. The discounting of perceived differences in brightness follows from the fundamental distinction, in ordinary language, between the way(s) physical phenomena, e.g., objects, ''may appear'' to a perceiver and the way they ''really are''; i.e., that appearances as in the case of the different per­ ceived brightness under different lighting conditions are sometimes decep­ tive, are not always the way things are. Again, Kenny writes : In the Philosophical Investigations a criterion of p 's being the case is something by

which we can tell whether p is the case. A criterion for somebody' s understanding an algebraic formula is something by which we tell whether he understands it: for instance, the application he makes of it (Sec. 146)8 . . . This, however, is not enough. For any evidence about p 's being the case is something by which we can tell whether p is the case. But not all evidence that p is a criterion for p 's being the 9 case.

Two different interpretations of this passage can be made: (A) that Kenny claims, as we have seen, that some evidence is not decisive. That in-

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terpretation tallies with Kenny's earlier statements above, and with the ques­ tion that ''If a criterion is conclusive evidence on a topic, how can there be more than one criterion on a single topic? For if there are two independent criteria for a single state of affairs, it is possible that the two criteria may conflict, and in that case, at least one of them is not decisive. This considera­ tion can be urged also against a weaker thesis which is . . . that a criterion, while not being necessarily conclusive evidence, is nonetheless the best pos­ sible evidence for the state of affairs for which it is a criterion. "1 0 (A) too can be interpreted in more than one way, one of which is (A') that some ''lin­ guistic criteria '' criteria that, according to Wittgenstein, determine the meanings of expressions 'p, ' 'r, ' 's, ' etc. are more loosely connected with these meanings than Wittgenstein supposed. On that interpretation criteria would not provide (in Kenny's way of stating the matter, constitute) ''conclu­ sive evidence'' for the objects or states of affairs that 'p, ' 'r, ' 's, ' etc. desig­ nate. As we shall see when we trace the connections between linguistic criteria and the corresponding expressions in succeeding chapters, (A') is sometimes true, particularly in with regard to very vague expressions, and the same may turn out to be true with regard to ''family resemblance,'' and what I call ''quasi-essentialist," expressions or concepts. It remains that in the case of non-vague expressions the criteriological relation would be strongly, para­ digmatically conceptual. In contrast to (A) above, Kenny' s statement that ''not all evidence that p is a criterion for p 's being the case'' can be taken to imply (B)(a) the (valid) distinction between evidence and criterion, as well as implying (b) that inso­ far as some evidence for p may not consist in or result from the satisfaction of a criterion for p 's being the case, 11 that the concept of evidence is broader than the concept of a criterion. (B)(b) does not necessarily conflict with Wittgenstein's distinction between ''criterion'' and ''symptom," but can be understood as claiming that ''evidence' is not always ''linguistic evidence," evidence for the correct use of some word, phrase or sentence; although our analysis of the angina and color examples, if correct, showed that evidence for p is never a criterion for p 's being the case evidence and criteria being not only different but different kinds of concepts, and connected, when they are connected, only through some empirical fact or facts; i.e., whenever a concept is actually satisfied. A criterion C determines the meaning of an expression x ' (Wittgen­ ' ' ' stein), which in turn (b) determines x 's ' referent, the class of Xs. (If x is a ' 2 sentence, C would determine what x would be about. 1 ) Once x 's ' referent, or what it is about, is fixed or identified as the target of an inquiry, the in-

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quirer would be logically in a position (c) to inquire into the nature of those properties the class ofXs (or the properties of the state of affairs sentence x ' is about) may possess in addition to its defining, C-determined, properties, and discover (or uncover) evidence in support of the putative discoveries. Finally, a discussion of the relation between criteria and evidence closely parallels our earlier discussion, in Chapter 8, of the relation between criteria and truth-conditions; since evidence and truth-conditions are closely related concepts. Evidence for a proposition P is ipso facto evidence that P 's truth­ conditions are satisfied; and vice versa. Like truth-conditions, evidence is, in one direction, narrower than the generic concept criterion (of which criterion for applying a word or phrase is one species), and only arises in relation to statements or propositions. This should not be confused with the fact that the ''propriety,"not just of statements but, in some sense, of questions and com­ mands, as well as of performative utterances (J.L. Austin), can be properly challenged. For as noted in the preceding subsection, the concept of criterion applies whenever the concept of a challenge does including types of cases in which the concept of a challenge cannot arise in relation to truth­ conditions or evidence. Thus the propriety of commands and questions can be questioned in principle, in a special way; for instance, one may be cor­ rectly told: ''Your question (command) is improper: you should know that the person you are addressing cannot possibly know the answer (is not in a position to comply)." The propriety of a command may also be challenged by the challenger's claiming that the speaker has no right to make it. (Cf. some performatives, e.g., promises.) In every case a demand may be made for justifying reasons in one sense or form or another; but justifying reasons cannot be simply equated with evidence, and, especially, not with truth­ conditi ons. To see some of the foregoing points more clearly, consider ''This (0) is red." The criterion for the truth of this statement is (a) '' O 's being red'': not (b) the tests we do or may have to perform, or procedures we follow or may have to follow, to ascertain O 's color. This means among other things that we must distinguish: (i) ''being red'' as a criterion for 'red' (or for ''This is red'') and (ii) the evidence that a certain object or colored patch that looks red is actually red. The criterion is ''being red," ''redness,"13 not a particular patch of red or a red object; while the evidence for a patch's or object's being red and not merely appearing red under certain lighting conditions hence for the correctness of the ascription ''This is red'' is that it, e.g., looks red to a ''normal person'' under ''normal'' (i. e., natural) lighting conditions. The statement ''Facts F constitute evidence for the proposition expressed by ''This is (an) x, '' consequently for all other propositions partly or wholly

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about x, '' entails, inter alia, ''This satisfies the criterion or criteria, C, for cor­ rectly applying expression 'x '. '' I now turn to the definitions of ' criterion' in some post-Wittgenstein analytic philosophy. Definitions of 'C riterion'

In ''Noninductive Evidence: Recent Work on Wittgenstein's 'Criteria',"14 W. Gregory Lycan defines 'criterion' as follows : A criterion, first of all, is a kind of ground. To say that X is a criterion of Y (where 'X' and 'Y' range over types of events or states of affairs) is to say at least that, whenever I know that X is instantiated (that something of type X occurs or obtains), 15 I am to that extent warranted in supposing that Y is instantiated as well . . .

So far this characterization of a criterion agrees with my usage in Chap­ ter 8, provided ' ground' is not understood in the sense of ' evidence'; since 'ground' can mean either ''evidence'' or ''criterion." The difficulties with Ly­ can's definition start when he adds: ''Now we want to make the two crucial distinctions which separate the criterion (a) from the defining or logically " 16 ess ential character and (b) from the inductive sign or 'symptom, ' . . Let us start with (a). As we shall see in Chapter 1 0, a defining character­ istic sometimes provides a criterion in my usage. But both on Lycan's and my usage the concept of criterion is distinct from the concept of a defining characteristic; and this is what Lycan obviously has in mind in relation to his usage. He says: .

The first distinction (a) is easily drawn. Obviously the ties (c-connections) between the appropriate propositions [e.g. that between someone's engaging in pain-behavior and his being in pain] are not entailments. It is perfectly conceivable, in almost any 17 given case, that the c-proposition should be true while the other is false, no matter 18 how unlikely. So a criterion is not a defining characteristic.

Although the statement ''A criterion is not a defining characteristic'' is true as I interpreted it, the way Lycan puts it is misleading; it can easily lead to the false supposition that a defining feature cannot contingently provide a criterion or function as a function-feature. I also do not fully agree with Ly­ can' s argument for (a). There is a non-contingent, in the sense of a conven­ tional, connection between the normal conventional signs or expressions of 19 mental states, and (the presence of) these states; though not (i) simply as the former (or proposition X) without qualification, nor (ii) directly between it (or X) and the latter (or proposition Y). Lycan earlier states that it is the be­ havior-cum-circumstances, not the behavior alone e.g., simply engaging in pain behavior that constitutes the criterion's obtaining. A more direct and, I

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think, less controversial way of seeing that a criterion-feature may also be or function as a defining feature lies in tracing the various types of relations between criteria and the word-meanings, or between criteria and the referents of referential words. Although I shall do so in some detail in Chapter 1 3 , it is necessary that the relevant distinctions be introduced at this point. But before I do so let us note that in the case of e.g., '(being in) pain' and 'pain behav­ ior' the behavioral criteria-features in the other-ascriptive use of these ex­ pressions are logically distinct from the state of affairs designated by these expressions. For ' engaging in pain behavior (in certain circumstances)' does not mean ''being in pain'' in the sense of ''having a sensation of pain," al­ though logical behaviorists dispute this. There are two main types of possible criteria for the correct literal appli­ cation of non-evaluative words (I shall ignore the criteria for evaluative words as not relevant for our immediate purposes). These I shall call ''logically or semantically dependent criteria'' (D-criteria) and ''logically or semantically independent criteria'' (I-criteria), respectively. D-criteria deter­ mine (Wittgenstein) or are logically determined by the meaning of expres­ sion 'E ' for which they are criteria of correct application; while I-criteria would be criteria conceptually independent of the meaning of the expression 'E ' but contingently connected with 'E 's ' referent in some way. From the standpoint of the possible relations between criteria and meaning, we can speak of two possible types of relations between them; viz. conceptual, non­ contingent, and factual, contingent: the former exemplified by ''D-criteria," the latter (if they exist) by ''I-criteria.'' A criterion ABC is a D-criterion if a statement of the form ''s is an X''­ where X' is a word or phrase whose criterion of application is ABC is en­ tailed by a statement of the form ''s satisfies ABC. '' In Chapter 1 0 I shall qualify the term 'D-criterion' as defined here by the epithet 'paradigmatic, ' to distinguish this sort of D-criterion from what I shall call ''non­ paradigmatic D-criteria. '' In the latter's case the criteria! relation is not, strictly speaking, one of entailment. It is a looser sort of conceptual relation, or, rather, neither definitely contingent nor definitely non-contingent. Criteria-features ABC are paradigmatic D-criteria of x ' if ( 1 ) they are the same features as X's defining features, or if (2) they are features that logically presuppose one or more of X's defining features. Thus both ''a fig­ ure's being three-sided'' and ''(a figure's) having three angles'' are paradig­ matic D-criteria of 'triangle. ' ''A is a three-sided figure'' entails ''A is a triangle," and ''A has three angles'' entails ''A is a triangle." The property of having three angles (a) follows from the meaning of 'triangle' as usually de-

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fined in elementary geometry textbooks, and (b) cannot be shared, as far as I know, with any other geometrical figure. What I call I-criteria would be what Wittgenstein calls ''symptoms.'' Paraphrasing Wittgenstein's characterization of 'symptom, ' W is an I-cri­ terion for the word 'W' if it is a ''phenomenon of which experience has taught us that it coincided, in some way or other, with the phenomenon which is our defining criterion[-feature] . ''20 Consider ''S evinces pain behavior in normal circumstances'' and ''S is in pain.'' If I am right that these two sentences differ in meaning, the logical positivist as well as the Cartesian view that the c-relation is contingent­ causal can be rej ected without subscribing to the second distinction, (b) that Lycan, Wittgenstein and other criteriologists draw. We are not com­ pelled to subscribe to the view that criteria necessarily, by defmition, always provide ''non-inductive (sic.) evidence''; e.g., that ''If so and so's being the case is a criterion for the truth of a judgment . . . The assertion that it is evidence in favor of the truth of the judgment is necessarily (logically) rather than contingently (empirically) tme.'' 2 1 We are not then compelled to accept Wittgenstein's distinction between ''criterion'' and ''symptom'' or Scriven's claim that ''the criterion X is a characteristic that 'would have to occur in a thorough explanation of the meaning of the term 'Y ' . . . ; the existence of the c-relation, or perhaps c-connection, here is 'the only meaning-rule we have for the term 'Y '."22 The following are some reasons why I believe that the foregoing restric­ tion of the usage of ' criterion' is undesirable. In philosophical as well as ordinary discourse we speak of what may be called evaluative criteria; e.g. , criteria for applying 'good' and 'bad, ' 'right' and 'wrong,' 'beautiful' and 'ugly, ' and so on. Yet many moral philosophers, namely the Non-naturalists, agree that the relation between moral or other value judgments and the factual reasons or evidence for them is not one of entailment; e.g., the fact that happiness has various empirical characteristics, such that it is desired by all, does not entail that happiness is good (or a good). Consequently the satisfaction of the criteria for something 's moral goodness or badness does entail the latter's goodness or badness. If however the Naturalists, such as Philippa Foot, are right in maintaining the contrary to be true,23 the lack of entailment between '' 'x ' satisfies the criteria C for Y, '' and ''x is a Y, '' would still be true in relation to aesthetic judgments. In my view there are no logically sufficient conditions, consequently no logically sufficient criteria, for the application of 'good' and 'poor, ' 'beautiful' and 'ugly, ' etc., in such judgments as ''x is a good painting," ''y is a poor poem,"

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and so on. The same is true of the applications of what Frank Sibley calls aesthetic terms or aesthetic concepts. 24 '' It remains that judgments of the form x is good (beautiful, etc.)'' entail x 's satisfaction of some subset of criteria-features of goodness (beauty, etc.). 25 There are of course important differences between ''criteria'' and ''symptoms'' in Wittgenstein's usage (or for our D-criteria and I-criteria, re­ spectively), some of which will be noted in this book. But these differences are not such as to justify withholding the label ' criterion' from the latter alto­ gether. For instance I shall argue that with certain exceptions of a special sort, ''criteria'' are logically primary while ''symptoms'' are secondary; e.g., that there cannot be ''symptoms'' of x unless there are ''criteria'' of x to begin with; though these ''criteria'' need not be D-criteria. As we shall see later, there are various other types of criteria, and any one of them may be logi­ cally prior to I-criteria. Or stated differently: unless x ' already has a use, usually a meaning, in the language. Interestingly this is what Wittgenstein appears to hold certainly the Wittgensteinians who have adopted his con­ cept of ''criterion'' hold this though Wittgenstein himself does not seem to distinguish the other types of criteria discussed in this book. Further, the Wittgensteinians who have adopted his concept appear to hold that the proposition ''' Criteria' are logically prior to 'symptoms''' is true without except1on. The Wittgensteinian uses of 'criterion' and 'symptom' have tended to give a special prominence to ''criteria." Perhaps the main reason for its prominence in philosophy as a whole is the perennial pursuit and prizing of the indubitable by many philosophers; their ''quest for certainty'' in John Dewey's graphic phrase. This is especially true since the notion of ''crite­ rion'' has been most extensively applied, in recent discussions, to such vexed matters as the mind-body problem and our knowledge of other minds, in whose case philosophers have long been trying to find conclusive arguments to meet the challenge of the perennial (hypothetical) skeptic and solipsist. Related to this is the danger, inherent in the Wittgensteinian' s equation of criteria and decisive evidence, of begging the issue against the Cartesian and the traditional skeptic by falling back on his, Wittgensteinian, definition of 'criterion. ' She is in danger of begging the issue in one stroke against the Cartesian Dualist, who champions the argument by analogy for knowledge of other minds, and against the classical skeptic who denies the possibility of such knowledge; by assuming that we have, for example, direct and decisive evidence for the existence of other minds because of the undeniable fact that we ordinarily apply P-predicates to others on the basis of what we ordinarily •

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call (or consider to be) criteria. Consider for instance Norman Malcolm's well-known ''argument'' in ''Knowledge of Other Minds,"26 where he says: If he [Mill] had a criterion [''for determining whether another 'walking and speaking figure' does or does not have thoughts and feelings' ' ] he could apply it, establishing with certainty that this or that human figure does or does not have feelings (for the only plausible criterion would lie in the behavior and circumstances that are open to view), and there would be no call to resort to tenuous analogical reasoning that yields at best a probability. If Mill has no criterion for the existence of feelings other than his own then in that sense he does not understand the sentence 'That human figure has feelings' and therefore does not understand the sentence 'It is probable that the human figure has feelings' . 27

This argument would be sound provided Malcolm shows (a) that the characteristics, etc., to which we actually appeal as evidence, or other forms of evidence theoretically available to us, if any, do constitute decisive evi­ dence indeed, evidence at all that another walking and speaking figure has thoughts and feelings; and (b) that unless there is such decisive evidence the merely probable inductive ''evidence'' the analogical argument offers would be logically unavailable. Now I believe, as I shall endeavor to show in a later chapter, that if properly qualified, the general proposition of which (b) is a special case is not far from the truth. To show (a) something else must be shown; namely (c) that the conventional criteria we have for applying P­ predicates to others are non-contingently connected with the latter's mean­ ings; such that (i) these predicates would necessarily change their meaning if their conventional criteria are replaced by other criteria or, at least, by cri­ teria logically independent of the conventional criteria and that (ii) they would necessarily lose all meaning if these criteria are abandoned and no new ones are adopted in their place. This is absolutely essential to meet A.J. Ayer's crucial objection to the criteriological argument and his disposition ''to think that the sceptic can maintain his ground. ''28 Ayer's position is that even if it is granted that we cannot in practice ac­ quire an understanding of mental words that refer to mental states or occur­ rences unless the latter were ''outwardly detectable," it does not seem to follow that once these words are understood, we cannot detach them from their mental associations. If it is admitted that this is possible in particular instances; it is not clear what would prevent its possibility in all instances. If it is suggested that that would land one in a contradiction, he can only reply that he does not yet see ''where the contradiction lies. ''29 I believe that (c)(i) and (c)(ii) can be shown to be true; and I hope our later discussion of non-contingent and contingent criteria as well as change of meaning with change of non-contingent criteria, will bear this out. The

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immediate problem is that, as I indicated above, Malcolm and others who utilize the argument or type of argument in question do not offer the needed evidence in its support. 30 In effect these philosophers tend to pass without evidence from the proposition expressed by the sentence ''We employ what we ordinarily call or regard as criteria for applying P-predicates'' (true), to the conclusion expressed by ''We are rationally justified in using these crite­ ria," or ''These putative criteria can and do genuinely function as criteria'': precisely what the skeptic denies; 31 and so, on the basis of their definition of 'criterion' as ''decisive evidence," they pass to the further conclusion: ''We therefore have decisive evidence for the other-ascriptive uses of P-predicates, i.e., for the existence of other minds.'' The move that interests us is from the second to the third proposition. If criteria are identified by definition with direct, decisive evidence, showing that P-predicates have criteria in the same sense would amount to demonstrating the existence of decisive evidence for the existence of other minds. The trouble is that this begs the issue unless it is shown that the ordinary meaning of ' criterion' in which sense we do have criteria for the other-ascriptive uses of P-predicates is identical with ''decisive evidence,'' or that some other criteria than those ordinarily applied are logically available to us and satisfy the requisite definition of 'criterion. ' The former is false, while the latter is precisely what has to be shown, and so brings us back to where we started. The veritable flood of writings on philosophy of mind or philosophical psychology dramatizes the strenuous efforts of criteriologists to defend the view, in relation to P-predicates, that the c-relation is non-contingent in some sense. It is equally striking that neither they nor their critics have systemati­ cally and effectively tackled one of the crucial questions involved; namely the precise nature of criteria in general, including their precise relation to the meanings of verbal expressions or to their referents. More specifically, I do not know of any recent attempts to justify the identification of criteria and (decisive) evidence.32 What attempts have been made with respect to the former are vitiated by (a) the Wittgensteinian restriction of the usage of ' cri­ terion,' and/or (b) the failure to distinguish (i) criteria and (necessary and/or sufficient) conditions, and/or (ii) criteria and evidence. Both (a) and (b) are well illustrated by Kenny's and Malcolm's characterizations in Lycan's dis­ cussion of 'criterion. ' Kenny says 'X is not a criterion of Y if someone could learn the meaning of 'Y' without having grasped the connection between X and Y ''33 This is true only if 'criterion' is used in the restricted, Wittgen­ steinian way. Even then it fits both deductive evidence and criteria, or fails to distinguish the two. Lycan unwittingly makes this explicit by ''translating'' Kenny's statement into the following: ''If I have learned to use 'Z' correctly,

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then I know its ess ential justification conditions,"34 then adds : ''It should be plain that ''essential justification conditions'' are more or less the same as criteria. ''35 Kenny's foregoing characterization of the putative necessary and suffi­ cient conditions of a criterion is closely related to the following proposition Lycan attributes to Malcolm: ''(C-1) For any expression ' Q ' : if we have no criterion for establishing the truth of ' Q ', then ' Q ' is unintelligible or mean­ ingless. "36 This slurs over the distinction between criteria and conditions: it is true of the latter and only by virtue of that is it true of the former. The meaningfulness of ' Q ' logically depends on the existence of conditions for 'Q's' application; and as pointed out in Chapter 8, only in some cases do these provide criteria for its correct application. Only if we see this will we be in a position to evaluate the following criticism of (C- 1 ). Lycan writes: As against (C-1), it is easy to construct mental concepts which look perfectly intelli­ gible but which have no straightforward behavioral or other criteria; ''dream that is totally forgotten before waking'' (Chihara and Fodor . . 37); ''inverted spectrum''; the 38 ''mental pictures of dogs." Shoemaker, in an admirable recent paper shows a way in which the similar notion of ''time without change'' can be made intelligible, by relying on the criteria for related (uncontroversial) concepts combined with a power­ ful net of inductive relations. If Shoemaker' s argument is right, parallel reasoning could suffice to refute (C-1) generally. 39 .

The following may be said by way of comment. First, no single or sim­ ple (non-compound) word ' Q ' as opposed to a compound word or a phrase can be meaningful unless it has (a) logically or factually sufficient conditions of application. But (b) if ' Q ' has such conditions of application it will conse­ quently have criteria of application, not just in principle but in actual fact. It must have criteria in principle because some or all of the conditions for ap­ plying ' Q ' necessarily provide (entail) at least one sufficient criterion of ap­ plication. Moreover, at least one of these possible criteria must be actually available to anyone or, at least, to one person wishing to use ' Q . ' Other­ wise, ' Q ' cannot be applied either correctly or incorrectly, hence would have no meaning for him; and any ''word'' that has no meaning for anyone is sim­ ply meaningless. If so, (C- 1 ) is true in the case of single, non-compound words. But (C- 1 ) is false in relation to criteria though true in relation to suffi­ cient conditions, in the case of compound words and phrases. What I said above applies to the latter with regard to sufficient conditions; but the exis­ tence of conditions for applying a compound word 'w-x ' or a phrase yz ' as a whole is automatically ensured if the individual words composing 'w-x ' or yz ' have sufficient conditions of application, provided as I am assuming

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here, and as the putative counterexamples to (C- 1) mentioned above as­ sume these words are combined according to existing rules of combination. ' ' ' This allows w-x or yz to be meaningful but lack criteria qua compound ' ' ' ' words or phrases as a whole: so long as w and x ' or y ' and z separately have actual criteria of application, and there are rules determining the correct ' ' ' ' ' ' (meaningful) combination of w and x or y ' and x, etc. (See earlier.) It is therefore significant that all the counterexamples Lycan mentions consist of phrases: ' inverted spectrum,' ' mental pictures of dogs, ' etc. It should be noted that the philosophical force of any argument rests on the distinction between single, non-compound words on the one hand and compound words and phrases on the other. I did not attempt to base my ar­ gument on the distinction between ideas or concepts expressed by single, non-compound words and ideas or concepts expressible (in current English) only by compound words or phrases. For the former avoids various, includ­ ing controversial, questions relating to the notion of an idea or concept itself. More important for us here, it avoids the problem of whether compound words and especially phrases express single ''compound'' or ''complex'' con­ cepts rather than a number of logically distinct but somehow related con­ cepts, each of which is expressed by one non-compound class name in the compound word or phrase. In the former case a ''compound'' or ''complex'' concept would be understood not as some sort of complex of logically ''sim­ pler," ''more elementary'' concepts; e.g., as a ''logical product'' of them­ which is the second alternative above but a concept whose logical contents are (a) made explicit or articulated, or (b) qualified. And so on. The defini­ tion (definiens) of 'triangle, ' i.e., ''Three-sided closed figure," would provide an example of (a), while 'plane triangle' would provide an example of (b). The ramifications of this problem are appreciated if we merely note that the latter appears to me to be at the heart of the famous Paradox of Analysis first stated by C.H. Langford in ''The Notion of Analysis in Moore 's Philo­ sophy.''40 The distinction between single, non-compound words and compound words or phrases does not imply a difference in kind in the meaning of the two classes of expressions. I certainly do not think any such difference exists or can be demonstrated. In fact our entire discussion of linguistic meaning in this book is predicated on the belief that no such qualitative difference exists: not only with respect to words and phrases but also well-formed sentences : at least non-absurd sentences. This is not to be confused with the question whether sentences or words have temporally or logically ''primary'' meaning. Again, my above claim about the conditions and criteria of single, non­ compound words as against compound words and phrases (proposition P- 1 ) does not presuppose a putative qualitative meaning-difference in the two

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classes of expressions. But it may presuppose that the meaning of a phrase or compound word is in some sense determined by, is a product of, the mean­ ing(s) of the constituent words together with the appropriate rules of forma­ tion for the particular language. Although I shall not deal with this question here, I have maintained earlier in this book that sentence-meaning is logi­ cally determined by the linguistic meanings of the constituent words, to­ gether with the appropriate rules of sentence-formation (P-2). This would not necessarily make P-1 true; it leaves open the possibility that phrases (and, less frequently, compound words), rather than single, non-compound words, are the logical ''units'' of linguistic meaning (P-3). But I think the putative truth of P-2 would make P-3 rather implausible. As a matter of fact, I know of no philosophical theory of linguistic meaning or of language as a whole that rests on or makes use of P-3 : no doubt partly due to the realization of philosophers that such a theory would be unsound. It is possible that the speech act theory of linguistic meaning, discussed mainly in Chapter 4, is compatible with the claim that the contribution of single words to the illocutionary-act potential (hence, allegedly, to the meaning) of the sentences in which they occur, logically depends on the contribution of the phrases into which these sentences can be analyzed. Whether or not that is true, it may be noted that as far as I know the logical and semantic relations between single, non-compound words and phrases are still largely unexplored by philosophers of language. Until these relations are clarified, the philosophical use of the distinction between individual non­ compound words and phrases or compound words would remain quite vul­ nerable to criticism. Finally, I should exempt idiomatic expressions and figurative, e.g., metaphorical, expressions from P- 1 ; since they function quite differently from ''straightforward'' compound words and phrases in their non-figurative employment. But the analysis of the former should give us special insights into the possible relations of compound words and phrases to single, non­ compound words. I have, in effect, touched on this important matter else­ where, mainly in relation to metaphor.41 Proposition P-1 is, I think, true of all types of words without exception; for example, P-predicates as well as material-object words. However, we must add the following proviso regarding some P-predicates; I mean that P-1 only applies to the other-ascriptive uses of those P-predicates that name some mental state or condition, experience, and so on; such as 'pain,' 'pleasure, ' 'after-image,' and ' emotion. ' That notwithstanding, it appears that the self­ ascriptive uses of these P-predicates presuppose the existence of sufficient conditions of application, and that these conditions are the same both in the

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predicates' self- and the other-ascriptive uses. In the latter case however we do appeal to criteria that is, to the criteria provided by these conditions themselves since there the possibility of error exists. The foregoing is connected with Wittgenstein's celebrated rej ection of the possibility of private language. Kenny clearly summarizes the argument as follows. He says: He [Wittgenstein] argues that it would be impossible to give a private ostensive definition of a sensation; for a definition, if successful, must bring it about that in future the sign defined is correctly associated with the thing signified. But if a sen­ sation were a private and incommunicable event, there could be no criterion of cor­ rectness for the association of a sign with a sensation (Sec. 258). Memory cannot provide such a criterion, unless we have some further criterion for distinguishing correct from incorrect memories (Sec. 265). But where what is remembered is a pri­ vate object, we have no way of distinguishing between an accurate memory of an unchanging object and a deceptive memory of a changing one (Part II, p. 207). 42 Hence, a private ostensible definition is impossible.

In light of what I said above Wittgenstein's argument for the impossibil­ ity of a private mental language appears to be tantamount to this : a person cannot correctly apply or reapply a P-predicate to herself on the strength of memory (which does not involve an appeal to criteria) unless she has a crite­ rion that (a) would enable her to apply it correctly to others (and (b) would enable others to apply it to themselves or to others). Understood in this way, the argument is similar to Strawson' s point that ''it is a necessary con­ dition of one's ascribing states of consciousness, experiences, to oneself, in the way one does, that one should also ascribe them, or be prepared to as­ cribe them, to others who are not oneself."43 But Wittgenstein holds that one cannot have this criterion, in one 's own case, if one could rely on nothing but 44 one's memory; that is, if others cannot correctly tell, by observing her overt behavior, whether she is e.g., in pain, at least on some of the occasions on which she ''thinks'' she is aware of being in pain. Therefore, behavioral crite­ ria must be, at least sometimes, ''logically adequate'' in Strawson' s phrase. That is, our application of P-predicates to others on the strength of these be­ havioral (public) criteria cannot possibly be always wrong. This agrees with William Alston' s interpretation of Wittgenstein's position, as reported by A.J. Ayer in ''The Concept of a Person. '' On that view ''The source of this guarantee [that the liaison between the characteristic outward expression of an inner state and the inner state cannot possibly fail in all instances] is sup­ posed to lie in the fact that it is only through their being associated with cer­ tain outward expressions that we are able to talk significantly about our inner experience . . . This is Wittgenstein's ground for denying the possibility of a private language.''45 But Kenny's above-quoted statement that ''Memory can-

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not provide such a criterion [for the association of a sign with a sensation] unless we have some further criterion for distinguishing correct from incor­ rect memories," can be misleading if it gives the impression that Wittgen­ stein implies that memory does in fact provide a criterion for the self­ ascriptive use of P-predicates that occur in actual languages; hence that we do, after all, apply P-predicates to ourselves on the strength of criteria. As a result Kenny gives the impression that Wittgenstein denies the possibility, in a putative private language, of any criteria for the reliability of memory as a (an alleged) criterion; whereas he himself points out that Wittgenstein holds that we do not apply P-predicates to ourselves on the strength of criteria. The preceding discussion shows, I think, that in the absence of any crite­ ria for its application, the meaningfulness of, e.g., 'dream that is totally for­ gotten before waking' does not impugn Wittgenstein's argument against private language. It remains that single, non-compound mental words can only have meaning if criteria for their (other-ascriptive) uses do exist. A final point. Lycan points out that ''many philosophers who hold a basi­ cally criteriological account (including Austin, I believe) think it is a mistake to call a c-relation an ''evidential'' relation at all, that a logically adequate answer to 'How do you know he's in pain' is simply 'I'm looking at him, ' or 'I see that he is' ."46 What Lycan is suggesting is that according to these phi­ losophers we do not infer someone else's being angry or in pain from his overt behavior (the criteria). For he adds : ''We have been trained, as we learned English, to see certain kinds of overt behavior ''as'' pain-behavior, . . . In the vernacular of the psychology of ''set," we have acquired a certain mental set vis-a-vis pain-facts."47 I agree. But that does not mean that pain behavior is not evidence for the correct application of P-predicates to others. It also leaves open the question of whether the c-relation is contingent or non-contingent. It avoids the issue of the precise relation between the criteria for the other-ascriptive uses of P-predicates and the meaning of the latter and/or their referents. It therefore leaves open the general question of the relation between evidence and criterion. In other words, it does not entail that Strawson and Austin, etc., acknowledge that criterion and (decisive) evi­ dence are distinct concepts. (Cf. Lycan' s remark a little later that ''Shoe­ maker, Kenny, Malcolm and others do not mind saying that criteria are a special kind of evidence. ''48)

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Notes 1.

Wittgenstein: The Philosophical Investigations, George Pitcher, ed. (New York: Double­ day, 1 966), pp. 23 1-250. See also Anthony Kenny, ''Criterion," The Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Paul Edwards, ed. (New York: Macmillan and The Free Press, 1967), Vol. 2, pp. 258-261 , for a clear account of the complexities of Wittgenstein's usage. However, I agree with Kenny that Albritton' s exegesis of Investigations is mistaken, since ''it follows from his definition that there can only be a single criterion for a given state of affairs'' (ibid, p. 258). For in the Investigations ''Wittgenstein considers the possibility that there may be more than one criterion for the same state of affairs'' (ibid.). Examples are the criteria for a person' s reading (Sec. 1 64) and for personal identity (Sec. 404). In this Wittgenstein is surely right. Cf. my related remarks in Chapter 7 and later chapters on my use of 'criterion. '

2. Ibid., p. 283. 3 . The Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Vol. 2, p. 258. PI, Sec. 377, which Kenny mentions in this connection, shows this clearly; though I do not find the others he mentions, e.g., Secs. 253, 3 76, 56, and Part II, p. 222, very transparent.

4. Ibid., p. 258. 5 . Ibid., p. 259. 6. Ibid. 7.

Cf. ''The application [of an algebraic formula] is . . . a criterion of understanding." (PI) Note that Wittgenstein speaks of the particular application(s) of the formula as the crite­ rion, whereas the criterion is really the pupil's ability to apply the formula. His applica­ tion of the formula in some way (correctly or incorrectly) constitutes evidence for his understanding or lack of understanding of it.

8. Kenny, op cit., p. 259. 9. Ibid. 10. I italicize 'satisfaction' since it is not a criterion as such but its satisfaction that, in certain types of cases, constitutes evidence for something' s being the case. In criticizing Witt­ genstein's view and in his own view that a criterion is not always decisive evidence, Kenny continually ignores or slurs the distinction between a criterion and its satisfaction.

1 1 . See my ''About," Philosophy of Language And Logical Theory: Collected Papers (Lan­ ham, MD: University Press of America, Inc. , 1 995), pp. 289-302, passim. 12. This is not to say, however, that a criterion-feature is some sort of Platonic entity. Yet the criterion must be distinguished from the instances of redness, which satisfy this criterion. Strictly speaking, the redness of a particular red apple is not a ''criterion-feature'': rather, it is an instance of the generic quality that is the criterion for correctly applying the word 'red,' or the sentence ''This is red," to the apple.

1 3 . American Philosophical Quarterly, Vol. 8, No. 2, April 1 97 1 , pp. 1 09-125. Hereafter referred to as NE. 14. Ibid., p. 1 09. Lycan, p. 1 09, observes that some philosophers speak of propositions and tests, as well as events, rules, logical connections, etc., as criteria. But tests are proce­ dures of a certain kind which utilize criteria and so are not identical with them. Again,

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Meaning and Criteria criteria are not propositions of any kind. This is true even with respect to rule-criteria since, for one thing, a rule or standard, in contrast to a proposition, is neither true nor false.

1 5 . Ibid. 16. Lycan says; ''A c-relation' will be said to hold between X and Y, and a 'c-connection' will be said to hold between the proposition that X obtains and the proposition that Y ob­ tains, if!Xis a criterion of Y." (Ibid.)

17. Ibid., p. 1 10. 1 8. More correctly, between the proposition ''that X obtains'' and the proposition ''that Y obtains.''

19. The Blue Book, p. 25. 20. C.S. Chihara and J.A. Fodor, ''Operationalism and Ordinary Language: A Critique of Wittgenstein," American Philosophical Quarterly, Vol. 2, 1965, p. 286. Quoted by Ly­ can, op cit., p. 1 10. 2 1 . Ibid. Note that Michael Scriven, ''The Logic of Criteria," The Journal of Philosophy, Vol. 56, 1 959, p. 866, quoted by Lycan, op cit., p. 1 10, appears not to allow for the exis­ tence of more than one criterion for the use of 'Y ' If we allow for the possibility of more than one criterion, the question arises as to whether some or all of these characteristics ''have to occur in a thorough explanation of the meaning of 'Y', '' and if the former, which ones in a particular case.

22. See for example Foot ' s ''Moral Arguments," Readings in Contemporary Ethical Theory, K. Pahel and M. Schiller, eds. (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1 970), pp. 145-155. I believe that Foot is mistaken with regard to descriptive-cum-evaluative words such as 'rude,' 'cowardly, ' 'truthful,' 'patriotic,' 'kind,' 'compassionate, ' as well as purely evaluative words, such as ' good' and 'bad' in their moral or aesthetic uses. The discussion in Chapters 1 1 and 1 2 should help make that clear. Further, I argued in ''Institutions, Practices, and Moral Rules," Mind, Vol. LXXX VI, No. 344 (October 1977), pp. 479-496, contra John Searle (''How to Derive ''Ought'' from ''Is," Readings in Contemporary Ethical Theory, Pahel and Schiller, eds. pp. 156- 1 68.) and in agreement with R.M. Hare, that ''ought'' cannot be derived from ''is'' in the case of institutions and practices; e.g., promising, which Searle takes as his model.

23. See my The Concept ofArt, Chapters Five and Six. 24. The Concept ofA rt, Chapter Ten. 25. The Philosophy ofMind, V.C. Chappell, ed. (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1 962), pp. 1 5 1- 1 59. 26. Ibid., p. 1 52. Italics in original. 27. ''The Concept of a Person," The Concept of a Person and Other Essays (London: Mac­ millan and Co., LTD., 1 963), p. 1 0 1 . 28. Ibid. 29. Cf. also Eric Dowling's review of The Private Language Problem by J.T. Saunders and D .F. Henze, where Dowling argues that the authors fail even to ''attempt a critical de­ fence of the Wittgensteinian conception of 'criterion, ' a conception which, being used

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synonymously with that of 'direct evidence,' forms the linch-pin of their argument." (Australasian Journal ofPhilosophy, Vol. 49, No. 1 , May 1 9 7 1 , p. 1 1 1 .) 30. The skeptic or his defender is as aware as the next person that we actually employ what we ordinarily call criteria for P-predicates, and so the latter themselves, in an other­ ascriptive capacity. What he denies is that they constitute or are grounded in any evi­ dence that P-predicates are applicable to others. The linguistic philosophers' oft-repeated statement that the guarantee for a phenomenon P's being a criterion for Y lies in its being used as a criterion, is intended as a reply to this. (Cf. e.g., Helen Knight, ''The Use of ' Good' in Aesthetic Judgments," in A esthetics and Language, William Elton, ed. [Ox­ ford: Basil Blackwell, 1 954], pp. 147-160.) But this statement is ambiguous as it stands because of the ambiguity of 'guarantee' and 'used as a criterion,' and must be interpreted by stating, or resting on, ( c) above. In either case ( c) must be shown to be true. 3 1 . However, in the entry ''Criterion'' in Oxford Companion to Philosophy, summarized from his An Analytical Commentary on the Philosophical Investigations. iii: Wittgenstein'' Meaning and Mind (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1 990), pp. 545-70, P.M. S. Hacker states that ''in the writings of the later Wittgenstein . . . something counts as a criterion for another thing if it is necessarily good [not decisive] evidence for it." But he significantly adds that ''unlike entailment, criterial support is characteristically defeasible. Wittgen­ stein argued that behavioral expressions of the ' inner,' e.g. groaning or crying out in pain, are neither inductive evidence for the mental . . . nor do they entail the instantiation of the relevant mental term . . . , but are defeasible criteria for its application." This is interestingly similar to Marie McGinn's statement, in ''Criteria," Routledge Encyclopedia ofPhilosophy, p. 7 1 3 , that for Wittgenstein, the ''pretense, deceit, betrayal, as well as the ordinary dissemblings that constitute polite behavior . . . should not lead us to downgrade the ' outer evidence,' but to recognize the subtlety and complexity [later she says, ''ambiguity''] of the criteria we operate with." And so on. McGinn also provides a good summary of the difficulties in Norman Malcolm's ''central argument [in ''Knowl­ edge of Other Minds''] by means of which Wittgenstein allegedly refutes solipsism and scepticism about other minds." (Ibid., p. 7 1 1 .) 32. Lycan, op cit., p. 1 12. 33. Ibid., p. 1 13 . 34. Ibid. My italics. This is the only place where Lycan shows some awareness of the differ­ ence between criteria and evidence. 35. Ibid., p. 120. Cf. Wittgenstein, Investigations, Secs. 258, 265, Part II, p. 207, and Kenny, op cit., p. 260. 36. ''Operationalism and Ordinary Language: A Critique of Wittgenstein," op cit., p. 406. 37. ''Time Without Change," Journal ofPhilosophy, Vol. 66 ( 1 969), pp. 363-3 8 1 . 38. Op cit., pp. 120- 1 2 1 . 39. The Philosophy of G.E. Moore, P.A. Schilpp, ed. (Evanston and Chicago: The Open Court Co., 1 942), pp. 321-342. For an attempt to resolve this paradox in terms of a cer­ tain view of concepts expressible in current English by a phrase functioning as a defini­ ens for a particular single-word definiendum, the interested reader is referred to my A Critical Study In Method, Chapter Five, pp. 63-90; especially, pp. 77-87.

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40. ''Metaphor-I'' Philosophy of Language And Logical Theory: Collected Papers, pp. 1 1 51 3 6 . See also ''Metaphor-II," op cit., pp. 1 55-169. 4 1 . Op cit., p. 260. 42. Individuals (London: Methuen [ 1 959]), p. 99. 43. The argument's premises are, as stated, epistemological, while its conclusion is logical (''A private language is impossible''); consequently it creates an opening for an attack. What the argument needs is a purely logical premise, hence no reference at all to mem­ ory. The required premise is that a private ''sign'' cannot possibly refer to, hence be made to signify any object in the absence of a public condition/criterion of the ''sign's'' appli­ cations. What really occurs when a ''sign'' is supposed to be privately associated with and so refer to an object, is that it, the sign, is thought or vocalized simultaneously with the experience or perception of the object. But that does not and cannot constitute referring; precisely because of the absence of any public condition/criterion for the putative ''sign's'' application. 44. Op cit., p. 1 00. 45. Op cit., p. 1 2 1 . 46. Ibid. 47. Ibid. 48. Ibid.

Chapter 10

Criteria ofNon-Evaluative Concepts In the first two sections of this chapter I shall consider the two main types of criteria for the correct literal application of non-evaluative, purely ''descriptive'' words or concepts mentioned in Chapter 9; viz. what I called ''logically or semanti­ cally dependent criteria'' or D-criteria, and ''logically and semantically independent criteria'' or I-criteria. In Section III I shall consider the application of the distinction between D- and I-criteria to vague and other kinds of fuzzy or fluid concepts. In the rest of the chapter I shall consider the criteria for the application of a variety of special types of concepts. The expressions that convey these concepts are sometimes evaluative as well as ''descriptive," hence are sometimes evaluative­ cum- ''descriptive'' concepts. But I shall be concerned with them and their criteria of application only in their ''descriptive'' capacity. In Section IV I shall consider a new type of criterion, or ''C-criteria," in relation to ''family resemblance'' and other ''non-essentialist'' concepts ; while in Section V I shall consider the criteria of a type of concept I shall call ''Slote concepts'' or ''S-concepts." In Section VI I shall distinguish a fourth type of criterion; viz. ''quasi-independent criteria'' or ''Q­ criteria," in relation to defeasible and non-evaluative ''expressive'' concepts . Finally, in Section VII I shall inquire whether all ordinary and all scientific expres­ sions have criteria of application.

I It may be recalled that a paradigmatic D-criterion is logically determined by, being part of the meaning of the expression, 'e, ' for which they serve as a criterion; while an I-criterion is logically independent of the meaning of an expression 'f' for which it serves as a criterion, but is contingently connected in some way with 'f's ' refer­ ent. Looking at the matter from the opposite end, we can think of the meaning of some expressions (e.g., 'e ') as logically dependent on the criteria for their correct application, but the meaning of other expressions (e.g., 'f') as logically independ­ ent of them. From the standpoint of the possible relations between criteria and meaning, we can speak of two typ es of relations between them; viz. logical or non­ contingent, and factual or contingent : the former exemplified by D-criteria, the latter by I-criteria. Consequently we can also refer to D- and I-criteria as (species of) non-contingent and contingent criteria, respectively. In the case of certain types of verbal expressions a characteristic or feature constitutes a paradigmatic D-criterion by virtue of (1) its being directly or indi-

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rectly determined by the meaning of the expression whose criterion of application it is. But some philosophers have maintained (2) that a characteristic or a phe­ nomenon, etc. may constitute a paradigmatic D-criterion for different reasons . Whether that bears scrutiny remains to be seen. Concentrating on 'criterion' in sense one distinguished in Chapter 8, the criteria-features ABC for the application of a word 'e ' or concept C-e will be a paradigmatic D-criterion if (a) they are identical with the defining features of (the class of) Es, designated by 'e ' (assuming here that 'e ' is a referring-type expres­ sion); or if (b) they are features that logically presuppose some defming feature(s) of Es. I shall illustrate (a) and (b) with two examples, followed by a third which some philosophers would consider an illustration of (2) above. (i) The criterion for the application of 'triangle, ' namely, ''A three-sided closed figure," is a paradigmatic D-criterion, because ''A is a three-sided closed figure'' entails ''A is a triangle." Here the entailment obtains because 'triangle' convention­ ally means ''A three-sided closed figure." But (ii) ''(A closed figure's) having three angles'' is also a paradigmatic crite­ rion of 'triangle. ' There are, of course, all sorts of other properties of triangles all of which follow from the defmition of 'triangle' together with certain other geometrical data; but some, unlike 'three-sided closed figure, ' are perhaps not peculiar to triangles and, if so, cannot serve as criteria for them. (iii) Now consider the relation between the ''property'' ''productive of the best consequences in the circumstances'' and the moral applications of 'morally right act.' Let us suppose with the Deontologists that 'morally right act' does not mean the foregoing, or entail it. But let us also suppose this time with the Consequen­ tialists that the production of the best consequences in the circumstances deter­ mines the rightness of right acts . (In W.D. Ross ' terminology, rightness would be a consequential property of morally right acts; but, of course, Ross holds a Deon­ tological, not a Consequentialist ethical theory.) On that supposition, ''production of the best consequences . . . '' would be a D-criterion of moral rightness. It would be so because ''A is a morally right act'' would be entailed by ''A is productive of the best consequences . . . '' (Compare and contrast this with (ii) above.) Whether such a necessary but ''synthetic'' connection between two properties or other factual phenomena is possible, is a large question I shall not consider. But anyone who claims that such a connection obtains must explain how ''A is productive of the best consequences . . . '' entails ''A is the morally right act in the circumstances," when ''productive of the best consequences . . . '' is not either part or the whole of the meaning of 'right act, ' or logically follows from its meaning. A word about my use of 'entailment. ' As I think is clear from (i) and (iii) above, a proposition p entails a proposition q in my usage if q is necessarily true ifp is true. But as I pointed out, this relation obtains in different ways in the three

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examples. In (i) ''A is a three-sided closed figure'' entails ''A is a triangle''; while in (ii) the relation of entailment obtains insofar as ''A is a closed figure having three angles'' logically presupposes ''A is a triangle," defined as ''a three-sided closed figure.'' On the other hand, ''A is productive of the best consequences . . . '' does not logically presuppose, either for the Deontologist or even for the Conse­ quentialist, ''A is the morally right act in the circumstances'' (iii). Rather, for the Consequentialist, the latter presupposes the former in some way or sense to be determined. Leaving mathematical and formal logical concepts behind, and turning to natural languages, the concept of linguistic meaning and the concept of a criterion, the two central concepts in this book, provide, additional examples of concepts whose criteria consist in D-criteria. I shall start with the former, then consider the latter concept. Meaning

The concept of linguistic meaning, 1 like the concept of triangle and all other mathematical and formal logical concepts, is (a) a non-evaluative, and (b) a closed concept. It is also (c) a non-scalar concept. A word, phrase or sentence either has a meaning (or a number of meanings) or lacks a any meaning, simpliciter. It makes no sense to speak of it as having some degree of meaning or other, or more or less than the meaning of, say, another word, phrase or sentence. Stated other­ wise, a given sound or shape is either a meaningful or a meaningless shape or sound. 2 Consequently, (d) the concept of meaning is also not a ''family resem­ blance concept'' or a ''cluster concept'' in Slote's sense of the latter phrase. And (e) the concept of meaning is a non-vague concept. Therefore, as in the case of all other closed non-evaluative concepts, (f) the criteria of word, phrase and sentence meaning are D-criteria. Confining ourselves to natural languages, general use or potential for general use or potential or actual usability, is a necessary and sufficient condition of any given shape's or sound' s being a meaningful word or phrase; and, together with syntactic rules and certain pragmatic conditions, general use is also a necessary and sufficient condition for a meaningful sentence. I say ''general use/usability'' since there are actual examples of a small number of nonsense words, such as 'j abber­ wocky' and 'brillig, ' which have a use in a particular context in this case, in Lewis Carroll's ''The Walrus and the Carpenter'' but which have no general use. Criterion

Like the concept of linguistic meaning, the concept of criterion is also non­ evaluative, closed, non-scalar and precise, non-vague. (The question of whether it is or is not also a ''family resemblance'' concept, or a ''cluster concept'' in Slote' s

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sense, will not concern us here.) Consequently, its criteria too are D-criteria. As with linguistic meaning, these criteria too consist in general actual use or usability in a language. We now turn to I-criteria. I-Criteria

A ground for the application of an expression 'w ' is an I-criterion (W) if (a) ''A is a Y'' is not entailed by ''A satisfies W'' (in some cases, by ''A exhibits feature W''),3 but (b) W is ''a phenomenon for which experience has taught us that it coincided, in some way or other, with the phenomenon which is our defining [criterion-]feature."4 That is, if experiences teaches us that Y's and W's defining features are (i) jointly present or better, (ii) jointly present or, if absent, jointly absent. Whenever (ii) is true, W would constitute a more reliable criterion of Y It would be what I call a ''factually sufficient'' criterion. An expression can have both D- and I-criteria. Indeed, the possibility of I-criteria of a non-evaluative expression 'e ' logically presupposes the existence of D-criteria for 'e 's ' application. But this is not true of expressions that convey so-called defeasible concepts, which have what I shall call Q-criteria rather than D-criteria. Again, it does not apply to evaluative expressions, or to evaluative-cum-descriptive expressions in their evaluative capacity. (See also Section V of this chapter, and Chapters 1 1 and 12.) Names of feelings and emotions are good examples of expressions that have both sorts of criteria. (But see Section III, subsection C and Section V for important refinements or qualifications of this.) In the first place, the bodily and behavioral expressions of a feeling or emotion the subj ect's facial expression, her actions, etc. are non-contingent criteria for the other-ascriptive use of feeling and emotion expressions, in the sense that they are conventionally established criteria-features of feeling or emotion (Strawson). 5 Second, there are certain contingent, causal (!­ )criteria for the other-ascriptive use of feeling and emotion expressions, consisting in some of the subject's bodily manifestations and some of the effects of feeling or emotion on her, including her avowals. 6 For certain interesting reasons these have not (yet?) become conventional (i.e., D-) criteria-features of feeling or emo­ tion. The former but not the latter appear to be part of the ordinary concepts or of the meanings of feeling and emotion expressions. More precisely, they are logically implied by their meaning. We say: ''Part of what it means to say that A is angry is that he tends to act violently, to curse, sulk, and/or jump about in, for example, an excited way, and/or . . . '' Philosophical behaviorists like Gilbert Ryle and logical behaviorists in general are, I believe, mistaken in thinking that (a) certain overt forms of behavior, together with certain (b) dispositions, exhaust the meaning of these and all other mental expressions. Philosophers like Strawson are more correct in holding that (c) something more is included in this case, the mental

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experience of the particular feeling or emotion in the meaning of these and other mental expressions. At the opposite end of the spectrum Cartesians recognize (c) but fail to see the correct relation between (a) and (b) on the one hand and the meaning of emotion and other mental expressions on the other. In particular they assimilate (a), i.e., certain overt forms of behavior, which are logically implied by the meaning of feeling and emotion expressions, the names of sensations, etc., to the bodily expressions of feeling or emotion, etc., that are only contingently connected with the phenomena signified by ' feeling, ' 'emotion,' etc. The former are logically implied by the meaning of these expressions in the senses that, for example, ''A has a sensation s (is experiencing feeling or emotionf, etc.)'' entails ''A has the tendency to behave overtly in certain ways C ''; while the latter entails ''Under normal conditions relative to s (/), A will behave in ways C. '' But 'behave in ways C' is shorthand for an open-ended list of disjunctions, like the one I mentioned above in relation to ''A is angry.'' It does not refer to any specific overt expressions of the particular sensation (feeling, emotion, etc.). No such thing is implied by the emotions in general.

II Let us look at D-criteria and I-criteria a little more closely. Earlier I said in effect that paradigmatic D-criteria are logically sufficient for the correct application of an expression 'e, ' and so, the sentence ''This is (an) e." That is, ''a is ABC, '' where 'ABC ' designates a criterion-feature or a set of such features, entails ''a is (an) E. '' Now consider the geometrical properties ''Having angles the sum of which is 1 80'' and ''Being isosceles." Neither is a conventionally defining feature of a plane triangle; yet both constitute D-criteria for it. In the first case that is because the particular property follows from the meaning of 'plane triangle' and is peculiar to plane triangles. ''Being isosceles'' is also peculiar to plane triangles; although it does not follow just from the meaning of 'plane triangle' together with the meaning of other relevant terms and the appropriate postulates. Further, only the former is logically necessary for something' s being a plane triangle. Now two geometrical figures F and G may share certain essential features ABC that follow from their defining properties or relations. But precisely because they are shared by both F and G, ABC cannot serve as a sufficient criterion for either. It might be obj ected therefore that ABC cannot be a criterion of the two at all. The obj ection can be met in either of two ways. First, (1) 'criterion' may be defined in such a way that a feature N can be a criterion albeit logically or factually insufficient for applying a word 'w '; provided that ''N'' is part of a set of features that jointly ensures the word' s application logically or factually. If we exclude this type of situation the meaning of 'criterion' becomes overly restricted. Consequently I shall use the locutions 'part of a criterion,' 'partial criterion,' and 'incomplete criterion' to refer

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to features to phenomena in general that are neither necessary nor sufficient, either logically or factually, to serve as criteria for a particular expression. Alternatively, (2) we could choose to limit the use of 'criterion' to a feature or set of features that is logically sufficient to distinguish a particular kind of phe­ nomenon or entity from all other actual or possible kinds of phenomena or entities. But on this alternative 'criterion' would have relatively few applications in relation to empirical expressions; that is, outside of mathematics and formal logic. For instance, ''having three sides enclosing a space'' distinguishes a triangle from all other possible geometrical figures, and a fortiori from every other kind of thing. Since the applications of perhaps all empirical expressions suffer from marginal indeterminacy, the present alternative is tantamount to withholding the use of 'criterion' from borderline phenomena or from obj ects relative to the employment of open concepts. In itself that is perfectly in order; since the concept of a criterion is usually inapplicable to borderline cases by the meaning of 'borderline cases,' even on the first less restrictive use of ' criterion' ( 1).7 Still, the openness of empiri­ cal concepts may be indeed, in the case of ordinary expressions it is generally if not always a logical consequence of their conventional demarcation in terms of crisscrossing ''family resemblances'' and so these expressions lack logically necessary and sufficient conditions . The adoption of proposal (2) would therefore preclude the use of 'criterion' to designate the grounds for their paradigmatic and other non-marginal applications. Now it is possible to have two or more alternative sets of I-criteria for an expression 'e, ' such that each is actually sufficient, though neither and so, no subset of either is contingently necessary for its application. But it is clearly impossible to have two sets of logically independent D-criteria, since the ''alterna­ tive'' criteria would be, of necessity, logically connected and so in a sense both would be logically necessary. This is obvious in the case of mathematical and logical expressions. For example, the characteristics ''the sum of a figure' s angles being equal to 1 80'' and ''a figure's having three sides," are logically sufficient criteria for the application of 'plane triangle.' It is also true with respect to empiri­ cal expressions, by virtue of the meaning of 'D-criterion. ' Two logically sufficient D-criteria are necessarily connected through their logical connection to the same thing the meaning of the particular expression. Spinoza's Double-Aspect theory in his Ethic provides an interesting example. On that theory, given the peculiar metaphysical connection between bodily and mental occurrences, a criterion-feature C for the application of a particular mental term is necessarily a criterion-feature for the application of the corresponding physical term P which designates the physical correlate of a mental occurrence M And vice versa. Yet C is logically sufficient for the application of expressions 'm ' and 'p, ' that designate the mental occurrence and the bodily occurrence re­ spectively. The same is true of a criterion-feature D for 'p 's ' application. Contem'

'

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porary mind-body identity theories mainly reductive and non-reductive forms of materialist conceptions of a person present a somewhat similar situation. But this type of situation does not arise in relation to conventional criteria for applying mental expressions and neural terms, respectively. On the identity theories these criteria are inescapably different because of the meaning-gap between current mental and neural terms. But since these (materialist) theories hold that the referent of a particular mental term 'm ' is contingently identical with the referent of some neural or other physical term 'p, ' any contingent, i.e., I-criterion C for the former' s application would also be an I-criterion for the latter's application; and conversely with respect to neural occurrences that are contingently identical with some mental event or events. If C is essential and/or sufficient for 'm 's ' application, it is also essential and/or sufficient for 'p 's ' application; and vice versa. Since C 's presence means the occurrence of mental-siv-physical event m-siv-p, it additionally means the concurrent satisfaction of criterion-feature D. Thus even though C and D are only contingently connected, the putative identity of the phenomenon indifferently designated by 'm ' and 'p ' ensures this special type of relation between them. It makes both necessary, though only in a factual sense, for the application of 'm ' and p. ' ' There is an important epistemological difference between paradigmatic D-criteria and I-criteria we must now note. The satisfaction of a paradigmatic D-criterion indicates with certainty the applicability of the particular expression; 8 whereas the satisfaction of an I-criterion indicates only the expression 's applica­ bility with some degree of probability. That entails a double uncertainty (shared by the applications ofD-criteria) as to whether the relevant criteria are satisfied in a particular instance: the second being uncertainty about the presence of the phenomenon described by the expression, assuming that its criteria of application are satisfied. 9 Philosophers appeal to this difference to ascertain whether a par­ ticular criterion in use is an I- or a D-criterion and in many instances it does serve as an adequate indicator. Other indicators commonly employed in current analyti­ cal philosophy will be mentioned in due course. But there is at least one extremely important type of case which is anything but straightforward. I refer to the much­ vexed question whether the connection between the public behavioral criteria for the other-ascriptive use of certain P-predicates and their meaning is or is not contingent. For the criteria exhibit some of the features of I-criteria together with some of the features of D-criteria. On the one hand, Gilbert Ryle's familiar argu­ ments in The Concept ofMind, Strawson' s arguments in ''Persons," and Anthony Kenny' s arguments in Action, Emotion and Will, indicate that they are D-criteria. On the other hand, it is a patent fact, admitted by the aforementioned philosophers and seized upon by the Cartesians, that we can be mistaken in ascribing to others some current mental state, on the strength of their overt behavior. The latter leads to the false supposition that the relation between ''A evinces overt behavior B and ''

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''A is experiencing mental state P is a contingent relation; that the former does not entail the latter. The foregoing constitutes a basic problem both for those who hold that the tendency to behave in certain ways and/or actually behave in certain ways, consti­ tutes the whole meaning of any or all P-predicates, and for any philosopher who holds that a person's tendency to behave in certain ways is part of what we explic­ itly refer to by some P-predicates. On the latter view the rest of what we refer to is the occurrence of some mental event. As I stated earlier, my own view is that the notion of a tendency to some form or forms of overt behavior is only implied by the meaning of these P-predicates, not part of their meaning itself, and that it holds the clue to the dilemma's resolution. For it is a familiar fact that a tendency of any kind cannot exist, hence cannot manifest itself, make itself known except in certain circumstances I shall call ''normal or standard conditions'' relative to that tendency. In the kind of case at hand tendencies to act, feel, speak or think in one way or another can exist at a given time only if the subject is physically and psychologi­ cally in a certain kind of state, or if the physical or social context is congenial to the overt manifestation of these tendencies. This entails that to speak of a person A as having a tendency D at time t is to say that if the normal conditions relative to D are present at time t, A will behave, either at time t or later (time t- l, t-2, etc.) in the appropriate way or ways. In sum, ( 1 ) ''A is in pain, etc.," logically implies ''A tends to evince pain behavior, to show genuine signs of pain''; (2) ''Whenever A tends to evince pain behavior, etc., and normal conditions prevail, A will neces­ sarily (analytically) evince pain behavior, etc.''; and most important for our pur­ poses, (3) ''Whenever A evinces pain behavior, to show genuine signs of pain under normal conditions, A will necessarily be in pain. ''10 Thus pain behavior constitutes a D-criterion for the application of 'is in pain' to some person, if she evinces that behavior under normal conditions for the ordinary use of 'is in pain. ' The uncertainty in our app lying 'is in pain' to someone at some particular time we sometimes exp erience, or the error we sometimes make in categorically attributing pain to her, partly derives from the fact that the normal conditions relative to the application of 'is in pain' are mainly determined negatively by the meaning of that expression. Positively, it mainly defines what should not be the case if ''pain behavior'' is to count as a criterion for the expression's application. It also comes from our frequent uncertainly as to whether normal conditions do prevail in a particular situation. The same is true of other P-predicates. Among the normal conditions, in the case of pain, are that the agent not be joking, pretending or play­ acting. Each of these can be roughly referred to by one or more positive terms; viz. 'is serious,' 'is behaving in a real-life situation, ' and 'is sincere. ' But the essential point is that ''being serious'' or ''not joking," and so on does not refer to a single form of behavior, state, or frame of mind and the like. In different situations, esp ecially with respect to different activities or modes of behavior, ''not joking'' ''

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or ''being serious'' implies different things, in the sense that the criteria for it are multifarious and variable. Similarly with the other factors I mentioned. The upshot is that there is no tidy set of factors called ''being serious'' or ''not joking," whose presence we can easily ascertain at a given time and be absolutely sure of having exhausted. Consequently we cannot always know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, whether or not the person in question is joking, or pretending; and so on. Thus although I believe that the meaning of 'pretend,' 'joke,' 'play-act,' 'sincere,' 'serious,' etc., determines in a general way the criteria for applying these expres­ sions to persons i.e., that these criteria, like the criteria for 'is in pain' or 'is angry,' are D-criteria the uncertainty I described in relation to the applications of, e.g., 'is in pain' or 'is angry' also arises in relation to these criteria. That is, their warranted application presupposes normal conditions of sincerity, serious­ ness, and the like whose precise nature and presence in a particular situation itself is sometimes problematic. Further, whenever people find themselves in novel situations, new criteria-features for applying ' sincere,' 'serious,' 'joking, ' 'play­ acting,' etc., have to be discovered or stipulated. This, once again, illustrates the open-ended character of ''normal conditions'' relative to the various P-predicates. The moral of this is that in certain cases we must qualify our definition of 'D­ criterion' to read: ''x has properties ABC under normal conditions for expression y 's ' correct application, entails 'x is [a] y '." III

The logically sharp and exclusive distinction between paradigmatic D-criteria and I-criteria outlined in Section I is inapplicable to some ordinary expressions. Only in the case of technical mathematical and logical terms is the clear-cut distinction always definitely applicable. In ordinary language the relation between criteria and meaning is definitely contingent or definitely non-contingent only with regard to expressions whose meaning is both non-vague and perfectly fixed. But though many ordinary expressions are not vague,11 most or all have a flexible meaning. As a result that clear-cut distinction does not obtain in their case. The philosophical implications of this are quite important, as should become clear in the sequel. Vague Expressions and Their Criteria

I said that the clear-cut distinction between paradigmatic D-criteria and paradig­ matic I-criteria does not arise in relation to vague expressions; and that is evidently true of very vague expressions. Indeed, if C is a criterion for applying an expres­ sion 'v ' that has an extremely vague meaning, C cannot be said to be either ''de­ pendent'' or ''independent'' in my sense. That is, we cannot definitely say whether C is a (necessary or sufficient) criterion for v. Compare and contrast this with a moderately vague expression 'w ' that has, say, two partial criteria, A and B. If 'w '

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is vague ''relative'' to criterion A, 12 it may also be impossible to say defmitely that A is or is not a ''dependent'' criterion. But since 'w' is only moderately vague, it may be theoretically possible to say that criterion B is a D-criterion or an !­ criterion. The degree of a vague expression's vagueness varies inversely with the degree of confidence with which, logically speaking, we can say that criteria for its appli­ cation exist or can be provided. In other words, the degree of its vagueness varies with the degree of confidence with which we can say that it is a meaningful expres­ sion; 13 and its vagueness varies with the degree of confidence with which we can say that feature A rather than B, C, or D, etc., is a criterion (or features ABC rather than ADP, etc., are criteria) for its correct app lication. This way of looking at the concept of degrees of vagueness is related to another way of looking at it. On it, degrees of vagueness are determined by the vague aspects of an expression's meaning. The more extensive or pervasive these aspects are, the vaguer is the expression. Divergences or disagreements in people's application of an expression 'e, ' and the diversity of the criteria they employ or think they employ to justify their diver­ gent applications of 'e, ' may stem from some degree of vagueness in, and consti­ tute a symptom of, the vagueness of 'e 's ' meaning: provided that 'e ' is a non­ evaluative expression or an evaluative-cum-descriptive expression whose descrip­ tive meaning alone is in question. Further, although two persons may disagree in the way they use 'e ' and apply it on the strength of different criteria, it is nonethe­ less possible that the criteria they employ would be perfectly precise. It remains that people commonly disagree about the meaning of non-evaluative expressions because they appeal to vague criteria. 14 That is why this type of disagreement is only (and then, not always) a symptom of vagueness. A logical consequence of an expression 'e 's ' vagueness is that people disagree about its correct application as well as about the criteria for applying it. But the converse is false. 15 A further source of disagreement among users of a vague expression 'e ' may be the belief on the part of some of them that 'e 's ' criteria CF are defmitely D­ criteria, hence attempt to justify the appeal to CF by trying to show that they follow from 'e 's ' meaning; while others may contend that the criteria, CR, they employ, are definitely I-criteria. In their contentions both parties would be assum­ ing that 'e ' has a precise conventional meaning; or that at least it has a precise meaning in the way they use it. But if 'e ' is normally vague or vague in their particular employment of it, both parties would be mistaken. If the first party succeeds in ''demonstrating'' that CF follow from the meaning they impute to 'e, ' that meaning will not be a conventional meaning but, in effect, stipulated by them. •

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Flexibility of Meaning and Criteria

There is a second reason for the inapplicability of the sharp dichotomy between D­ and I-criteria that lies in the flexibility of the meaning of ordinary non-evaluative expressions . A consequence of the flexibility as in the case of vague expres­ sions is the difficulty, sometimes the downright impossibility in principle, to apply that clear-cut dichotomy. Indeed, the applicable criteria would frequently be more or less dependent on, or more or less independent of the meaning; neither absolutely dependent nor absolutely independent of them. But whereas the ana­ lytic/synthetic distinction is inapplicable to declarative sentences that contain extremely vague words or phrases, 16 declarative sentences of the form ''This is an X'' or A is an X, where 'X' is an expression with a fluid especially a very fluid meaning, is not definitely analytic or definitely synthetic17 a state of ' affairs, therefore, not confined to non-borderline cases of the expression x 's ' application! This is very important; since its basic reason is that, in contrast to formal logical and mathematical terms, the meaning and so the criteria for ordinary expressions are normally determined in use, not explicitly defined or delimited. An interesting question that arises at this point is whether the flexibility of the meaning and so of the criteria of many ordinary expressions is solely the result of the openness of the concepts they may express. The answer is I think ''No." For example, the meaning of color words involves marginal indeterminacy; yet the criteria for their non-marginal applications are I think definitely D-criteria. Al­ though the concepts they express lack sufficient conditions, they do have logically necessary conditions. (See subsection C.) For instance, ''looking reddish under normal perceptual conditions'' is a minimal condition for something's being red; while ''X looks blood red (or scarlet, deep red, etc.), under normal perceptual conditions," entails ''X is red." Contrast ''X looks very pale red under normal perceptual conditions," which does not entail ''Xis red," since there are borderline cases, between orange and red, in the spectrum. In short, marginal indeterminacy or open texture cannot always be responsible for the present phenomenon. In fact I shall now endeavor to show that the semantic flexibility in question, which results in the inapplicability of the clear-cut distinction between D- and I-criteria, is a different sort of flexibility from marginal indeterminacy or open texture, and may or may not be exhibited by open concepts. Nonetheless, a flexible concept in the former sense (F- 1 flexibility) must be an open concept; and whenever a concept is both flexible in sense F- l and open textured, the latter would be a result of its flexibility. More importantly, I hope we shall see in sub section C that the clear-cut distinction between D- and I-criteria is inapplicable to certain of the criteria of all open concepts; while the distinction between these two types of criteria is com­ pletely inapplicable to the borderline objects. ''

''

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To see more clearly what flexibility F- 1 consists in, as distinguished from the possibility of borderline cases in the employment of expressions that express open concepts, let us consider an example. Philosophers have long debated, but espe­ cially since the appearance of G.E. Moore's Principia Ethica, whether ''A is the morally right act in situation S'' means ''A is conducive to the greatest amount of good possible in the circumstances, in situation S, '' or whether the latter is part of or the whole criterion and so the ground for the former without being part of what 'morally right act' means. As we know Moore and certain other Consequen­ tialists maintained the former thesis; while such Deontologists as W.D. Ross and Prichard rej ected it. (All ''pure'' Deontologists deny that agathistic tendencies or actual agathistic consequences constitute a ground for the rightness or wrongness of moral acts.) In my own consideration of this question over a number of years, I oscillated between the two views, now being inclined toward the one view, now toward the other; until I realized or at least came to believe that the oscillation was perhaps symptomatic of an objective state of affairs; viz. that both camps are mistaken insofar as they believe that as ordinarily used, 'morally right act' defi­ nitely means or definitely does not mean some such thing as ''conducive to the greatest good possible in the circumstances ." Consequently, it now appears to me that the ordinary meaning of 'morally right act' is flexible to such a degree that each camp has some but no unequivocal grounds for its particular view. Both camps appear to miss the fact that the meaning of 'morally right act' is so lacking in fixity as to render impossible in principle a categorical ''Yes'' or ''No'' answer to the question: ''Does 'morally right act' mean 'conducive to . . . ' ?''18 All we can say is that some people but not others sometimes or always use 'morally right act ' definitely or more or less definitely to mean that. Note however that in all societies that draw moral distinctions at all, para­ digms of moral rightness there are plentiful, while other kinds of acts are para­ digms of morally wrong acts. There is no uncertainty or lack of clarity respecting the kinds of acts to which 'morally right' is applicable. Thus 'right' and 'wrong' in this sense are not vague. (Note that the characterization of word-vagueness as ''absence of clear reference and/or connotation'' which I now consider to be perhaps the best characterization of vagueness in what I called ''vagueness in sense one'' in ''Vagueness,"19 is inapplicable to 'right,' 'good' and other ''general'' grading labels. But it applies to specialized grading labels qua descriptive labels.) If the foregoing account of the ordinary employment of 'morally right act' is correct,20 it shows that ''conduciveness to the greatest good possible in the circum­ stances'' cannot definitely constitute either a D-criterion or an I-criterion for the ordinary employment of 'morally right act.' For those who categorically use 'morally right act ' to mean ''conducive to the greatest good possible in the circum­ stances," the latter phrase constitutes a definite D-criterion; while it cannot be a D-criterion at all for those who categorically refuse to use that phrase to mean

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'morally right act. ' Whether ''conducive to the greatest good possible in the circumstances'' would definitely constitute an I-criterion for them would depend on other factors. Since the situation I sketched in relation to 'morally right act' appears to arise in relation to an appreciable number of philosophically important ordinary expres­ sions, it constitutes a problem for thinkers who look for clear-cut analyses, e.g., clear-cut paraphrases, of the meaning or the uses of these expressions. It consti­ tutes a correlative problem if one attempts to categorically apply the ana­ lytic/synthetic dichotomy to declarative sentences containing these expressions . Thus if what I said above about the meaning of 'morally right act' is correct, ''The morally right act in situation S is the kind of act that is conducive to the greatest good possible in the circumstances'' is neither defmitely analytic nor definitely synthetic: at least as far as some of the statement's users are concerned. That would not affect the analytic/synthetic dichotomy and, consequently, the D­ criteria/I-criteria dichotomy themselves in any way; nor would it be a good reason for refraining from applying these distinctions in relation to ordinary language. For they do apply in a clear-cut way to some ordinary sentences and expressions respectively; and they do apply to other ordinary expressions with the qualifica­ tions I noted. The absence of a clear-cut distinction between D-criteria and !­ criteria respecting some ordinary expressions dramatizes one aspect of the general difference between ordinary language and logical and mathematical systems, which the Wittgenstein of Philosophical Investigations, P.F. Strawson, and other ordi­ nary language philosophers have emphasized; viz. the flexibility of the meanings and uses of many ordinary expressions, not necessarily confined to the openness of the concepts they express. If a philosopher wishes to make the D-criteria/I­ criteria or the analytic/synthetic distinction categorically applicable to, say, 'morally right act,' she must assign a fixed meaning to that phrase. The reason for the lack of fixity of the D-criteria of 'morally right act' is worth noting. That phrase appears to have been perhaps as far back as the Renaissance, with the rise and gradual spreading of the secular world view in the Western World, spearheaded by modem science in process of acquiring a use in English, and probably in other European languages as well, it did not originally possess; i.e., one or more ''descriptive'' types of use. If this is true, that type of use was added to its evaluative or grading use it shares with all other evaluative expres­ sions, including 'good,' 'desirable,' and 'valuable,' but with a range of application narrower than they. But at this point we must be careful to avoid the error of supposing that its applicability to certain kinds of phenomena and not others e.g., to actions but not to motives or to the consequences of actions means that it categorically possesses a descriptive use or descriptive uses. For by the same token 'good,' 'desirable,' and 'valuable' too would unquestionably have, in all the ways in which they are normally employed, various descriptive uses; whereas I tend to

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believe (see Chapter I3) that that is false with respect to the aesthetic uses of 'good' and 'bad,' and is at least an open question with respect to their moral uses. To that extent Consequentialist theories of the meaning of 'right' and 'wrong' are really overt or covert stipulations intended to give them some set of D-criteria by defining them in terms of one or another of the rival criteria-features of rightness and wrongness in common use at present in Western culture; by identifying the putative meaning of 'right' and 'wrong' with the chosen criteria. The more definite this identification in everyday moral discourse becomes the frrmer the new de­ scriptive use(s) and the new descriptive meaning(s)-of these expressions become. With that the defming features of rightness or wrongness more defmitely become (D-)criteria-features ; and vice versa. For the degrees in which D-criteria are or become definite or indefinite qua D-criteria, correspond to the degrees of definiteness or indefiniteness of the meaning of the expressions for which the criteria are criteria. In contrast to this Deontological theories can be seen as, in effect, attempts to slow down or stop the move toward a Consequentialist ''de­ scriptive'' use and meaning of 'right' and 'wrong, ' brought about by the increasing secularization of Western society, together with its pragmatic emphasis on the consequences of actions. A similar situation can be discerned in relation to the ''functional'' and possibly other uses of ' good' and 'bad' (or 'poor'), as e.g., in 'good (poor) knife,' ' good (poor) chair, ' as well as, perhaps, in relation to the various uses of 'desirable,' 'valuab le,' and 'worthwhile. ' The mechanism involved with respect to the non-moral and non-aesthetic uses of 'good' appears to be this. The criteria-features of goodness are generally simple and quite determinate, by virtue of the fact that the names of artifacts and man­ devised activities are what R.M. Hare calls '' functional words." Therefore, when­ ever speakers use such terms as ' good knife, ' 'good pen, ' or 'good watch,' the hearers, as members of the same language community, would know without having to be told, the criteria of goodness probably being appealed to. That is, the hearers would know what good-making features the speakers (a) probably have in mind (mean-2 or imply) in using the expressions 'goodX,' 'bad Y,' etc. In the course of time these good-making features come to be habitually included in what the members of that community (b) mean-I (signify, 'mean' in the primary sense of the word) by them. But because the border between ''mean-2'' and ''mean-I''­ between ''implying'' in the present sense and ''explicitly signifying'' is hazy, it is not always possible in principle to say definitely when it is being and when it is not being crossed. But since what a community of users means by an expression is precisely what it conventionally comes to mean-I for it, the repercussions of what I described would tend to be felt in other areas of meta-ethics and in normative aesthetic discourse. For instance, they bear on the question whether (a) ''I ought to do X'' sometimes means-I (is used to mean-I) (b) ''Xis required to conform to the

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generally-accepted standard," or (c) ''I have a feeling that I ought to do X'' (R.M. Hare, The Language ofMorals21); or whether, as I myself tend to believe, ''I ought to do X'' only implies (in the sense of logically presupposes) (b)-and, under normal conditions, (c). IV In Sections I - III I discussed various complexities relating to D- and I-criteria and the types of concepts for which they may be criteria. Here I shall briefly consider the criteria for ''non-essentialist'' or ''cluster'' concepts (CL-concepts). For con­ venience I shall refer to these criteria as 'cluster criteria' or CL-criteria. ''Family resemblance'' concepts (F-concepts) are the most familiar CL-concepts. I say ''the most familiar'' because I shall later distinguish a type of concept (S-concept) which, in a sense, is a species of CL-concepts; though, if that is logically possible, it would also be possible to consider it a sort of cross between paradigmatic ''essentialist'' concepts and F-concepts. In considering change of criteria and change of meaning in Chapter 1 3 I shall consider another type of CL-concept Hilary Putnam calls a ''law-cluster concept.'' There the discussion will highlight certain important characteristics of CL-criteria, including important similarities and differences between the CL-criteria of F-concepts and those of law-cluster concepts. I shall therefore be rather brief here. Since the publication of Ph ilosoph ical Investigations many philosophers, including William Alston, John Hospers, Hilary Putnam and Morris Weitz, have noted that F-concepts lack logically necessary and sufficient conditions; but that characterizes the class of CL-concepts as a whole, not just F-concepts. What is characteristic of F-concepts as such is the existence of an indefinite number of usually overlapping open sets or clusters of characteristics, each of which is considered actually sufficient for the particular F-concept' s normal application. Thus if an object 0 lacks some but not most of the characteristics forming part of a particular subset of sufficient conditions, the concept may still properly apply to 0. Further, the conditions of application referred to are characteristics in the usual sense, as against scientific laws in the case of (scientific) law-cluster concepts. The absence of logically necessary and sufficient conditions for F-concepts clearly distinguishes both paradigmatic and non-paradigmatic CL-criteria from D­ criteria. The fact that C-criteria are not severally or even jointly logically sufficient means that the relation between them and the meaning of any given CL-term 'x' cannot be non-contingent. At the same time they cannot be non-paradigmatic!­ criteria, because in their case the criteria! relation is definitely contingent. But despite their contingent character, they are not I-criteria either. This is evident from the definition of 'I-criterion.' I-criteria are logically parasitic on other kinds of criteria of application, such as D-criteria and we may now add, on CL-criteria

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too. For it is perfectly possible, and examples can be cited to show, that certain factual, e.g., causal regularities can become I-criteria, whether the concepts in question are ''essentialist'' or ''non-essentialist'' concepts e.g., F-concepts. But I shall leave it to the interested reader to think of some examples. The preceding has immediate application to the concept of ''open texture." An open, or open textured concept as Friedrich Waismann calls it,22 has been charac­ terized in various ways: for instance as a concept lacking clear-cut or well-defined boundaries, which therefore allows for doubtful or borderline cases in principle. Waismann describes an open concept as a concept that lacks boundaries in some ''direction(s)." (A ''concept'' that is open in all directions would not be a concept at all.) Many or all ordinary general names, such as 'table,' 'knife,' 'cat,' 'man,' 'beauty,' 'intelligent' and 'understanding' express concepts open in some degree or direction. Waismann may be right that all empirical concepts are open textured; and that only the technical concepts of pure mathematics and formal logic are closed. CL-concepts are necessarily open textured. Consequently, whenever openness is due to their ''non-essentialist'' character, the underlying cause can be considered the absence of paradigmatic D-criteria and the presence of CL-criteria. And while CL-concepts have CL-criteria, vague concepts unless they are also CL-concepts, e.g., F-concepts may have non-paradigmatic D-criteria. This is one difference between vagueness and open texture. More exactly, the preceding marks an im­ portant difference between the logical source of the semantic flexibility or fluidity in the two types of concepts. The criteria of many or all P-predicates in daily use appear to be CL-criteria. Ordinary psychological concepts are open textured, and I believe that in Philo­ sophical Investigations Wittgenstein has successfully shown that at least some are F-concepts. Certainly they appear to lack a fixed, closed set of behavioral criteria in their other-ascriptive uses; and their criteria do not seem to follow, strictly speaking, from the meaning of the predicates that express them. If these two things are true and if, in addition, the criteria are CL-criteria they would help dispel many of the perplexities linguistic philosophers writing on the subject have en­ countered, and avoid many of the errors some have committed, including those discussed by W. Gregory Lycan in ''Noninductive Evidence."23 (Chapter 9 .) There Lycan comes very close to saying what I have said about the criteria of P­ predicates, when, after his careful critical discussion of the criteriological account he concludes: ''So it seems that the criteriological view is clearly connected with Wittgenstein's notion of 'family resemblances,' inasmuch as a family resemblance term might well be construed to be one whose applicability is governed by a loose set of criteria, whose members overlap but do not disjunctively constitute a strict definition of the term.''24 In a footnote he adds: ''If there were a complex but finite disjunction of behavioral propositions which entailed a mental proposition, then,

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with respect to this case at least, an extended behaviorism would be true; a set of behavioral propositions would exhaust the meaning of the relevant mental term. And this we want to deny."25 Unfortunately the last statement is confused, since the conclusion does not follow from his premise. ''Extended behaviorism'' would not follow even if two way entailment obtained: for one thing, sameness of meaning is distinct from logical equivalence. It is instructive to look at that error a little more closely. What Lycan implies in effect is that the criteria for what I shall call a ''closed term'' 'e, ' i.e., a term expressing a closed concept, are necessarily identical with 'e 's ' meaning; so that the propositions listing the criteria-features in their proper interrelations would jointly constitute an explication of 'e 's ' meaning, a definition of the term. Since these propositions would be behavioral propositions, we would have what Lycan calls an extended behaviorism. The basic error here is the illicit identification of criteria and meaning; or stated otherwise, the erroneous supposition that the criteria-features in the case of paradigmatic D-criteria are necessarily defining features. The reason why I think that the criteria of some or all P-predicates are as I have described is this. There appear to be (a) no specific behavioral expressions of certain mental states constituting logically necessary conditions for the corre­ sponding psychological concepts. Likewise there appear to be (b) no single fixed, finite set, or no single fixed set or subset, of these expressions logically sufficient for the concepts' application. We find instead a variable number and variable sets of behavioral expressons, in all sorts of combinations, which members of a given culture or sub-culture generally consider normal expressions of the particular mental state. Many or most people in that culture or subculture but, notoriously, not the philosophical skeptic fmd them quite sufficient for the application of the relevant concepts. The temporal basis of the absence of a clear-cut distinction between essential and non-essential, defming and non-defining features, respecting some or all P-predicates, is possibly this: what is originally a contingent relation between certain features of an object E and the fact that it is an E (or is called an E), may be gradually transformed into a more or less non-contingent, conventional relation, becoming a matter of 'e 's ' meaning. This is possibly true at least of some P­ predicates. Whether it can be true of all P-predicates is, in essence, the crux of the controversy between the Cartesian and the Wittgensteinian respecting knowledge of other minds and the possibility of a ''private language." Thus what was perhaps originally only conceived of as a causal relation between natural expressions or manifestations of some or all mental states and the latter, has become a more or less conventional, hence conceptual relation. If this is true it provides an additional explanation of the process by which at least some of the I-criteria of P-predicates are or may be on their way to becoming non-paradigmatic D-criteria. (On the other

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hand, that would be partly or wholly false if C.S. Chihara's and J.A. Fodor's No Criteria theory is true with respect to ordinary P-predicates. (See Section VII.)) v

Slote's Cluster Terms/Concepts In a stimulating article entitled ''The Theory of Important Criteria''26 Michael Slote offers what he thinks is a novel account of the ''logic'' of what he calls ''cluster terms," such as 'city' and 'democracy'; (also 'game' and 'religion'). In what follows I will be concerned with the theory insofar as it throws light on the nature of CL-criteria and on CL-concepts in general, as well as on S-concepts as opposed to F-concepts and their criteria. Slote's central insight is that disagreements as to whether e.g., Buffalo is a city, whether a political system characterized by majority rule but denying the minority political rights is a democracy, are (frequently) due to the importance or unimportance attached to a particular characteristic taken as a criterion for the particular term or concept. He defines 'important criterion' as follows: ''A characteristic xis an important criterion off-ness if and only if xis a criterion off-ness and knowing whether xis or is not present in any given things is important for our disinterested understanding of or knowledge about s; ...A criterion is important, in other words, just in case its presence or absence in any given things makes a good deal of difference, from the standpoint of disinterested knowledge or understanding of s, to (the kind of thing) s (is)."27 Applying the concept of important criteria to cluster terms, he writes: Cluster terms are all terms with a variety of different criteria such that disagreements arise (or at least very naturally could arise) about their applicability in at least some cases where one of the criteria of their application is missing . . . Cluster terms, then, are terms disputes over which are typically due not to ambiguity but rather to differences in the importance 28 attributed to one or another missing criterion of the term being disputed.

For our present purposes I shall limit myself to the following observations concerning Slote' s views. Further observations will be reserved for another occaSlOn. (1) The terms Slote mentions or considers appear to have one negative feature in common. They all appear to express CL-concepts. Thus there is some justifica­ tion for calling them ''cluster concepts." But pace Slote they really express logi­ cally different sorts of CL-concepts and in that sense are a mixed bag. The immediate reason why Slote's ''cluster concepts'' cannot be essentialist concepts is that essentialist concepts (£-concepts) do not allow the assigning of different relative weights or degrees of importance to different putative criteria­ features of things called by a given general name. For to say that characteristics a, b, c, d are, severally, logically necessary for f-ness entails that in the absence of •

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any one of them we would simply not have an f-ness; which is another way of saying that a, b, c, dare equally important or necessary forf-ness. Actually, in the case of empirical concepts, so-called ''logically necessary conditions'' are rarely considered perfectly equal in importance: at least those conditions not so defined by express stipulation. However, empirical concepts rarely have logically necessary conditions, strictly speaking; in their case the question of the relative importance of conditions arises whenever some but not most of the conditions for f-ness are absent. If all are considered absolutely essential or equally important, the absence of any one of them would be sufficient for non:f-ness, and no borderline cases would be possible. Concept fwould be closed, by being treated so. If unequal weight is attached to different features, open texture would result. But the converse is not necessarily true. Both open texture and the ''Slote-phenomenon'' of impor­ tant criteria (or S-phenomena) are logically independent of whether the conditions, and so the criteria for f-ness, are (a) common characteristics or relations, or (b) only crisscrossing ''family resemblances'' of varying degrees of generality or specificity. In (a)'s case S-phenomena are independent of whether the conditions for f-ness are (i) common determinables, or (ii) relatively specific or specific common features, or (iii) include some determinables and some relatively specific or specific common features. I said that the S-phenomenon cannot arise in relation to £-concepts, meaning by this concepts that are applied on the strength of features severally considered equally important, as well as, jointly, logically sufficient. This seems to leave open the question of whether £-concepts can be applied on the strength of crisscrossing resemblances rather than a set of common features. The answer is I think '' No." For if the conditions for an £-concept do not apply to all, that would provide the logical link between £-concepts in our sense and concepts applied on the strength of certain common features. A concept of the latter sort is also commonly called an ''essentialist concept," usually without a distinction being drawn between it and £-concepts applied on the strength of one or more logically necessary conditions. Of course an £-concept C-1 that is used on the strength of logically necessary conditions is necessarily also a concept that is used on the strength of certain common characteristics. But the converse is false. It is not true that if a concept C2 is conventionally used on the strength of certain common characteristics, it would necessarily follow that it is being used on the strength of logically necessary conditions. Consequently C-2 may or may not be an £-concept. (2) Although a cluster concept in Slote's sense is necessarily a CL-concept, a ''family resemblance'' or F-concept in the sense in which it is understood in Philo­ sophical Investigations and in this book may or may not be a cluster concept in Slate 's sense, contrary to Slote, who, without giving any evidence, more or less equates the two.29 In other words, the S-phenomenon is exemplified by a whole variety of logically possible types of C-concepts, of which F-concepts are just one

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major type. Slote's theory does not uniquely specify a single, homogeneous type of term or concept. In fact I believe that some of Slote's ''cluster terms," e.g., 'promise' and 'democracy,' are not ''family resemblance'' terms in Wittgenstein's sense at all. Slote does not provide a logical as opposed to a cultural explanation of the S-phenomenon, in terms of a single putative model for all ''cluster terms''; and if our analysis so far is correct, no attempt of that nature can succeed. Stated differently, the question of whether or not, at a given time, certain speakers con­ sider a given criterion for f-ness as important for our disinterested knowledge about something S, does not affect the larger question of the nature of the logical conditions under which or under which alone the S-phenomenon arises. At the same time the problem of the relative importance of different characteristics, hence the problem of people's disagreement in applying certain terms or concepts, naturally arises in relation to bona fide F-concepts precisely because of the ab­ sence of logically necessary and sufficient conditions of application. This means that Slote's theory, rather than providing an alternative account of the logic or ''cluster concepts'' superior to the Wittgensteinian theory of ''family resem­ blances," is really a partial explanation of the modus operandi of such concepts and in that way complements it. (3) I said earlier that the S-phenomenon can arise in relation to all types of C­ concepts. Slote does not think of the matter in this way; but his description of ''cluster concepts'' singles out, in effect, just one type of CL-concept; what, for want of a better name, I have referred to as Slote- or S-concepts. What serves to distinguish S-concepts from bona fide F-concepts is one essential feature. Slote' s description of this essential feature is that these concepts have one or more actually necessary though individually non-sufficient conditions (hence criteria) of application. More correctly, what this means is that they have one or more characteristics some, say a majority of language-users consider to be logically necessary for f-ness, whereas others consider them as actually (not just logically) unnecessary, hence not a condition or criterion30 for f-ness at all. Instead of this Slote maintains that ''previous writers about cluster terms are simply wrong in maintaining that none of the criteria of cluster terms is necessary to the applicabil­ ity of those terms."31 In describing the matter thus, Slote in effect equates S- and F-concepts. Let me explain why I described so-called ''actually necessary conditions'' in the way I did. In order to be a necessary condition for f-ness, a characteristic X must be common to all ft; but in order to be an ''actually'' as opposed to a logically necessary condition, it must be possible for something to lack it without ceasing to be anf Thus, strictly speaking, an ''actually necessary condition'' is without qualification a contradiction in terms; and Slote is confused insofar as he uses that idea to attempt to define ''cluster concepts." Nevertheless the S-phenomenon provides an interpretation of so-called actually necessary conditions that eliminates

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the contra diction. I mean that some language users those who consider Ximpor­ tant forf-ness regard it as logically necessary; while others those who consider it as unimportant for f-ness regard it as logically unnecessary. Since Xis not considered by either party as an actually sufficient condition for fness, its presence does not, as such, make something an f As with F-concepts, only a cluster of variable characteristics is actually sufficient for fness. The preceding characterization of an S-concept, though different from Slote's, appears to fit the concept of democracy, which is one of Slote's paradigms, better than his own characterization of it. As Slote says, some people may consider the provision of minority rights as important or (logically) necessary, while others may consider it unimportant, hence unnecessary for democracy. But trouble seems to loom when we consider majority rule. If it is universally agreed that majority rule is necessary for democracy, majority rule would be logically necessary, period­ not merely considered logically necessary by some and not others: which would mean that democracy cannot be a CL-concept, therefore an S-concept. Slote says that ''it is clear ...that the existence of majority rule is (thought to be) necessary but not logically necessary for democracy.''32 The truth of the matter is that some people e.g., many in the West consider that feature so important for democracy as to be logically indispensable for it. By contrast, Communists reject it as unnec­ essary. Consequently one has the option either of (a) maintaining the existence of only a single concept of democracy call it ''theconcept of democracy'' or of (b) distinguishing (at least) two different concepts a Westem, ''liberal'' concept and a ''non- Western," e.g., Communist, concept of democracy. In case (a) the concept would be an S-concept if majority rule is, indeed, only an ''actually necessary'' condition. In the latter case neither of the two concepts would be an S-concept. In fact, from our characterization of an S-concept, it appears that every S-concept can be logically ''split up'' into two different types of concepts. Whether we prefer to think of a particular putative S-concept as a single bona fide S-concept or as really two different types of concepts, would depend on other considerations than those we have discussed. ( Compare this with the problem whether certain kinds of scientific concepts change with change in their criteria of application, discussed in Chapter 14.) VI We now pass to a consideration of the relation between the meaning and criteria of (1) defeasible concepts, and (2) non-evaluative ''expressive'' concepts.

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Meaning and Criteria Defeasible Concepts and Their Criteria

It is characteristic of what H.L.A. Hart calls defeasible concepts33 that they have logically necessary but not logically sufficient positive conditions of application. For as Frank Sibley puts the matter in ''Aesthetic Concepts," 34

For any sets [of positive] conditions we offer, there is always an (open) list of defeating conditions any of which might rule out the application of the concept. The most we can say schematically for a defeasible concept is that, for example, A, B, and C together are [actually?] sufficient for the concept to apply unless some feature is present which over. r1des or vo1·ds them.35

The word 'positive' before 'conditions'; in the first sentence, which I have inserted, is clearly necessary. It is not clear whether Hart holds that the set of defeating conditions is open with respect to all defeasible concepts. He points out that the list of six principal defenses, (A)-(F) ''with which an otherwise valid claim in contract can be met ..." is not exhaustive; so that the defeasible concept of contract cannot be defined by a set of necessary and sufficient conditions for its application.36 This would seem to support Sibley's view that the defeating condi­ tions form anopen set; but the phrase 'sufficient conditions' in the quotation from Hart may be intended to refer only to the positive conditions, not to the defeating (or negative) con ditions. The latter interpretation gains partial support from Hart's statement that the positive con ditions, such as having at least two parties, an offer by the one, acceptance by the other, etc. ''are not always sufficient."37 I dwell on this point because of this: if the list of defeating con ditions for applying a defeasi­ ble concept Cis closed, we can say the following: (1) ''a has positive characteris­ tics ABC, and all voiding conditions, W, R, S, etc. are absent," entails ''a is a C (concept C is applicable to a)." However, even if (1) is true with respect to all defeasible concepts, it would be vacuous as Hart points out. He also notes that even (1) would not entitle us to ''identify the meaning of a legal concept, say 'contract,' with the statement of the conditions in which contracts are held to exist."38 Our earlier discussion in this chapter shows why. Since in this case the conditions in which contracts are held to exist logically provide the criteria for 'contract,' what Hart says entails that these criteria are distinct from the meaning of ' contract.' The same applies to other defeasible concepts. Hart notes that ''any such theory of the meaning of legal concepts would fail for far more fundamental reasons; for it could not convey the composite character of these concepts nor allow for the distinctive features due to the fact that the elements in the compound are of distinct logical types."39 But though the list of defeating conditions for a defeasible concept may be logically open, as Sibley maintains, there must be some finite though possibly variable set of such conditions whose absence is actually sufficient, when the requisite positive conditions are all present, to ensure the concept's applicability. The same is true of the positive conditions themselves;

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otherwise no defeasible concept could possibly apply to anything, hence be a concept at all. (This is true of any kind of concept that lacks logically sufficient, or logically necessary and sufficient, conditions.) This is implicit in Sibley's remark that ''even with defeasible concepts, if we are told that, there are no voiding features present, 40 we can know that some set of conditions or features, A, B, C, ...is [actually] enough, in this absence of voiding features, to ensure, for example, that there is a contract."41 That is why Sibley is right here, although he is never quite clear in his paper about this point; since he fails to draw the distinc­ tion between logical and actual sufficient conditions. The conclusion to which the nature of defeasible concepts drives us is that their criteria provided in their case by the positive and negative conditions for their application are not D-criteria. The next question therefore is whether they are a species of I-criteria, or whether the D-criteria/ I-criteria distinction fails to accommodate them. The answer I think is the latter, since the relation between the criteria for defeasible concepts and the meanings of the expressions that convey these concepts is conceptual, not contingent. That is, though not D-criteria, they are like them in being connected with the meaning of the terms in question by linguistic convention. They are in fact a logically intermediate species of criteria; similar in some ways to bona fide D-criteria, and similar in other ways to I-criteria. I shall therefore referto them as 'quasi-independent criteria' or Q-criteria; and we can schematically characterize them as follows. A sufficient criterion for applying an expression 't 'or a concept Tis a Q-criterion if the following is true: '' Object a exhibits criteria-features AB C,'' does not entail '' Object a is (a) T," but (as with!­ criteria) is actually sufficient for the latter's probab le truth. The basic difference between Q-criteria and I-criteria is that the latter, as I characterized them, consist of features whose direct or in direct connection with the defming features of concept Tis purely factual, contingent. But they are unlike D-criteria and like I-criteria in that the applicability of 't ' or T to a phenomenon is always corrigible in principle, hence cannot be certain. Because of the complexity of defeasible concepts, includ­ ing the multiplicity of their positive and negative criteria-features, their applica­ tions are more likely to be disputed or problematic than empirical concepts applied on the strength of empirically-grounded I-criteria. At present, the latter is much more true of the empirical concepts of the natural sciences than those of the human sciences. It is interesting that defeating conditions pertaining to defeasible concepts play a logical role similar in some respects to what I called normal or standard condi­ tions ( Chapter 8). But if we conceive of defeating con ditions AB C as factors whose absence is necessary for correctly applying some expression or concept, the similarityto stan dard conditions would exist between their presentcontraries, not­ A, not-B, not- C, whenever they happen to be empirical characteristics or relations. Even then these features would not be a species of standard conditions in our •

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sense. The conditions that constitute normal or standard conditions for the exis­ tence of objects designated by an expression 'e ' always consist in empirical, contingent features or states of affairs, whereas the factors that constitute defeating conditions of defeasible concepts C, D, E, etc., are logically determined by the conventional meaning of expressions 'c, ' 'd, ' 'e, ' etc., which convey concepts C, D, E, etc.

''Expressive Concepts'' There are interesting differences as well as some similarities between the criteria of defeasible concepts and those of so-called expressive or emotional concepts, as they are employed in relation to works of art, to other sensible phenomena or activities, or to persons. But because of the complexity of the subject I shall confine myself in this necessarily brief account chiefly to the applications of ''expressive'' expressions to works of art, in such sentences as ''This is a very melancholy tune (song, poem, etc.)," and ''This painting has a cheerful (gay) air about it." Whether what follows is applicable to psychological predicates in general, or to the uses of expressive expressions in such sentences as '' John is sad'' and '' My sister has been very melancholy since her disappointment in love," I shall not inquire. The criteria for certain uses of 'sad (sorrowful, mournful) expression' are decidedly conventional, are D-criteria; I mean in the context of traditional social expressions of sadness, sorrow, or mourning for, e.g., a fallen soldier or hero, or some public figure. These, as we say, are symbolic of the community's or coun­ try's mourning, etc. In many countries funeral services or ceremonies, civil and military, are among the best examples, and included, for instance in U.S. President Kennedy's funeral, the riderless horse with reversed stirrups, the tattoo, the gun volley; and so on. Likewise with conventional wedding ceremonies and other social festivities, where certain utterances, dances, songs, physical movements or actions are conventional expressions, often symbolic, of joy, mirth or happiness. But it must be emphasized that scarcely any individual gesture, utterance, manner of dress or behavior or similar activity, taken by itself, apart from the appropriate circumstances, unequivocally counts toward the application of any expressive expression. As with the aesthetic uses of expressive wor ds and phrases, the criteria here consist of a complex of interrelated modes of behavior, often in an unvarying, specified order. That is most clearly true of traditional religious ceremonies, expressive of certain religious sentiments and attitudes. The creative nature of art as opposed to the conventional character of these rituals results in certain obvious differences at this point. Unvarying uniformity, although generally essential for the conventional expressiveness of social festivities and rituals, is death to the expres­ siveness of art. It is not surprising that phenomenological D-criteria play an

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important role in the aesthetic uses of expressive words and phrases. The same observations apply to the other sorts of ''aesthetic terms'' discussed in Chapter 14. In addition to the foregoing I tend to believe that the phenomenological fea­ tures of sad, cheerful, mournful, or melancholy faces, human or animal, have become or are in process of becoming more or less conventional criteria for 'sad (gay, melancholy, etc.) expression' or 'sad (gay, etc.) look,' though not, I think, true (yet?) of works of art, or only true to a lesser extent and in very restricted kinds of art, such as some classical art. The sensuous or ideal phenomenological features of many works of art, especially of contemporary and, most of all, of avant garde art, which in principle provide criteria for the application of expressive expressions to them, are not or have not yet become D-criteria. That is seen from the fact that e.g., ''The music is sad'' is not entailed by ''The music has sensuous (N-)features A, B, C, ..." such as the colors, forms and lines in a painting; the sensuous qualities of the words, lines, stanzas, and so on in a poem; the tones composing the melodies and the harmonies of a work of music, and their combina­ tions or interrelations, whatever these features may be. Nor is ''X (a poem, sym­ phony, etc.) is sad'' entailed by ''Xhas sensuous qualities A, B, C, ... or D, C, F, G, ... or E, D, A, R, ...or ...," however long the list of the disjunctions may be. For as Frank Sibley has shown with respect to what he calls ''aesthetic concepts'' or ''aesthetic terms'' in general,42 in which we can include expressive concepts or terms as one special subclass, no fmite set or combination of sensuous features, 43 however large, entails an object's exhibition of a particular expressive feature (£­ feature), such as delicacy, flamboyance, dynamism, or warmth; or their opposites. Variable sets of sensuous features in variable combinations or relationships, none of which is logically necessary, make a work of art what we call sad, or gay, or melancholy in a contingent sense of 'make': features and combinations of features that provide bona fide C-criteria for the application of various expressive terms to it.44 (1) Certain variable sets of sensuous features (but probably no additional, logically necessary F-features) provide, for different perceivers, contingently sufficient conditions for the correct application of a particular expressive concept. Ultimately, however (2) an in dividual's perception of expressive features in a work 0 depends on its giving her a certain sense or impression, or producing a certain effect on her: a sense, impression, or effect we describe as a sense of sadness, melancholy, gaiety, and so on. 0 's sensuous qualities, which constitute phenome­ nological criteria-features for expressive concepts, are perceptually or psychologi­ cally connected with the particular sense, impression, or effect people come away with from attending to these features. For example, the sense of sa dness that one normally gets from listening to Sibelius' ''Valse Triste'' or Tchaikowsky's Fifth Symphony, is the ultimate epistemic ground, hence the primary criterion, for our picking out certain sensuous, phenomenological features the melodies and harmonies, dynamics, etc. as sad-making criteria-features of them. But since it

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is often quite difficult to say just which of a work's sensuous features are respon­ sible for its melancholy, its sadness or cheerfulness, and since the same sets of sensuous features often leave different impressions on different sensitive perceiv­ ers who read, view, or listen to a work under the same or similar contextual con di­ tions, we can understand how and why these sensuous features have resisted becoming conventional criteria. In the application of ' gloomy' and 'depressing' to some paintings, poems, symphonies, etc., the situation becomes complicated further by the perceiver's injection of valuational elements (of ' 'good'' and ' 'poor'' or ' 'bad'') into them. This additional source of disagreement in applying 'gloomy' and 'depressing' will be considered in the next chapter, which is devoted to evaluative expressions and their criteria. Let me merely note that if we ask whether the ' 'affective'' criterion the sense or impression of 0 's sa dness (melancholy, gaiety, etc.) is a D-criterion or a C-criterion, the correct answer would be: ' ' It all depends on whether 'sense of sa dness,' 'impression of gaiety,' etc., are cluster, e.g., 'family resemblance,' terms." But insofar as these phrases appear to express open concepts, the presumption is that their criteria are C-criteria. VII Let us, finally, consider the question whether all or dinary and all scientific expres­ sions without exception have some sort of criteria or other, especially as C.S. Chihara and J.A. Fodor essentially maintain, in a well-known critique of Wittgen­ stein's theory of criteria, 45 that the answer is ' ' No." Their negative view, known as the No Criteria Theory, is that scientific terms and perhaps ordinary psychological predicates are not applied on the strength of criteria, nor yet on the strength of any ' 'symptom'' in Wittgenstein's sense. In my terminology their negative claim is that these expressions lack either paradigmatic or non-paradigmatic D-criteria, or I­ criteria. 46 They claim that in contexts in which theories are employed, ' 'existential claims about states, events, and processes, which are not directly observable [,] are susceptible of justification despite the fact that no logical relation obtains between the predicates ascribing such states and predicates whose applicability can be directly observed. ''47 In an excellent article 48 William Hasker contests that claim. He concedes to Chihara and Fodor that scientific concepts are not applied on the strength of (our D-)criteria; but he also persuasively argues that in these or other cases where that is true, there are logical connections between the scientific con­ cepts and observation concepts, effected by means of correspondence-rules that function analogously to criteria. He therefore to my mind rightly concludes that the No Criteria view qualified in this way is complementary to a duly qualified or restricted criteriological account. That is, that in my terminology the D-criteria, and so the D-criteria/ I-criteria distinction, applies to at least some ordinary concepts; while the qualified No Criteria account is true of some concepts occurring in

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scientific theories as well as ordinary P-predicates. Concerning the latter Hasker observes that on his account it is sufficient that the theory ''contain some psycho­ logical predicates for which criteria are available." It is not necessary that every psychological predicate should be directly connected to ''observable behavior by its own criteria.'' In the case of those psychological predicates that lack criteria, it suffices if they are connected with observation through the ''network of deductive connections within the theory.''49 Further, one can say with confidence about these psychological theories of the future that they will not violate the two logical requirements that ''theoretical predicates must be tied logically to observation predicates, and that psychological predicates must be tied to behavioral criteria."50 The heart of Hasker's argument is the following: Any branch of empirical science (say, physical geometry) formalized as a deductive system in which theorems are derived by the familiar rules of logical inference from a limited number of fundamental statements or axioms . . . What is needed to make such inferences possible to give ''empirical meaning'' to the system are . . . ''correspondence rules," etc. These correspondence rules . . . are rules stating connections between the theoretical predi­ cates which occur in the axioms, and observation-predicates . . . Only when some rules of this kind have been adopted, does geometry make testable assertions about the physical world and the same is true of all other scientific theories. Now, my contention is that these correspondence rules play essentially the same role in scientific theories, as criteria 51 play in our ordinary conceptual scheme.

In support of his contention about the role of correspondence rules, he cor­ rectly argues that they ''exhibit both kinds of necessity'' which he had shown to be ''characteristic of criteria,"52 namely, necessity for criteria and necessity ofcriteria, respectively. He explains the former as follows: To state the criteria for Y is to describe the mostfavorable conditions for ascribing Y, and implies that when these conditions occur . . . one is justified in ascribing Y withoutfurther hesitation, even though the criteria do not constitute logically sufficient conditions for the occurrence ofY. The necessity for criteria lies in the fact that if there were no criteria for being-in-Y the concept of Y could not be applied.53

Criteria are necessary because the connection between a psychological predi­ cate and its criteria is ''necessary rather than contingen t. ''54 In light of our discus­ sion of D-criteria in this book, it is seen that Hasker's description of the necessity for and of criteria leaves something to be desired. Fortunately the errors do not materially affect his central thesis. Some of the errors lie in Hasker's (a) identifi­ cation of criteria and conditions of a certain kind; (b) his failure to distinguish different sorts of conditions that can be called, with propriety, ''the most favorable conditions for ascribing Y'; and (c) the supposition that all users of expression 'Y' would apply it without further hesitation even though (or when) Ylacks logically

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sufficient conditions of application, hence when its criteria are non-paradigmatic D-criteria. Hasker argues that ''without correspondence-rules, no observational conse­ quences could be deduced from the theories; they could not be applied to any experiences, and would be empirically (though perhaps not linguistically) mean­ ingless."55 This constitutes the necessity for correspondence-rules in scientific theories. He also argues that just as ''change of criteria involves change of con­ cept," it is plausible that ''change of correspondence-rules involves'' a change in the ''entire theory of which they are a part.''56 The following observations to this are in order. First, in the ordinary and in my use of 'criterion,' a criterion may be a rule, a rule-criterion. Consequently correspondence-rules themselves qualify as criteria in a straightforward sense if, as Hasker argues, they ''play essentially the same role as criteria." The necessity for correspondence-rules in those scientific theories that contain theoretical concepts and which are or can be formalized into a deductive system, is I think undeniable; and a change in these rules would result in greater or lesser change in the concepts and, consequently, in the scientific theories in question. Therefore the rules play the role of paradigmatic D-criteria which in fact they purport to parallel. For one of the important features of paradigmatic D­ criteria is that a change in them results in a change in the meaning of the expres­ sion and the concept whose criteria they are. (See Chapter 13.) Hasker concludes that ''it is not in general the case that there is a unique set of acceptable correspondence-rules for a given set of theoretical axioms,"57 as is shown by physical geometry. But this does not damage the view that they are rule­ D-criteria, or parallel D-criteria in essential respects. As I pointed out earlier in this chapter, a multiplicity of D-criteria for a particular expression is perfectly possible. Second, in pointing out one of the important ways in which scientifci theoriz­ ing and ordinary discourse differ, ''namely the way in which concepts are intro­ duced and employed,"58 Hasker brings out in effect an analogy between what he calls ''derived correspondence-rules'' and I-criteria. For he says the follo wing about the former: '' It is entirely possible ...that when a concept has been introduced without correspondence-rules for saying ''This is an A, '' such rules may be pro­ vided at a later date. The accepted body of theory may either entail or [more realistically] make it somewhat probable that under certain experimental conditions results will be obtained indicating the presence of an individual A.''59 This is germane to proposition A. Although it may not show that I-criteria for a concept Ccan exist in the absence of D-criteria,60 it does show that, even in the absence of D-criteria, certain empirical correlations can function analogously to I-criteria. The preceding observations are not unrelated to Chihara's and Fodor's under­ standing of a ''symptom'' in Wittgenstein's sense, hence an I-criterion in my sense. For in relation to their classic counter-example to the criteriological account,

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namely the Wilson cloud chamber, used for the detection of high-speed, charged particles, they write: '' It is ...clear that the basis for taking these streaks as in dica­ tors of the paths of the particles is not observed correlations between streaks and some criterion of motion of charged particles. ( What criterion for determining the path of an electron could Wilson have used to establish such correlations?)."61 The trouble with this characterization of a ''symptom'' is that it is too restrictive, so the reason they give for refusing to call the streaks ''symptoms'' will not quite do. A ''symptom'' ( I-criterion) is simply an observed or observable phenomenon P contingently correlated with another phenomenon or class of phenomena, Q, such that P 's presence in dicates Q 's presence. The correlation need not obtain between Pand the criterion or criteria for Q. The relation between Pand the D-criteria for Q may be indirect, resulting from the fact that 'Q ' was originally applied to the phenomenon or phenomena in question, or Qs were identified on the strength of some D-criterion C. Even when C consists of a set of criteria-features, Pmay be or may have been established as an I-criterion of Qon the strength of its observed correlation with C; i.e., the way Chihara and Fodor understand a ''symptom." Alternatively, Pmay be correlated with non-criteria-features f, g, etc., which are observationally correlated with P: in which case f, g, etc., can be appealed to as !­ criteria. From this it is seen that Chihara's and Fodor's understanding of a ''symp­ tom," albeit too restrictive, is in line with my more general characterization of an I-criterion. To sum up. The existence of I-criteria for a descriptive expression 'e 'presup­ poses the existence of either (a) a different kind of criterion for applying 'e, 'or of (b) ''underived'' correspondence-rules. It depends on whether 'e ' expresses an empirical or a theoretical concept. In light of our discussion of D-, C- and Q-criteria earlier in this chapter, we can say that whenever 'e 'expresses an empirical concept, its I-criteria presuppose the existence of either D-, or C-, or Q-criteria. Chihara and Fodor are therefore correct in maintaining that some expressions or concepts are not applied on the strength of D-criteria. But they are mistaken in not recognizing the existence of other types of criteria that may be involved in the employment of some empirical expressions or concepts. Later, in Chapter 13, in considering Hilary Putnam's ''law-cluster'' concepts, we shall encounter empirical concepts that have none of the aforesaid types of criteria but, rather, a type of criterion analogous to the C­ criteria of ''family resemblance'' concepts.

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Notes 1 . These characteristics reflect the linguistic wisdom of language users. Imagine the difficulties, inconvenience and disagreements that would have existed or arisen if the concept of linguistic meaning and also, I should add, the concept of criterion were open, scalar, and vague. 2.

Quine, Davidson and Wittgenstein, among others, deny that ''meanings'' are entities. For instance, Quine ''claims that at best," as P .M. Hacker states in ''Wittgenstein and Quine: Prox­ imity at Great Distance'' (Wittgenstein and Quine, Robert L. Arrington and Hans-Johann Glock, eds. [London: Routledge, 1 996), pp. 1-38]) ''we can talk of expressions having meaning, i.e., being significant, and of different expressions as having the same (or different) meaning." (Ibid., p. 16.) That view I share. More precisely, I deny that there are ''meanings'' as entities, either as Platonic entities of some sort as Edmund Husserl and Roman fugarden, for example, maintain, or as more down-to-earth ''objective'' entities of some sort existing apart from and independently of all actual meaningful words, phrases, sentences.

3 . (a) obtains either because W is not directly or indirectly determined by 'Y's ' meaning, in the manner described earlier in relation to D-criteria. 4.

Wittgenstein, The Blue Book, p. 25.

5 . Of course the cultural aspects of particular body language and other behavioral expressions of psychological states or conditions tend to vary, at a given time, with different cultures and sub­ cultures, and, to a lesser extent, with different individuals in one and the same culture or sub­ culture. 6. I am excluding from ''avowals'' interjections and other ''natural expressions'' of certain feelings, emotions, or sensations, such as screaming and weeping. These are more or less conventional criteria-features for the application of various P-predicates to others. Errol Bedford, in ''Emo­ tion," appears to neglect the I-criteria of emotion; and Gilbert Ryle, in The Concept ofMind, concentrates on the behavioral expressions that are in reality D-criteria, though he himself does not raise the question whether these expressions are contingently or non-contingently connected with the meaning of emotion words. But the supposition that they are non-contingently con­ nected with their meanings is a central implication of his philosophical behaviorism as a whole. Cf. also Strawson' s ''Persons.'' 7. I say ''usually'' because borderline cases sometimes arise from the conflict of two or more alternative criteria or sets of criteria applied to a particular expression by different users. Border­ line cases can also arise in principle in relation to a single individual A 's use of expression 'e ' if (a) there are two sets (e.g., two sorts of) criteria for 'e '; (b) the criteria appear to conflict in re­ lation to observed phenomenon P; and (c) A gives, or tends to give, equal weight to the con­ flicting criteria or sets of criteria. 8.

The above is not affected by Kenny' s argument against Albritton' s equation of criterion with decisive evidence; namely, that this is incompatible with the possibility of a multiplicity of crite­ ria on a single topic. ''For if there are two independent criteria for a single state of affairs, it is possible that the two criteria may conflict; and in that case, at least one of them is not decisive.'' (''Criterion," p. 259. My italics.) The answer is that two or more logically sufficient (D-)criteria cannot be independent (see earlier), hence cannot possibly conflict.

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But we must not forget that a statement of the form ''Object 0 satisfies criterion is

C, '' where C

intended to be a D-criterion, is corrigible in principle. That is sometimes forgotten by philoso­

phers. Thus Norman Malcolm states in ''Knowledge of Other Minds'': ''If he [J.S. Mill] had a criterion [for determining whether another ' walking and speaking figure' does or does not have thoughts and feelings] he could apply it, establishing with

certainty that this or that human fig­ ure does or does not have feelings . . . '' (The Philosophy ofMind, V.C. Chappell, ed. [Englewood Cliffs, NJ, n.d.], p. 1 52.) This also points to an important theoretical difference between evi­ dence and D-criteria but not I-criteria. Evidence, consequently the degree of assurance one can have in the application of an I-criterion, may vary anywhere from ''very little'' to ''extremely strong''; whereas a D-criterion, ifcorrectly applied, ensures with certainty the applicability of the appropriate expression(s). I ignore such complications as possible borderline cases and the fluid­ ity of the meaning of certain expressions. 10.

It will become clear in Section ill that the word 'necessarily' is probably too strong.

In fact the

present discussion of the criteria of P-predicates and subsequent discussions of them in this book must be taken with the qualifications or modifications stated in or required by that Section. 11.

As opposed to involving open-texture or marginal indeterminacy in their uses. See my ''Vague­ ness," Philosophy ofLanguage and Logical

Theory: Collected Papers (Lanham, MD: Univer­

sity Press of America, 1 995), pp. 3-24. 12.

This cannot be equated with the vagueness of a certain part or aspect S of

'W's ' meaning. For if S is a vague part of the expression' s meaning, we cannot defmitely say whether A is a crite­ rion. If we could, S would not be vague.

13.

Leaving aside, e.g., certain P-predicates in their self-ascriptive use. Many of these predicates are perfectly non-vague, although the ascriptions are not made on the strength of any criteria.

14.

Note that the word ' vague' in ' vague criteria' has a different use, but not a different meaning, from its employment in 'vague word.'

15.

Something I was unaware or not clearly aware of when I published ''Vagueness'' in Philosophi­

cal Quarterly, Vol. 12, No. 47 (April 1962), pp. 1 3 8- 1 52, and reprinted in Philosophy ofLan­ guage and Logical Theory: Collected Papers. 16.

See my ''Vagueness, Meaning, and Absurdity," American

Philosophical Quarterly, Vol. 2, No. 2, April 1 965, pp. 1 1 9- 1 29 . Reprinted in my Philosophy ofLanguage and Logical Theory: Collected Papers, pp. 25-46.

17.

This is one facet of the flexibility of the criteria for such expressions.

18.

Note that this is a different sort of flexibility from open texture, as well as from vagueness; though the outcome of this type of semantic flexibility is very similar to the outcome of the latter two.

19.

Philosophy ofLanguage and Logical Theory: Collected Papers, pp. 3-24.

20.

I am using 'morally right act' only as a possible illustration of the phenomenon under considera­ tion. What I am saying about the distinction between D- and I-criteria would remain if my ob­ servations about the meaning of 'morally right act' are erroneous.

21.

Ibid. ' p. 1 6 7.

22.

''Verifiability," Logic and Language, First Series, Antony Flew, ed. (Oxford: Blackwell, 1 955), pp. 1 1 7- 1 44.

Meaning and Criteria

226 23.

Lycan, ''Noninductive Evidence: Recent Work on Wittgenstein' s 'Criteria',"

American

Philosophical Quarterly, Vol. 8 , No. 2, April 1 9 7 1 , pp. 1 09- 1 22 . 24.

Ibid. , p. 1 2 1 .

25.

Ibid. , footnote 1 7 .

26.

The Journal ofPhilosophy, Vol. LXill, No. 8 (April, 1 966), pp. 2 1 1-224.

27.

Ibid. , p. 2 1 7 .

28.

Ibid. , pp. 220-22 1 .

29.

Indeed, Slote thinks that his account of cluster concepts is more adequate than Wittgenstein's, William Alston' s and John Hospers' usual account of them as alleged ''family resemblance'' concepts.

30.

Contra Slote, op cit., pp. 220-22 1 , and passim.

31.

Ibid. , p. 222.

32.

Ibid.

33.

''The Ascription of Responsibility and Rights," Logic and Language, First Series, Antony Flew, ed., pp. 1 45-1 66.

34.

See above.

35.

Art and Philosophy, W.E. Kennick, ed. (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1 964), p. 3 5 7 . Italics in original.

36.

Hart, op cit., p. 1 4 8 .

3 7.

Ibid. Italics in original.

38.

Ibid. , p. 1 54.

39.

Ibid., pp. 1 54- 1 5 5 .

40.

My italics.

41.

Sibley, op cit., p. 3 5 7 .

42.

Ibid., pp. 3 5 1-3 7 3 .

43.

Sibley calls them ''non-aesthetic features''; but I now recognize that that is an error. Rather, they are the ''frrst-order'' aesthetic features that ''make'' up the expressive qualities

the sadness,

melancholy, cheerfulness, power, etc.; i.e., what might therefore be called the ''second-," ''higher-order'' aesthetic features 44.

of a work of art.

For a detailed consideration of aesthetic, including expressive terms, see my The

Concept ofArt

(New York, 1 97 1 ), Chapters Five and Six. But see endnote 3 8 . 45.

''Operationalism and Ordinary Language: A Critique of Wittgenstein,"

Wittgenstein: The

Philosophical Investigations, George Pitcher, ed. (New York, 1 966), pp. 3 84-4 1 9 . 46.

We must here include non-paradigmatic D-criteria, although the authors appear not to recognize their existence or possibility. In this they react to the ''classical'' Wittgensteinian position con­ cerning criteria in general and P-predicates in particular. The classical position does not recog­ nize (save for Lycan, in effect) the existence of non-paradigmatic D-criteria.

4 7.

Op cit., p. 4 1 2 . Italics in original.

Criteria ofNon-Evaluative Concepts 48.

''Theories, Analogies, and Criteria," American

227 Philosophical Quarterly, Vol. 8, No. 3 , July,

1 97 1 , p. 2 5 3 . 49.

Ibid. , p. 2 5 6 . Italics in original.

50.

Ibid.

51.

Ibid. , p. 2 5 3 . Italics in original.

52.

Ibid.

53.

Ibid. Italics in original.

54.

Ibid. , p. 245. Italics in original.

55.

Ibid. , p. 2 5 3 .

5 6.

Ibid. Italics in original.

57.

Ibid.

58.

Ibid. , p. 254.

5 9.

Ibid. Italics in original.

60.

Whether or not it does, depends on whether these derived correspondence-rules can be consid­ ered bona fide rule-criteria, the way ''underived'' correspondence-rules can be considered bona

fide D-criteria. 61.

Chihara and Fodor, op cit., p. 4 1 0. Italics in original.

Chapter 1 1 Criteria and Grading Standards ofEvaluative Concepts, Part 1 I As we saw in Chapter 10, I-criteria are dependent on the contingent relation between (a) the defining features of the phenomenon 'X, '' referred to by expres­ sion X, 'or (b) non-defining features of Xs that entail (a), on the one hand, and some other independently observable phenomenon Q, on the other. That is not true of the evaluative criteria for 'good' and 'bad,' 'desirable' and 'undesirable,' etc. The latter depend on something else. To see this in the case of (1) grading labels such as 'good' and 'bad,' (2) specialized grading labels, (3) 'right' and 'wrong,' and ( 4) other types of evaluative- cum-descriptive expressions, we must consider them separately. On the analogy of D-criteria and I-criteria, I shall here speak of ' 'dependent evaluative criteria'' or De-criteria, and ' 'independent evaluative crite­ ria'' or le-criteria, respectively. As we shall see, some of the criteria relative to the various types of grading labels, in certain of their uses, are what I call De-criteria. Since these labels include 'good,' 'desirable,' and 'valuable,' and their opposites, we can see from the prece ding brief discussion of the criteria for 'good' and 'bad' that De-criteria are in some ways different from D-criteria but similar to I-criteria, while they differ from the latter in other ways. What follows should make this, as well as their important similarities to D-criteria, clear. The basic nature of these similarities is the reason why I call them De-criteria. We find the same sort of picture, mutatis mutandis, in relation to le-criteria vis-a-vis I-criteria and D­ criteria. Like all other meaningful expressions, evaluative or grading expressions have relevant con ditions and criteria of applicability. But as evaluative expressions they also have reference in some sense to relevant kinds of standards of evaluation: stan dards that grade or evaluate the items to which the evaluative expressions are correctly applied, such as the moral rightness or wrongness of actions or classes or kinds of actions. Consequently, the following questions will primarily concern us in this and in Chapter 12 : (1) (a) the nature of the criteria for the applicability of general grading labels in their evaluative uses, and the relation of these criteria to the meaning of these labels; (b) the nature of the applicable grading standards and their relation to (i) the meaning of these expressions and to (ii) their criteria of application. (2) Similarly in the case of special grading labels. And fmally, (3)

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a comparison of the kind (s) of criteria relating to general grading labels and special grading labels respectively. I shall use the term 'descriptive criterion' as a convenient label for ' 'a criterion for the correct application of a descriptive expression in its, or in a particular, descriptive sense or meaning.'' Analogously, I shall use 'evaluative criterion,' mutatis mutandis, in relation to general and specialized grading labels . To keep the discussion of criteria within manageable length, I shall confme myself to criteriafeatures: to the kind of criterion exemplified by e.g., sweetness, ripeness, and aroma in the case of apples or pears; balance, variety and harmony of colors in the case of paintings; and so on. I shall also touch on the way (s) in which empirical features may also be ' 'transformed'' into or be harnessed for use as evaluative criteria-features, in light of the relevant evaluative standards involved. The distinction between D-criteria and I-criteria drawn in Chapter 10 is applicable to descriptive expressions and to evaluative expressions that have a descriptive use or descriptive uses. It is inapplicable to evaluative expressions in their evaluative use or uses. Thus D- and I-criteria are criteria for e.g., statements and for mixed value judgments (such as ' ' He is the thief who stole my money !'') but not for ' 'pure'' value judgments (such as ' 'This is wrong !''). As I characterized them and will employ them throughout this book, D- and I-criteria are species of ' 'descriptive criteria.'' II Evaluative expressions are of two broadly-defined types: (A) general, and ( B) special, grading expressions or labels. The former consist in terms that designate standards of grading or evaluation of various kinds: moral, aesthetic, political, economic, religious, etc. Examples are 'good' and 'bad' ( 'very good,' 'excellent,' etc.), 'right' and 'wrong,' 'desirable' and 'undesirable,' 'valuable' and 'worthless.' The latter are all specialized evaluative- cum-descriptive labels, include a ' 'descrip­ tive'' element in their meaning, thus evaluate the particular kind or class of thing they designate. Some examples of these terms are 'brave,' 'courageous' and 'cowardly,' 'work of art' and 'art,' 'just' and 'unjust,' 'democracy' and ' dictator­ ship,' 'holy' and 'unholy,' 'sacred' and 'profane.' As we shall see, some if not all general grading labels additionally have a ' 'descriptive'' meaning-component in some of their uses, as they apply to certain kinds or classes of things. The question of whether a particular general grading label has a descriptive component in its meaning may be relevant to the question of the kind of criterion or criteria of application it has. General evaluative terms may derive a descriptive meaning or meanings from the meaning of their designata, the classes of things they designate. Thus 'good' and 'bad' which are general evaluative terms in our sense, meaning that they

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range over, apply to a wide variety of classes of items, are not limited in their application to one or a few specific classes of things are excellent examples of general evaluative terms that acquire different meanings from their different referents or designata. For example, 'good' has come to mean ''useful," while 'bad' or 'poor' has come to mean ''not useful'' or even ''useless'' whenever it qualifies any functional word e.g., the name of any human artifact or activity. Similarly they have acquired other special meanings from their qualifying pets, in e.g., 'a good horse,' ' a good dog, ' ' a good racing horse,' etc. In general, ' good' in these uses has come to mean ''good ofX-kind," while 'bad' or 'poor' has come to mean ''not good or bad of X-kind," where 'x, ' which designates the class of Xs, may stand for a wide variety of classes of things : artifacts, actions and activities, pets and other domesticated animals (''good elephants," ''tigers," ''lions," etc.) but not ' good lion, ' ' good tiger,' etc. in the wild. In the case of ' good' and 'bad' as qualifying functional words, the standards that evaluate the designata of a particular functional word become a standard of usefulness, which essentially includes the idea of a certain kind of function in their meaning. That kind of function provides an appropriate standard of value. We find the same logical pattern in the case of 'right' and 'wrong' ; e.g., in 'right action, ' ' (perfectly or more or less) right answer (question), ' 'right result, ' etc. The standards of rightness and wrongness become standards of a kind when­ ever 'right' and 'wrong' are used to qualify functional words. All standards of evaluation are ''standards of a kind'' or ''standards of a certain group of kinds," applicable in the former case to a particular kind or class of thing, and in the latter case to a certain group of kinds or classes of things, determined in their nature by the class of things to which they apply. Stated in general terms, for any general term 'x ' the standards applicable to the class ofXs are determined by the nature of that class. As the analysis of the uses of descriptive-cum-evaluative expressions will I think show, (a) that insofar as they include a descriptive element in their meaning, their standards of evaluation are logically distinct as well as differen t in kind from (b) the conditions and criteria of the particular terms ' applications. In the case of a label 'x ' the relevant standards provide the scale of value/disvalue for XS, while the relevant conditions determine the kind(s) of things to which x ' is applicable; and appeal to 'x 's ' criteria enables x 's ' users to know how and when to apply 'x. ' Insofar as these conditions and criteria pertain to the descriptive aspect of 'x 's ' use, they determine the class ofXs, independent of the question of its members ' goodness or badness/value or disvalue of their kind, and of the degree of their goodness or badness. At this point the standards of value/disvalue for Xs logi­ cally enter the picture and determine the degree of the kind of value or disvalue they have: whether a particular X ought to be called a ''good X '' etc, or the oppo­ site. However, a minimal degree of achievement or value is built into the meaning,

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hence 'x 's ' uses, if 'x ' is a positive evaluative expression; e.g., if 'x ' stands for such value-positive things as democracy, justice, compassion, kindness or forgive­ ness. (Likewise, mutatis mutandis, with negative evaluative expressions.) We see this, in the case of 'painting, ' ' sculpture, ' 'work of music,' and 'work of art' in general. Any work ''below'' the minimal degree of achievement set by the aes­ thetic standards employed by a particular critic or school of criticism, and/or by particular artists, would be deemed a poor (very poor, etc.) painting, sculpture, etc.1 In the next section I shall endeavor to discover, through a series of case stud­ ies, the kind(s) of criteria involved in the case of what I shall call (1) type-A, and (2) type-B expressions, and the relation of their criteria to their meaning and to the standards that grade the objects designated by them. III

General (Type-A) Grading Labels 'Good' and 'Bad' as General Grading Labels 'Good' and 'bad' are among the most important general grading labels there are, and I shall start with them. Although at one time I claimed that they were purely evaluative, I now believe that in some of their uses they do have a descriptive element of meaning. This is evident, I think, in the case of the '' functional'' use of 'good' and 'bad' (or 'poor'); that is, as they apply to human artifacts and man­ devised activities, which are designated by so-called ''functional terms," as in 'good knife, ' 'good car,' 'good cell phone, ' etc. (hereafter referred to as 'U-good'). Functional terms, which we shall discuss in more detail later, include in their meaning the idea of one of more kinds of use or function. The reason I now think that 'good' and 'bad' have a descriptive meaning in relation to functional terms is that in English at least, 'goodX' has come to mean ''useful'' or ''efficient X,'' an X that satisfies its particular use or function well, properly, hence possesses in a high degree the good-making properties characteristic of Xs. To cite one or two examples, 'good knife' nowadays means or tends to mean ''knife that satisfies its function as a knife well, i.e., cuts well," hence generally, ''is sharp," or is a ''knife with a sharp blade with a good (i.e., solid, long, etc.) grip''; and so on. Similarly, 'good car (plane, house, etc.) ' appears to have acquired a descriptive meaning albeit much more complicated and variable than 'good knife,' 'good shoes, ' etc. Stated in general terms, some or all of the generally-accepted standards of goodness of well-functioning knives, cars, planes, houses, and so on, provide the standards of goodness of that kind, and so at present constitute one or more descriptive meanings of 'U-good. ' This type of use of 'good' (and 'bad') illustrates an important way in which the standards used for the grading of things as good or bad of a particular kind may become, in the course of time, a descrip-

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tive part of the meaning of 'good' and 'bad' in the particular uses. These stan­ dards are among the standards that speakers usually, intend, have in mind in applying the expression 'U-good X ' It follows from the preceding that part of 'x 's ' meaning, i.e., its reference to a certain kind of function, purpose or use, is the logical basis of the standards for 'x 's ' evaluation as good or bad of its kind. At the same time 'x 's ' meaning as a whole is connected with its criteria of application, including the characteristic function, etc., and having once been established as part of the language its criteria­ features will now also be (albeit a different) part of 'x 's ' meaning. In contrast to the preceding, 'good' and 'bad' appear to lack any descriptive element of meaning in their aesthetic and, in particular, their moral uses, ''Xis a good painting'' (song, dance, sonnet)'' does not provide in the slightest a descrip­ tion of any ofX's putative qualities. But it does imply (a) that Xs possess certain unspecified good-making, aesthetically desirable qualities; and that (b) the judge herself ''contextually implies'' certain things about her beliefs, attitudes and/or responses to X's qualities, thus to X as a whole. 2 In other words, in the aesthetic uses of ' good' (and 'bad' or 'poor') unlike the use of 'U-good, ' no part of what 'X is good' logically implies, or no part of what a judge contextually implies in uttering ''Xis good'' in normal circumstances (such as uttering it with understand­ ing) appears to have formed part of what 'Xis good' states. That is, none of the many though often-overlapping clusters of good-making features of good paintings or sculptures, works of music that different judges have in mind in judging X to be a good Y, appears to have given rise to a defining feature of a good Y Moreover, no other putative descriptive meaning or element of meaning appears to have accrued to ' good' in its aesthetic app lications. The preceding appears to be also true in relation to the use of 'good' etc., in the more general judgment ''Xis good art. " To see this we must first see why, in its current use in ' good painting, ' ' good poetry, ' etc. in the West, 'good' lacks descriptive meaning. The answer to the question lies I believe in the dynamic and fundamentally experimental nature of Western art in general in much of its long history, which has given rise to an almost endless array of phenomenological and affective qualities and clusters of qualities that artists, critics and, to a considerably lesser extent, the general art public, consider to be good-making features of paint­ ings, poems, etc. If this explanation is correct, it a fortiori accounts for the similar situation in relation to 'good art. ' Knowledge of how English speakers use ' (morally) good' leads me to doubt that, contrary to R.M. Hare' s view, the expression has many descriptive meanings, I therefore continue to share my earlier view in ''Value Words and Value Judg­ ments,"3 that (a) Hare's exchange fails to show that 'good' (here in its moral uses, or 'M-good') has descriptive meaning; and I still believe, contra Hare, that (b) the claim that ' M-good' has many different descriptive meanings as many as there

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are sets of (actually sufficient) evaluative features of M-goodness, or of particular species of M-goodness is vastly exaggerated. Nevertheless, I am now willing to admit the real possibility that in 'morally good man, ' the word 'good' may have one or more descriptive meanings in its current use in English speaking countries. Similarly with 'morally good act. ' One would then expect to find other descriptive meanings-I in the use of 'M-good' in, for example, Communist countries, reflect­ ing their official moral valuations and standards. In every case the particular descriptive meanings of 'M-good' would depend on the features that, at the par­ ticular time and place, good persons, acts, motives and so, on are generally thought to possess. I believe that the probability of these things being true is proportional to the degree in which agreement exists in a community's or society' s moral standards in relation to actions, persons, motives, and so on. They are therefore most likely to be true in very stab le, highly traditional societies. Whether actual usage bears this out I cannot ascertain here; nor is it essential for our purposes. But having granted that in some of their uses at least ' good' and 'bad' have descriptive mean­ ing, a more controversial question arises; namely, whether (a) the evaluative meaning of these expressions or other evaluative terms is more fundamental or important than their descriptive meaning, or whether (b) the two are inextricably connected. As W.D. Hudson points out, The nub of the problem [of attempting to derive ''ought'' from ''is''] is the question which is crucial between prescriptivists and some descriptivists. It is: can one logically separate, within the notion of promising, a factual, or descriptive, element from a normative, or evaluative, element? The prescriptivists would say that one can: the word ''promise'', as we ordinarily use it, incapsulates a general decision of moral principle, to the effect that promises ought to be kept. Some descriptivists deny this. They ask the rhetorical question: 4 when did I, when did anyone, decide that promises ought to be kept?

Like all Prescriptivists Hare believes the answer lies in (a). Descriptivists or new Naturalists, such as Philippa Foot, G.J. Warnock and John Searle believe the answer lies in (b). While there are a host of fundamental issues on which Prescrip­ tivists and Descriptivists differ,5 the issue of whether ''ought'' sentences can be derived from ''is'' sentences is one of the most fundamental. As we know Prescrip­ tivists answer the question in the negative, while Descriptivists answer it in the affrrmative. In a well-known paper, for example, John Searle attempts to derive ''ought'' from ''is'' in relation to institutional activities, using as a paradigm the institutional act of promising.6 In my evaluation of Searle' s view and Hare's response to it in ''Institutions, Practices, and Moral Rules''7 I agreed with Hare's Prescriptivist view (albeit not always with his arguments) by arguing contra Searle that in the case of practices and institutions ''ought'' cannot be logically derived from ''is.'' There I attempted to show that an institution' s or practice's constitutive

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conventions/rules the rules that set up or define the institution or practic..-... e. ultimately derive from the institution' s or practice' s regulative rules or principles, not, as Searle believes, from the allegedly inherent prescriptiveness of the constitutive rules themselves. The source of his mistake is his erroneous belief that constitutive rules double as regulative rules. Con tra Searle, constitutive rules are inherently ''descriptive," not normative; and although they do acquire a secondary normative force, that force is derived from the institution' s/practice's regulative principles/rules. Indeed, since 'institution' and 'practice' are functional words, they contain in their meaning the idea of certain functions, uses or purposes (teloses) . A given institution' s or practice' s telos(es) provides the regulative standards that regulate and evaluate it; and the degree in which it realizes or fails to realize its telos(es) makes it a good (very good, etc,) or a bad (very bad, etc.) institu­ tion/practice of its kind, resp ectively.8 In The Language of Morals Hare correctly argues that the (evaluative) stan­ dards for the use of ' good' and 'bad' are logically independent of the (evaluative) meaning of these expressions; inasmuch as their evaluative meaning is constant whereas the evaluative standards are variable. (I might interj ect here that this is true with respect to both the general and the specific types of uses of these words.9) So far I have distinguished the purely evaluative and the descriptive-cum­ evaluative types of uses of 'good' and 'bad' in expressions of the form 'good X, ' and essentially traced the relation between the meaning of 'Y' in 'X as good (or bad) of kind Y' and the standards S used to evaluate class or kind Y I now turn to the question of the nature of the criteria of 'good' and 'bad' for some class Y Although less general than 'good' and 'bad' in the sense that they apply to fewer classes of things, 'right' and 'wrong ' nonetheless apply to a variety of classes of things; such as, 'right act (action, conduct), ' 'right name, ' 'right job,' 'right man (for a particular job, assignment, etc.),' 'human rights ' ('right to life, to privacy, to freedom, etc. '), 'right suit (clothing, etc.), ' and 'right principles. ' As with ' good' and 'bad,' and, indeed, all other grading labels, the evaluative standards rightness and wrongness have reference to and are determined by the particular class of things to which they apply. That is, they are ''standards of a kind." A famous example is the use of 'morally right act( ion) ' ; which is normally evaluated consequentially or deontologically, in terms of the agent' s intentions or motives, or in terms of some combination of them. That is, in terms of what a particular judge considers to be the morally righ t-making characteris­ tics/relations of right act(ion)s. Whether we can ascribe descriptive meaning to 'right' and 'wrong' in their moral uses depends on whether we hold that they are partly or wholly definable in naturalistic terms. Note that the view that the criterion of rightness is an act's conduciveness to the greatest good possible in the circumstances but that 'right' does not mean ''conducive to the greatest good possible in the circumstances''­ does not entail that 'right' has a descriptive meaning. Likewise, mutatis mutandis,

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es not entail that 'right' has a descriptive meaning. Likewise, mutatis mutandis, with 'wrong. ' But as will be remembered, I maintained in Chapter 10 that due to the confluence of different moral and religious traditions in the everyday moral usage of 'right' and 'wrong,' ' morally right act' has a fluid meaning as ordinarily employed. It has, or tends to have, a descriptive meaning for some of its users but to lack such a meaning for those who construe 'morally right act(ion) ' non­ naturalistically. There is an overlap in the evaluative implications of 'right' and 'good' conse­ quent on their positive grading function; Io e.g., that we ought, whenever possible, to do what is right, to prize and defend it, and the like. 'Right' and 'wrong' in their moral and legal uses have conventional evaluative uses in addition to whatever descriptive uses they have or tend to have. Moreover, their general evaluative use is fixed or determinate; though in those applications in which they are given a descriptive meaning, that meaning is contingently dependent on the laudatory (or the opposite) connotations of 'good (bad) motive,' 'best consequences,' etc. For instance, if someone uses 'Xis right' to mean ''Xis done out of a good motive," the specific laudatory connotation attached to 'right' would be transferred to the speaker from the laudatory connotation of ' good motive. ' As is well-known, some classical Consequentialists define the rightness or wrongness of actions in terms of their actual or probable consequences. In other words, the criteria are D-criteria in the way they understand them. In point of fact the criteria to which people in the W estem world, or even the world at large, appeal, are a mixed bag, resulting from both religious and secular traditions, so that some people are Consequentialist while others are Deontologists in some way or other_ I I Other criteria in use have reference to the agent ' s motives or intentions. Of course, many people appeal to two or more of these sorts of criteria in relation to different actions, or even in relation to one and the same action or kind of action. In some historical instances these different sorts of criteria reflect different conceptions of what 'right' and 'wrong' mean; and in these cases the criteria are, or would again be D-criteria. But concentrating on Consequentialist criteria, it is logically inconsistent to hold that 'right action' does not mean, e.g., ''the action that is most conducive to the greatest good possible in the circumstances (however ''good'' itself may be understood)," yet hold that some or all the criteria of rightness are Consequentialist criteria, as described. One might even consistently hold that these criteria are independent of the meaning of 'right. ' From the nature of the case the connection between mean­ ing and criteria would be contingent. By virtue of what we mean or tend to mean by 'right, ' whenever an action exhibits agathistic tendencies it would conceivably be what we would call a ''right action.'' For them the criteria are either identical with the defming features of rightness/wrongness for example, conduciveness to pleasure or to happiness or are logically dependent on them. And the opposite with actions that we would call wrong. But if so, these putative factual criteria can

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only be additional and uncertain I-criteria, logically unnecessary for the appli­ cation of 'right action.' For in order that we may be ab le to determine that all kinds of actions we call right actions are of this description, we must first be able to apply 'right action' correctly on other grounds than these contingent facts . But what can the criteria appealed to be save D-criteria or putative D-criteria, following from the conventional or stipulated meaning of 'right action'?12 An alternative view is that the defming features of rightness (e.g., the alleged non-natural relations of rightness) are consequential properties supervenient on an action' s having certain empirically observable features, ABC. But the defining features must be either conceptually or contingently (though possibly universally) connected with features ABC. In the former case ABC would be a special kind of D-criteria; while in the latter case they may be a special kind of I-criteria. I personally fail to see how such a relation can possibly obtain, and how alleged ''non-natural'' properties can ''emerge'' from bona fide ''natural'' properties; or how a logical or quasi-logical­ i.e., a necessary or more or less necessary connection can exist between the features of the empirical phenomena we call actions. If my scruples are justified, we are left with the latter alternative, except in name, it is identical with the alter­ native considered earlier; i.e., it envisages a factual connection between an act's rightness and its exhibiting the putative criteria-features. If that is the case the above qualification would apply to it; namely, that I-criteria cannot be logically primary. At best they are auxiliary criteria, useful only with respect to doubtful cases of rightness. (But in a given instance the presence or absence of these crite­ ria-features themselves may also be a moot question!) Further, their uniform conjunction with the defining features of rightness is always uncertain, so their absence in any given case does not entail that the action is wrong or is morally neutral. In his seminal article entitled ''Essentially Contested Concepts''13 W.B. Gallie argues that all evaluative, appraisive concepts are, in principle, open to question or even rejection. He gives seven conditions which, in his view, a concept must satisfy in order to be essentially contested.14 Although Gallie says that evaluative or appraisive concepts are ''essentially contested," what really is essentially con­ tested are (a) the evaluative standards ofa kind to which different people appeal in applying (or refraining from applying) a given grading term 'x ' (' good' or 'bad,' 'right' or 'wrong, ' ' desirable' or 'undesirable,' 'valuable' or 'not valuable,' 'worthless') to a class Y, are always in principle essentially contestable, due to disagreement as to (b) which characteristics of the members of class Y are (and/or which are not) X-making characteristics of it. We see (a) and (b) in the continuing debates between Deontologists and Consequentialists and between Act­ Utilitarians and Rule-Utilitarians concerning the bona fide right-making charac­ teristics of morally right acts, and, therefore, the correct standards of an act's moral ''

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rightness. Similarly with disagreements between Obj ectivists, Subj ectivists and Relationists in value theory. IV

Evaluative Labels and their Criteria We now turn to the question of (A) the criteria for the employment ofpure general evaluative expressions or general expressions in their purely evaluative uses, and (B) the criteria for the employment of general descriptive-cum-evaluative expresszons. (A) Consider the word 'good.' As a meaningful word it is applied on the strength of some criterion- or criteria-features C. Insofar as it means ''desirable or valuable," anything to which it properly applies must possess some degree of merit or value of some kind. The possession of some degree of merit or value constitutes the necessary and sufficient condition for and provides its criterion or criteria C for its applicability. Since C is conceptually connected with indeed is or are part of what 'good' means, it is a species of the general kind of criterion we met in Chap­ ter 10 in relation to non-evaluative terms, which I called a 'D-criterion. ' But since the present sort of criterion is determined by the meaning of evaluative rather than non-evaluative expressions, I shall distinguish it from a D-criterion by referring to it as a 'De-criterion. ' The preceding analysis applies, mutatis mutandis, to all other general evalua­ tive expressions as evaluative expressions, whether they happen to be purely evaluative in all or only in some of their uses. Thus it app lies to 'right,' 'value' and 'valuab le,' 'merit ' and 'meritorious, ' desirable' and to their opposites. (B) A little reflection shows that the preceding is also true with respect to general evaluative-cum-descriptive expressions, as far as their evaluative meaning is concerned. This is clearly seen, for example, in the uses of 'good' in relation to things named by functional words, as we saw earlier; where the meaning of a functional expression includes the idea of some specific or general kind of use, function, aim or purpose, or a number of these. The fact that 'good' or other general evaluative expressions are applied to things designated by functional words does not logically change the fact that, insofar as they are (positively or negatively) evaluative expressions, they have a meaning whose conventional applicability is determined by De-criteria. In the application of 'good' and 'bad' or other general evaluative expressions to things named by functional words, their De-criteria are logically determined by the defining or other features of the classes of things to which ' good' or 'bad,' 'desirable' or 'undesirable,' are applied. That is why the De-criteria for these classes of things consist in a variable set of defining and even some non-defining features. 15 •

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What I shall call the telic criterion of goodness or badness of thing X named by a functional word 'x, ' lies in the degree or extent of its realization, under normal and, especially, optimum conditions, of its characteristic or proper function(s) or aim(s). X's capacity to realize that function or these functions, etc., is determined by X's generic features as an X, sometimes also by its specific qualities or proper­ ties as an individual thing. For that to be true, X must exhibit the relevant features in a special, unusual or prominent degree or way. These features, A, B, C, . and so on, in the degree or way exhibited by X, constitute a subset of the criteria­ features for good Xs', are therefore among the De-criteria for 'good' in the type of case under consideration. These features constitute De-criteria in a logically secondary sense: they constitute a means for X's realization of the telic De­ criterion for Xs as Xs. The telic De-criterion itself, in turn, is determined by the meaning of 'X' as a functional word. I shall therefore refer to the logically secon­ dary De-criteria features as 'instrumental De-criteria. ' Note that they do not necessarily consist of all of the defining features ofXs or in any one combination of some or all of them, exhibited in the appropriate degree. As Helen Knight has shown in ''The Use of ' Good' in Aesthetic Judgments," the situation is considera­ bly more complicated and fluid, even in the case of functional words.16 That is, they may be features that some particular member or members of the class in question happens or happen to exhibit. For instance, a tennis match may be partly prized for its individual, e.g., specific aesthetic, qualities. Indeed, with regard to art criticism in the West, this is the rule rather than the exception. The non-generic criteria­ features are (a type of) le-, not De-criteria; and I shall refer to them as a ' sub-class A of le-criteria. ' .

.

Non-Functional Words The preceding kind of situation is more commonly found when general grading labels in their present type of use are employed to qualify non-functional substan­ tives . For unlike functional words, non-functional words do not involve, in their normal meaning, the notion of some characteristic function(s), use(s), purpose(s), or aim( s), determining the goodness or badness, desirability or undesirability, of things called by the particular class name. Consequently the evaluative criteria for the general grading labels, as they qualify them, do not depend on the meaning of these non-functional words, the way the evaluative criteria depend on the meaning of the functional words . But the application of general grading labels in the case of many or perhaps all ''natural'' objects resemble their application to artifacts and other man-devised things in some ways. I mean that their application to a particular natural thing X, such as a tree, a rock, a mountain, a dog, is often effected on the strength of X's putative usefulness or uselessness for the realization of som..-... egenerally a human purpose P, for which Xs are generally used. (Much less com-

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monly, P may be a rather special or unusual purpose, for which Xs are rather infrequently used.) The use of 'good' in 'good horse, ' 'good hunting dog,' 'good snow, ' 'good tree, ' 'good view, ' illustrates this. The same is true, mutatis mutan­ dis, in relation to classes of natural things. The difference between such words as 'rabbit,' 'rock,' 'tree, ' and functional words is that, as noted earlier, none of the purposes for which Xs are or may be actually used is built into concept X or the meaning or the uses of 'x. ' It is interesting that this general analysis fits the application of general grading labels to human beings only with respect to some special institutional capacity or office they have; i.e., as doctors, dentists, lawyers, teachers, athletes, artists, and so on. The analysis appears to be inapplicable to human beings as such, hence as moral agents; and so, in the moral uses of 'good, ' 'bad,' ' desirable,' etc. In 'mor­ ally good man, ' 'man' functions as a non-functional name; so what I said earlier about the criteria of some general grading labels in their descriptive uses to qualify non-functional names, here applies to 'good. ' 17 Returning to such words as ' doctor, ' 'teacher, ' ' student, ' and the like, we should observe that the notion of a specific or general function, use, or aim is involved in their ordinary uses. As a result the situation respecting 'good doctor, ' 'good teacher, ' 'good student,' etc. is essentially the same as with ' good knife, ' 'good pen,' 'good car, ' etc. The criteria of goodness in both types of cases are, in essentially the same way, De-criteria.

Special Grading Labels As in the case of evaluative-cum-descriptive general grading labels, whenever special grading labels are used to qualify functional words, their criteria are logi­ cally determined by the defming features of the class of obj ects they denote. That is, their criteria too are De-criteria. ''Knowledge is a good thing," ''It is wonderful to be happy," and ''Few things are better than an aesthetic experience," illustrate this. But at this point a difference between S-type general grading labels and the specific uses of 'good, ' 'valuable,' and 'desirable' emerge. As with D-criteria relating to non-evaluative expressions, the De-criteria in question consist of some defming feature A or complex of such features, ABC, exhibited by the members of the particular class of obj ects, in some intensity, amount or degree. Where the substantives are defined in use in terms of crisscrossing ''family resemblances," the evaluative criteria are provided by the sets of resemblances normally deemed sufficient for their conventional employment. In the case of all special evaluative-cum-descriptive expressions, whether functional or no, the descriptive part of their meaning determines the descriptive criteria for their use. But a speaker is not constrained into employing a particular special grading label '/ ' with the same or even the same sort of i.e., positive or

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negative evaluative meaning it generally has in the particular community or society. She may choose not to give it any evaluative function in the particular or any other context. In light of the descriptive criteria of 'coward' and ' liar,' a speaker is not constrained by their usual strong negative evaluative role to apply them with that or, indeed, any other negative role.18 She can give them a stronger or a weaker negative grading role, a positive role, or no grading role at all. This is true of ethical, political, aesthetic and religious grading labels. The labels that, in a given place or time, generally have a fairly stable, well-defmed compli­ mentary or pejorative meaning, are no exception. They include expressions like 'cold, ' 'warm, ' 'buoyant,' 'delicate,' 'dynamic, ' ' flamboyant, ' 'garish,' ' lifeless,' as well as many other expressions used to describe and to evaluate human beings and/or works of art. But there are important peculiarities respecting the criteria for their descriptive-cum-evaluative applications which I shall point out a little later. The actual situation, however, is often more complicated with respect to special grading labels than just described. The following are some of the compli­ cations: (1) At least some of the criteria-features relative to many of these labels in their descriptive employment are frequently ''loaded'' or ''slanted'' in some ''direc­ tion.'' In many instances we do not fmd an actual simon pure descriptive use of these labels, although the speaker or writer may intend them to have and indeed, may appear to have such a use. Whenever this situation is found the expression' s descriptive meaning itself is informed by evaluative ''overtones," making it diffi­ cult or impossible to conceptually separate the two. The distinction between their descriptive and evaluative uses would only exist as an abstract possibility. That, concretely, means that different users of the term ' coward, ' say, may consciously or unconsciously fasten on a certain subset of features of cowardly persons or actions as D-criteria of cowardice, and may also give special prominence to some of the chosen criteria-features at the expense of others. That choice would then determine the application of 'coward' to certain persons or types of persons . The selection of the particular set of features would be guided by and may be a conse­ quence of the users ' valuation of the conventional defming-features of that which, in everyday usage, is called cowardice. This may have various personal and social reasons . Users tend to grade positively features they approve of, and as a conse­ quence tend to erect into evaluative criteria. As a result, the particular expression acquires a certain emotive aura or coloring for them; in the sense that it may give rise to a tendency in them to respond favorably or unfavorably, with liking or dislike, to the obj ects to which it refers. But it must be stressed that the expres­ sion's emotive coloring remains logically distinct from its positive or negative grading function. (The confusion of these two functions partly underlies the Emotive Theory of value.) Obj ects that exhibit what the user considers a sufficient

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number of the desired features are graded positively; and the opposite with features and obj ects that she dislikes or of which she disapproves. Both processes may occur simultaneously in relation to a particular grading label. Two persons A and B may agree that ''a soldier' s running away from danger in order to avoid being maimed or killed, when one is expected by his country to stand fast," is part of the conventional meaning of 'physical coward. ' Consequently if a soldier satisfies other criteria of cowardice A and B agree on, or ifhe fails to exhibit unquestioned un-cowardly behavior e.g., if a soldier goes AWOL to save his or her skin A and B would likely agree in calling him or her a coward. Yet they may disagree as to whether cowardice is an undesirable quality. Or either A or B may argue that a particular soldier, John, did not really run away and so his action was not an act of physical cowardice. He may maintain that John did nothing wrong in ''leaving his post'' (as he would tend to describe John's action). So he either uses run away' or 'desert' within double quotes, or uses some such neutral term as 'left his post' or even a positive phrase like ''walked away in disgust at the slaughter' s senselessness." This may happen if A is a pacifist. The need for the interpretation of moral situations, in one of that word' s senses, is an important theoretical and practical issue, comparable in importance to the role of interpretation in art criticism. It brings home an important facet of the fact that in the case of an evaluative expression 'o, ' the appeal to certain criteria­ features as good- or bad-making features involves contestable interpretations. It involves, first, 0 's classification as an act of a certain kind on the basis of certain of its features ABC considered to be features of a certain kind K. It involves, second, the application to 0, as a putative member of class K, of some moral standard or standards of goodness or badness. These two activities are logically distinct; but as I stated the former may not be at all a neutral activity but, rather, involve some axiologically slanted interpretation. (2) A further complication arises in the employment of both general and special grading labels. Just as they do in relation to non-evaluative uses of terms, people sometimes disagree as to how many of the agreed-upon defining or other features they judge to be criteria-features, are sufficient for a particular term' s unqualified app lication. As in (1) above, the disagreement may be due to differ­ ences in the users ' valuation of the criteria-features, hence to differences in the value standards they employ. Whenever it arises, the conceptual source of the disagreement lies in the absence of accepted logically necessary and sufficient conditions for the term's application. The disagreement therefore arises with respect to ordinary expressions, whose meanings are largely or wholly determined in use, hence are often applied on the strength of crisscrossing ''family resem­ blances ." (See also the discussion of ''aesthetic terms'' in this chapter.) (3) Again, the speaker's or writer' s selection of particular De-features from the set of a given expression's defining features is frequently prompted by her '

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attitudes and values respecting such important human concerns as war and peace, civic duty and patriotism. Often there is a hierarchy of value standards, such that the values at the ''highest," logically most fundamental level, A, 19 determine the valuation of obj ects at the next most fundamental level, B; and so on down the ladder. The conventional criteria, if any, for the application of the evaluative expressions that designate the objects or activities in question, are graded accord­ ingly. Item (2) above concerned the lowest level of value, to the least value, relat­ ing to the application of descriptive criteria to individual acts . (4) Another facet of the import of an object O 's valuation is as follows . The Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland famously illustrates the openness of the ordinary concept of a cat.20 Whether a person P considers the Cheshire cat as a queer sort of cat or not a cat at all, or whether she is undecided as to what to call it, would probably have nothing to do with P 's values as a person. Her conclusion that the Cheshire cat is or is not a bona fide cat, etc., may only depend on whether she thinks the criteria-features of cats it fails to satisfy are more numerous or more (or less) important than the criteria-features of cats it satisfies. The concept cat as applied to the feline species is a purely descriptive concept. But suppose we turn to the concept of an assassin, which is an open-textured, special evaluative concept, and ask whether a dictator' s assassin would be a hero or a criminal. What stand P takes may partly depend on her values. That is, whether she would regard that person as either a bona fide hero or a borderline obj ect a borderline obj ect she deems advisable to include in the class of heroes by an extension of the conventional meaning of 'hero' may partly depend on whether she morally approves of the dictator' s person and actions. Additionally, she may have personal reasons inclining her in the one direction or the other. Her evaluative moves would be tantamount to willingness to minimize the similarities (or the differences) between the assassin and a bona fide hero, by emphasizing, or else by ignoring, those conventional criteria-features for the application of 'hero ' that the assassin fails to exemplify, thereby excluding them from the list of con­ ventional criteria-features for the word 'hero' and emphasizing (or minimizing) the criteria-features exhibited by a hero. All this would be a consequence of the fact that the words 'hero' and ' criminal' retain for P their conventional evaluative uses, or the opposite. In his discussion of functional words in The Language ofMorals, R.M. Hare fails to distinguish the ''criteria'' and ''standards of evaluation'': the criteria of the applicability of ' good' and 'bad' or 'poor' on the one hand and, on the other hand, the standards for the evaluation of the obj ects to which these terms are applied. Although the standards of goodness and badness vary with the class of obj ects to which 'good' is applied, Hare erroneously attributes that variability to the criterion or criteria for the term' s app licability, which are not variable but fixed.21

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''Aesthetic Terms'' It can be shown that what I said about descriptive ''expressive'' words in Chapter 10 is also applicable to ''aesthetic terms'' in general; to such expressions as 'dy­ namic,' 'warm,' 'tense,' 'colorless ' and ' lifeless,' as they are applied to works of art and to natural beauty. That is, that these expressions lack logically necessary and sufficient phenomenological conditions,22 though they have actual (contingent) sufficient conditions, varying in nature and number for different users. 23 Indeed, their descriptive phenomenological criteria are probably C-criteria. But as Frank Sibley points out, (some) aesthetic concepts have an evaluative use over and above their descriptive uses. In fact, they can be considered specialized grading labels­ aesthetic equivalents of the specialized ethical grading labels discussed earlier in this chapter. For I believe that what I said there regarding the evaluative criteria of specialized grading labels is also true of them. If so they also resemble general grading labels in their S-type employment, insofar as the criteria for both types of labels are relative to particular classes of objects. Whenever ' flamboyant' and 'delicate' are used as positive grading labels, 'delicate painting' and ' flamboyant music' parallel 'good poem' and 'good music' in this respect, while the latter parallel 'poor poem' and 'poor music' whenever ' flamboyant' and 'delicate' are used as negative grading labels if and when we say 'too flamboyant' or, even perhaps, 'too delicate.' If a painting or a work of music possesses what a particular judge considers a sufficient number of aesthetic features, she would consider it a good painting or a good work of music; so that aesthetic features can be regarded as direct criteria of aesthetic goodness or badness. Since the contingently sufficient phenomenological criteria for ascribing aesthetic features to a painting or a work of music consist in variable sets of ''natural'' N-features,24 we get the following: ''X is a good painting (work of music, etc.)'' logically implies (presupposes) ''X exhibits aesthetic features abc, or cdf, or dfga, or xyab, or . . . '', which in tum logically implies, in the same sense of ' imply,' ''X exhibits N-features abc, or def, or wrs, or . . . ''. It can be shown that in some respects a similar situation obtains with respect to the names of moral virtues and vices, and other specialized evalua­ tive moral terms, vis-a-vis 'morally good' and 'morally bad.' Thus '' Yis a morally good act (person, state of affairs, etc.)'' logically implies (presupposes) '' Y exhibits positive moral qualities wst, or vns, or tpw, or . . . (e.g., truthfulness, love, kindness, a sacrificing spirit)''; while the latter logically implies (presupposes) ''Y exhibits empirically observable features csn, or wxy, or vrn, or . . . (e.g., Yis an instance of pleasure, or is conducive to the greatest happiness possible in the circumstances; etc.)." Whether wst, or vns, or ptw, or . . . are the names of bona fide properties or relations over and above csn, or wxy, or vrn, or . . . , is, of course, a central issue between ethical Naturalists/Descriptivists and Non-Naturalists/Prescriptivists.

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In the same way as the preceding, our observations in Chapter 10 concerning the affective criteria of descriptive expressive terms are applicable to aesthetic expressions. Moreover, the preceding analysis applies, mutatis mutandis, to the expressive terms 'gloomy' and 'depressing, ' which, when applied to a painting or sculpture, a work of music or a film as a whole usually has a negative evaluative connotation.

''Emotive Expressions'' We need not linger long on this type of expression. Emotive expressions that have a conventional evaluative use or play some evaluative role in certain contexts25 are like specialized grading labels in their evaluative uses in all but one notable re­ spect. The evaluative criteria-features may be identical with the whole set of descriptive criteria-features, or may consist of a subset of them. But the valuation of these features themselves and so the standards employed by different individu­ als, are more variable still. The evaluative criteria-features of this type of expres­ sion, which are identical with or are a selection from the expression' s descriptive criteria-features, are, qua evaluative criteria-features, logically independent of their role as, or as part of, the criteria-features for its descriptive employment. Since these descriptive criteria-features are D-criteria, it follows that as evaluative criteria-features they consist of a type of le-criterion and, as such, are not directly dependent on the descriptive component of the expression's meaning. For exam­ ple, people' s attitude toward Communism, therefore the evaluative role 'Commu­ nism' plays for them is logically independent of the word' s meaning and its descriptive criteria-features : though, precisely by virtue of its meaning, it is caus­ ally dependent on the expression' s referent. It follows that the criteria, hence the standards for the positive or negative valuation of Communists and Communism, are logically independent of the D-criteria for the descriptive application of these expressions ; albeit the actual reasons people evaluate Communism as good or bad depend, wholly or in part, on what they mean by ' Communism.' This is connected with what appears to be the fact that the evaluative role of ' Communism' is an addition to their original, descriptive meaning; whereas the evaluative roles of what I have called specialized grading labels are just as primary or original, just as conventionally designed, as their descriptive roles. That is why I hesitate to speak of the former as having conventional evaluative uses. In any event, their evaluative roles result from the user's attitude toward their referents. Clearly that cannot be true of general grading labels, or of 'right' and 'wrong' for those indi­ viduals who employ them purely evaluatively. But it may be true of at least some specialized grading labels . The evaluative criteria expressions like ' Communist,' 'anarchist,' 'militarist,' 'terrorist,' ' Republican, ' 'totalitarianism,' ' atheism, ' 'blasphemy,' and 'heresy, ' sometimes include contingent facts about particular

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individual Communists, anarchists, Republicans, etc.: usually, irrational intoler­ ance or equally irrational partiality. Not infrequently, people approve or disap­ prove of Communism, revolution, anarchism or terrorism on the basis of what (some) Communists, revolutionaries, anarchists or terrorists have done or are believed to be doing, or because of what they are trying to accomplish. The vari­ able criteria-features are clearly le-features; though the fact that, e.g., the majority of Americans give ' Communist,' ' anarchist,' or ' terrorist' a pejorative connota­ tion for example, wholly on the basis of De-criteria may lead other Americans to judge negatively what Communists, anarchists or terrorists they happen to meet or hear about. And the opposite with those individuals who give the words a complimentary connotation by evaluating them in terms of all or a certain subset of their defining features in their descriptive uses. At the beginning of this sub-section I suggested that some emotive words are used evaluatively. The reason for the suggestion was that I did not wish to maintain without careful examination that all emotive words involve evaluative criteria; although I do presently believe that all emotive expressions are valuatives, and that to express a desire, a liking or love for something is to make a valuative response. But to do so is not necessarily to make a value judgment ((e)valuation) .26 The distinction between ''valuatives'' and ''( e)valuations'' parallels the distinction between ''appearance judgments'' and ''knowledge." (To say: ''The iron feels hot'' or ''A spoon immersed in water appears bent'' is not necessarily to make a knowl­ edge claim, such as ''The iron is hot'' and ''A spoon . is bent.") A valuative is an expression for which, it is claimed, there are adequate rational grounds. This is part of its being a judgment and the grounds for its being subject to justificatory predi­ cates. Consequently, ''I like smoking but I don't think it is good'' is perfectly self­ consistent; whereas, if ''I like smoking'' necessarily expressed a value judgment, ''I like smoking but I don't think it is good'' would be odd if not downright self­ contradictory. Again, ''I like (enjoy, crave for, etc.) X '' as in ''I like (enjoy, etc.) strawberries," quite often merely expresses the speaker's tastes and preferences, and does not necessarily imply that X is worthy of being desired, liked or enjoyed by others. That is, ''I like X'' may or may not carry the implication ''X is good''; unlike, e.g., ''Xis delicious, enjoyable, etc." and/or ''You ought to try to like, enjoy, etc., X'' Note that these expressions are emotive in the sense that they are conven­ tionally designed, among other things, to evince certain kinds of attitudes, feelings or emotions but not to influence the hearer to have the same or a similar kind of feeling, emotion or attitude towards the obj ects referred to. Thus they have a conventional ''expressive'' use (in a different sense from the one in which I spoke, in Chapter 10, of ' sad' and 'gay' as ''expressive words''), but lack a conventional ''dynamic," ''influential'' or ''persuasive'' use. Still, like most other expressions, particularly those that have a conventional expressive use, they can have (can be given) a dynamic force in appropriate circumstances . This happens for instance .

.

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when they are spoken with the necessary emphasis, accompanied by the appropri­ ate body language. 27 and the like.

Meaning and Criteria

248 Notes 1.

The criteria of art are those of art good or bad but art nonetheless

and include features that

distinguish ''poor art'' non-sharply from something that is judged not to be ''art at all.'' One might think that the conditions and criteria of ''art in general'' or ''work of art in general'' somehow overlap with the standards of value at the minimal level of a painting' s, a sculpture's, etc., achievement

qua art. But this seems rather unlikely.

The Concept ofArt (New York: New York University Press, 1 97 1 ), Chapter 1 0 .

2.

See my

3.

The Journal of Value Inquiry, Vol. II, No. 2-3, Fall 1 968, pp. 266-286.

4.

Modern Moral Philosophy (London: Macmillan, 1 970), pp. 2 9 1 -292.

5.

See, for example, Hudson, op cit., Chapters Five and Six, for a detailed critical consideration of these issues.

6.

''How to Derive 'Ought' from 'Is'," Readings

in Contemporary Ethical Theory, Kenneth Pahel

and Marvin Schiller, eds. (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, 1 970), pp. 1 56- 1 68. See also Searle' s ' Reply to Hare ' s ''The Promising Game'',' ibid. , p. 1 80 . 7.

'''The Promising Game ' ,"

Readings in Contemporary Ethical Theory, Kenneth Pahel and

Marvin Schiller, eds., pp. 1 68- 1 7 9 . 8.

Mind, Vol. LXXXVI, No. 344, October 1 977, pp. 479-496.

9.

The distinction between the general and the specific types of uses of 'good' and 'bad' is made by Helen Knight in relation to the aesthetic uses of these expressions, in ''The Use of ' Good' in Aesthetic Judgments," Aesthetics

and Language, William Elton, ed. (Oxford, 1 954), p. 148£

The frrst or ''G-type'' use is exemplified by ''Philosophy is a good (valuable, desirable) thing (or activity)'' and ''Aesthetic experience is good''; while the latter or ''S-type'' use is illustrated by, e.g., ''I bought an excellent Cezanne," and, possibly, ''He is a good man." 10.

Their laudatory meaning in Hare's use of the word ' commending, ' in relation to 'good.'

11.

In short, the criteria appealed to are essentially contestable.

12.

I ignore Q-criteria, since they do not appear to be involved here: certainly not generally. I say this since I do not categorically wish to preclude the possibility that some kinds of morally right or wrong actions include the absence of defeating criteria among their criteria.

13.

Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, N.S. Vol. LVI (March 1956), pp. 1 80ff. See also ''Art as an Essentially Contested Concept," The Philosophical Quarterly, Vol. 6, No. 23 (April, 1 9 5 6), pp. 97- 1 14.

14.

See my ''Vagueness,"

Philosophy of Language and Logical Theory: Collected Papers

(Lanham, MD: University Press of America, Inc.), pp. 9ff. 15.

For further discussion of the criteria of evaluative functional expressions the interested reader is referred to my

16.

The Concept ofArt among other writings.

That is also frequently true of non-functional words. There too the features singled out by a judge as good- or bad- (or poor) making features may be non-defming features prized or dis­ liked, etc. by her.

17.

But contrast 'right act' according to Consequentialist theories. In their case the criterion of rightness consists in what B.J. Diggs calls an ''instrumental rule." (''Rules and Utilitarianism,"

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Readings In Contemporary Ethical Theory, Kenneth Pahel and Marvin Schiller, eds. [Englewood Cliffs, NJ, 1 970], pp. 260-282). 18.

This is an important difference between these expressions and 'right' and 'wrong' ; while 'virtue' and perhaps even 'vice, ' and their cognates, appear to convey an intermediate position. For some persons or societies, at present, the word 'virtuous' is often a near-synonym of ' sim­ ple-minded,' ' simpleton, ' or ' fool,' although they usually hate to admit it. On the other hand, except perhaps among criminals,

I do not think that 'virtuous' and 'vicious' are used inter­

changeably with 'morally bad' and ' morally good,' respectively. 19.

There is no necessary implication here that this standard itself, which is the ultimate ground for the validation of subordinate standards or principles, cannot be justified in a different way, in the sense of being vindicated; e.g., pragmatically. On the other hand, I do not wish to suggest that an attempt to vindicate such principles may not end up in circularity or issue begging. For a discussion of these matters, see e.g., Herbert Feigl, ''Validation and Vindication," Readings

in Ethical Theory, Wilfrid Sellars and John Hospers, eds. (New York, 1 952), pp. 667-680. 20.

Cf F. Waismann, ''Verifiability," Logic and Language, First Series, Antony Flew, ed. (Oxford, 1 955), p. 1 1 9 .

21.

It is noteworthy that we can conceive of evaluative criteria that closely resemble I-criteria; i.e., ''le-criteria.'' We can conceive of an empirical connection being established between the defm­ ing features ABC of a class of phenomena P determining the le-criteria of the goodness of things of a certain kind, or the moral rightness of some actions, on the one hand, and some empirically observable phenomenon X, on the other hand; such that

X's presence becomes a possible

evaluative criterion for Ps. Thus suppose that a certain variety of apples or pears, in addition to being sweet and ripe

qualities that, within limits, are normally sufficient criteria-features of

goodness in apples or pears

exhibit some additional quality: say a certain size or range of sizes,

shape, color, etc. If these additional qualities are generally prized by consumers, they can be­ come ''independent'' criteria for goodness in apples or pears in general. The same may occur in relation to e.g., 'right' and 'wrong, ' and evaluative-cum-descriptive expressions such as 'brave, ' ' liar,' ' violent, ' and 'murderer. ' 22.

Sibley, op cit., passim.

23.

Cf. Chapters Five and Six of my

The Concept ofArt for a detailed analysis of the above uses

of aesthetic terms. The analysis there, I believe, supports the views expressed here. 24.

In The Concept ofArt, p. 1 3 , ''N-features'' are defined as the '''non-aesthetic' sensuous or non­ sensuous qualities and/or formal features." See also Chapter 5 , and passim.

25.

For this qualification, see later.

26.

I owe this distinction, and most of what follows on this page, to the anonymous reader of an earlier draft of this chapter.

27.

The important distinction between conventional ''expressive'' (and ''dynamic'') ''use'' and ''expressive'' (and ''dynamic'') ''force'' is not usually drawn by writers on so-called emotive meaning. But then the philosophical literature on the subject is I think quite confused

and with

respect to considerably more serious matters than this. But if all emotive expressions are valua­ tive we cannot distinguish those that have a conventional dynamic use from those that do not by attributing evaluative meaning to the former alone.

Chapter 12 Criteria and Grading Standards ofEvaluative Concepts, Part 2 I In the previous chapter I endeavored to discover the nature of the criteria for general evaluative labels and special evaluative or grading labels, and their relation to the meaning of these labels. We also endeavored to ascertain the nature of the value standards that apply to the objects the general names are used to qualify. The present chapter continues the exploration of the criteria and value standards applicable to certain varieties of special evaluative-cum-descriptive expressions or concepts not considered in that chapter. I refer to ''cluster terms'' in a sense different from ''family resemblance," vague, ''quasi-essentialist," ''essentially contested," and ''defeasible'' concepts. These types of concepts have logical peculiarities that make their special consideration necessary in relation to our concern with criteria and applicable evaluative standards .

''Cluster Terms'' In his ''The Theory of Important Criteria," briefly considered in Chapter 10, Michael Slote discusses various examples of what he considers to be cluster terms in his sense of the phrase; including (a) 'democracy' and (b) 'city, ' which are evaluative terms. I shall therefore turn to a critical consideration of his under­ standing of the uses of these terms . I shall also consider (c) 'perfect' and 'perfec­ tion, ' which Slote does not consider. 'Democracy' In his account of cluster concepts in this sense, Slote notes that ''it has been commonly held by philosophers that the sort of terms I have called 'cluster terms ' obey a logic far different from that attributed to them by the PIC. Such diverse philosophers as Alston, Hospers and Wittgenstein have argued that none of the criteria (in something like my sense of ' criterion') of cluster terms are ever (treated as) necessary to the application of these terms, something can lack any one of the criteria of some cluster term 'f' and still be (thought to be) (an)f, even if it cannot lack most of the criteria of 'f' and still be (thought to be) (an)f According to these philosophers . . . there is no fixed fraction or number of criteria of 'f' whose presence

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makes thingsf(s) and whose absence makes them non:f(s); and a set of, say, three criteria off-ness may suffice forf-ness, whereas a different set of, say, four may not."1 However, an examination of the conditions and criteria2 for the term 'democ­ racy' shows that Slote is right in rej ecting the preceding view. As he says, everyone will agree that maj ority rule is an absolutely necessary condition of democracy.3 But his comment that ''some of these views are perfectly compatible with, indeed follow from, PIC,"4 is puzzling. For if ''previous writers about cluster terms are simply wrong in maintaining that none of the criteria of cluster terms is necessary to the applicability of any of those terms, at least if the PIC is correct," I do not see how the view he criticizes can follow from PIC. If in the case of any given class name, 't, ' none of its criteria is necessary for its applicability, it would follow that 't ' is an extremely vague term, not as he believes, a cluster term in Slote's sense. Unlike moderately vague terms, extremely vague terms completely lack generally agreed-upon criteria of application, and probably also ''no coincidence or overlap­ ping even in respect any two of their different uses . . . [would be] discemible."5 Moderately vague expressions are likely to have a ''common core of meaning''; namely an '''area' of overlapping or partial coincidence with respect to two or more actual uses'' of the term.6 Further, some moderately vague terms may possibly have one logically necessary (hence ''important'') criterion in their employment by different users. If that occurs the vague terms may also be cluster terms in Slote's sense; or some cluster terms may also be moderately vague. Apart from the preceding there is an important problem with part of Slote' s definition of ' important criterion. ' For he states that ''A characteristic x is an important criterion off-ness if and only if x is a criterion off-ness and knowing whether x is or is not present in any given thing s is importantfor our disinter­ ested understanding ofor knowledge about s; i.e., tells us a good deal, something important, about the (sort of thing) x (is), about what s is really like, about the 'nature' of s. ''7 His mistake is that not all criteria appealed to in using s whether the uses in question are generally agreed-on or no, are important or relatively important from the ''standpoint of disinterested knowledge . . . of s, to (the kind of thing) s (is).'' For example, the fact that some people would refuse to call a country a democracy if it lacks minority rights, by considering minority rights a necessary condition/criterion of democracy, is also important for understanding the nature of democracy as the presence or absence of majority rule. ' City' Like 'democracy, ' Slote considers 'city' as another example of a cluster term. He writes :

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Consider the question whether Buffalo (or Omaha or Kansas City) really is a city. Some will want to say that it is, others that it is not. Now there are many criteria, in my sense, of cityhood. One is the possession of a large population. Others are the possession of a rich and varied cultural !ife and the possession of a sophisticated, cosmopolitan, urbane popula­ tion. Places like Buffalo fulfil the frrst, but not (according to some) the latter two criteria of cityhood. But if ' city' can be defmed in terms of its criteria, thing like

''x

'x '

is a city' means some­

has whichever of large population, rich cultural !ife, urbane atmosphere, etc.

are important. If so, it should be understandable why some people think a place like Buf­ falo can be a city, while others do not. ''8

And so on. What is especially interesting for us about this example is that, as it is gener­ ally used, 'city' is a purely descriptive, not an evaluative, term; and if it is a cluster term, it would follow that some cluster terms consist of non-evaluative expres­ sions. Nonetheless, the word 'city' can acquire an evaluative component in those contexts in which it is contrasted, whether explicitly or implicitly, with 'town' and, esp ecially, 'village. ' In fact, that evaluative component can be seen in Slote' s question ''whether Buffalo (Omaha, Kansas City) really is a city." Further, the essentially contested criteria that according to Slote some people consider impor­ tant for something' s being a city (we might add: as opposed to a town or a village) are all value-qualities . Thus in this type of use of 'city' the term is a descriptive­ cum-evaluative term. This fits into the general presumption that all cluster terms are essentially contested by virtue of the fact that they are evaluative-cum­ descriptive, not purely descriptive terms .9 The acquisition of 'city' of an evaluative element or aspect in a special kind of use it can have what I shall call its ''contrastive use '' is not confined to that term but can be found in certain uses of other terms that function purely descrip­ tively in their usual applications. ' Craft, ' 'painting, ' 'sculpture,' 'music,' and the other art-names are good examples. Calling an obj ect a painting rather than ''mere craft'' is according it the minimal degree of skill or achievement over and above the minimum technical skill necessary to produce it; though it is quite possible that in some cultures crafts are more highly prized than the fine arts. The famous state­ ment, ''This is not a painting but a pot of paint flung in the face of the gullible public!'' is another in this case, explicit kind of contrast that adds an evaluative element to this use of ' a painting. ' Similarly with the use of ''This is not a sculp­ ture but a hunk of bronze!'' and ''This is cacophony, not music !'' In these sentences the idea of achievement or merit is associated with 'p ainting,' 'sculpture' and 'music' respectively; the implication is that ''a painting," ''a sculpture," ''a work of music'' is ''art," which, in its usual employment, is clearly evaluative-cum­ descriptive. In another use, i.e., in the label 'Arts and Sciences,' it is used purely descriptively. Since in this case any implied contrast is non-evaluative, we may

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need to qualify ' contrastive use' by calling it ' evaluative contrastive use' in con­ trast to 'descriptive contrastive use. ' Whether the preceding terms function as cluster terms in their evaluative uses would depend on whether there are (a) one or more absolutely essential character­ istics or functions, purposes or aims possessed by a painting, a sculpture, etc., and whether (b) paintings, sculptures, etc., may have other essentially contested characteristics, uses or functions, and so on. I shall leave it to the interested reader to determine the answer to this question. (What should be remembered here is that although all cluster concepts are essentially contested, not all essentially contested concepts are necessarily cluster concepts.) 'Perfect' and 'Perfection' 'Perfect' and 'perfection' are particularly interesting descriptive-cum evaluative terms for our purposes because there is a large number The Random House Dictionary of the English Language, College Edition lists no less than eighteen senses of these grading labels. As a result, there are eighteen different conditions or sets of conditions and criteria for these terms, each being conceptually con­ nected with these terms' particular sense. Some of these senses of 'perfect' are: ''1. conforming absolutely to the description or defmition of the type: a perfect sphere, a perfect gentleman; 2. excellent or complete beyond practical or theoretical improvements; 3. exactly fitting the need in a certain situation or for a certain purpose; 4. without any of the flaws or shortcomings that might be present: a perfect apple. ''10 As evaluative terms the uses of 'perfect' in each of its senses necessarily has reference to some chosen standard or standards of perfection. ' Stated generally, the use of 'perfect x, in each of the these senses has reference to some standard(s) of perfection of things of kind X For instance, where 'x ' in ' 'perfect x stands for 'being' or for ' God. ' A perfect being or a perfect God is perfect in the relevant sense or senses of 'perfect' mentioned or referred to above, relative to some standard or standards ofperfection. Since the standards of perfection in each of the senses to which different people appeal are essentially contested, the concept of a perfect being, of a perfect God, is essentially contested. This is true, for example, whether a ''perfect being'' is understood in the sense of ''conforming absolutely to the definition or description of a type'' (sense 1), or 'perfect God' is understood in the sense of ''excellent or complete beyond practical or theoretical improvements'' (sense 2), or as a being (e.g., in sense 1) greater than whom cannot be conceived'' (p erhaps in sense 8; i.e., ''unqualified, absolute''). Likewise with such humble examples as ''perfect apple'' and ''perfect carrot'' (in sense 1 or sense 3). For a botanical layman such as myself a perfect apple of its kind simply means a large, sweet, aromatic kind of apple; a conception of a ''per­ fect apple'' that may be easily contested by other botanical laymen. For a botanist

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on the other hand what 'perfect apple' means may be quite different. Indeed, if all botanists define 'perfect apple' in the same way the phrase would not be an essen­ tially contested expression because it would then be a purely descriptive, scientific phrase. Likewise with 'perfect carrot' in the same sense of 'perfect. ' The highly complex and controversial concept of a 'perfect being' or a 'perfect God' is quite a different matter from the humble concept of a perfect apple or carrot. Consider the traditional Christian conception of God. The various qualities attributed to God omnipotence, omniscience, perfect benevolence, and so on­ are all essentially contested. The very meaning of each of these descriptive-cum­ evaluative terms 'omnipotence, ' ' omniscience, ' etc., is a matter of dispute and disagreement with the result that the conditions and criteria for their application, and so, the standards for evaluating something as omnipotent, omniscient, etc., is essentially contested. And unlike evaluative-cum-descriptive terms whose meaning is conventionally fixed, the essential contestedness of the evaluative standards relative to each of these attributes directly arises from the essential contestedness of the mean ing of the corresponding terms. Consider 'perfect power. ' What does 'perfect power' mean? As some have asked, can a self-conscious, perfectly power­ ful being square the circle, take human form, exist in space and time, die and be resurrected? Further, does it make sense to think of God, as a putative omnipotent, omniscient being as a ''necessary being," say in the sense of ''existing in all possi­ ble worlds''? We may also recall the traditional philosophical-theological problem of divine ''omniscience'' versus human free will, and the theological problem of predestination. Each of these questions is also a question about the (essentially contested) standards used by different people in evaluating a putative being as ''perfectly powerful," ''possessing perfect knowledge," and so on. It is important to remember here that although we need to distinguish the contestedness of the descriptive meaning of 'perfect power,' 'perfect knowledge,' etc., consequent on the absence of a fixed conventional meaning attached to these phrases, the term 'perfect' itself (leaving aside the question of marginal indetermi­ nacy) does have a generally accepted, fixed or relatively fixed sense or meaning in at least in some of the eighteen senses. For example, in the sense of ''conforming absolutely to the description or definition of a type'' (sense 1); ''correct in every detail'' (sense 5); in the sense of ''thorough, complete; utter'' (sense 6); ''bot. : a. having all parts or members present. b. monoclinous'' (sense 10), and, especially, in any of the grammatical or musical senses listed by the dictionary. In fact, these and the other senses I mentioned illustrate the general fact that in a sense of 'force' analogous to J .L. Austin's sense of ' illocutionary force,' the evaluative force of evaluative-cum-descriptive terms may vary in strength relative to their descrip­ tive component. 11 And though all such terms are essentially contestable by virtue of the evaluative element in their meaning, those terms that have a relatively low degree of evaluative force, which have a minimal evaluative ''coloring," may be

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expected to be contestable in principle to a lesser extent than terms possessing a high degree of evaluative force. Whatever the correct answer to the last question may be, it is clear I think that the complexity of the descriptive component of a descriptive-evaluative term determines the complexity of its evaluative uses, consequently the contested standards determined by that component in conjunction with the evaluative aspect of the term's use. This can be seen in the case of the complex Christian concept of God. The many perfections that such a being is believed to have renders that concept contestable in a high degree indeed.

Defeasible Concepts vs. Cluster Concepts The following are some of the defmitions of ' defeasible concept' in dictionaries of philosophy: ''defeasible means 'defeatible' , in the sense of 'capable of being overruled' . A driver' s license confers a defeasible right to drive, for example, because under certain circumstances (e.g., when he is drunk) the holder of a valid license would nevertheless not be allowed to drive. A defeasible PROPOSITION is one that can be overturned by future evidence."12 And: ''defeasible. Open to obj ection. The term is used particularly in connection with concepts, such as legal responsibility, which are presumed to apply unless one or other of a perhaps indeterminate list of defeating conditions obtains."13 Again: A defeasible property, relation, or judgement is subject to defeat (nullification, termination, or substantial revision) by further considerations (e.g., later facts or evidence) . . . Hart in­ troduced the term . . . arguing that legal concepts do not describe (for example) actions, but ascribe responsibility . . . ascriptions defeatible on proof of exception (e.g., duress, infancy). Hart soon abandoned this thesis, and the word. But legal philosophers debate law's defea­ sible (presumptive, prima facie) moral obligatoriness. And concepts of defeasibility have seen wide service in epistemology and semantics. For example, some explanations of an assertion's sense refer to what would give the assertion evidential or inferential warrant (and even certainty), albeit a warrant defeasible by further evidence or considerations. 14

Finally, Black 's Law Dictionary defines ' defeasible' as ''subject to be de­ feated, annulled, revoked, or undone upon the happening of a future event or the performance of a condition subsequent, or by a conditional limitation. Usually spoken of estates and interests in land. For instance, a mortgagee' s estate is defeasible (liable to be defeated) by the mortager' s equity of redemption."15 Except for the legal concept of responsibility, which is an evaluative-cum­ descriptive concept, the concepts briefly discussed in Black 's Law Dictionary are non-evaluative legal concepts, and so will not concern us in this chapter. Although the legal and moral concepts of responsibility overlap, I shall leave the technical

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legal concept aside and briefly analyze the everyday moral concept of responsibil­ ity. Concentrating on moral responsibility in relation to actions, a person P 's performance of some (any) action A is a necessary but not a sufficient condition for her being morally responsible for it. For P to be responsible for performing A it is also necessary that P (a) be conscious at the moment or time P performs A; (b) perform it completely freely, in the absence of any kind of duress; (c) be in full possession of her mental faculties (e.g., not be drunk, on drugs, not insane or mentally retarded16); and (d) fully understand A 's moral nature or character (e.g., whether it is an ethical or an unethical action). (a)-(d) are the normal additional conditions for P 's being (fully) morally responsible for action A. The concept of moral responsibility is defeasible because if any of the preced­ ing four necessary conditions does not obtain, P would (wholly or partly) lack moral responsibility for A. Note that (a), (c) and (d) are not characteristics of A itself but describe P 's mental state or condition, etc. ; and that (b) describes certain circumstances that must be present for the proper ascription to P of moral respon­ sibility for A. This brief analysis shows, I think, that the moral concept of responsibility is not a cluster concept, by the very fact that conditions (a)-(d), like the condition that P perform action A, are also logically necessary for her being morally respon­ sible for it; whereas, as we have seen, the logical situation is quite different with respect to cluster concepts. None of conditions (a)-(d) is essentially contestable: no one would disagree that they are necessary conditions for moral responsibility. But disagreement may arise about the conditions for an agent' s being properly or correctly said to be acting of her own free will (or, on the other hand, the conditions for a person's acting under duress), hence what it means to act freely or not to act freely. Similarly with the conditions for ascribing understanding, or full under­ standing, to an agent in performing a given action; and so on with the rest of defeating conditions . But the concepts of understanding, free action, being in full possession of one's mental faculties, and so on are factual concepts. Therefore, disagreements regarding them are quite different from the essential contestedness of evaluative concepts. The same sort of analysis of the concept of moral responsibility can be readily applied to any other evaluative-descriptive defeasible concept that may exist.

Cluster Concepts vs. Family Resemblance Concepts In other writings I attempted to show that some concepts are unlike both ''essen­ tialist'' concepts (i.e., mathematical and formal logical concepts) and ''family resemblance'' concepts in Wittgenstein's sense. Rather, that they are what I called quasi-essentialist concepts. A good example of such a concept, I maintained in

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Meaning and Criteria

The Morality of Terrorism, 17 is the special evaluative concept of terrorism. In the Glossary of that book I defmed 'quasi-esentialist concept' as follows : ''A concept 'S ' is a quasi-essentialist concept if like essentialist concepts, all 'S 's ' have a common defining characteristic, but additionally have a set of criss-crossing similarities of various degrees of specificity or generality, like family resemblance concepts ."18 Earlier in that book I noted that ''since some broad features-deter­ mined by the . . . [word ' terrorism's] common core of meaning are shared by all acts of terrorism as the word is usually employed, terrorism is and may continue in future to be a 'quasi-essentialist' concept. Such a concept is logically intermedi­ ate between an essentialist concept, defined in terms of a set of necessary and sufficient conditions, and a 'pure family resemblance' concept, solely and wholly defined in terms of criss-crossing resemblances of different degrees of generality or specificity."19 The common core of meaning, that which distinguishes paradigm cases of terrorism, which sets it apart from ''all other kinds of violence," . . . [is its] 'bifocal' character; namely . . . the fact that the immediate acts of terrorist violence, . . . are intended as means to certain goals. In the case of political or political­ moralistic/religious terrorism in particular, the acts of violence are intended as means to certain intermediate or long-range or ultimate goals, which vary with the particular terrorist acts or series of such acts ." The ''bifocal'' character is the one logically necessary feature, hence the one necessary condition of terrorist acts in general, in their various possible types and forms. ''Apart from its essential bifocal character, the concept of 'terrorism' is a 'family resemblance' concept, consisting of a 'family' of types [predatory, retaliatory, political, political­ moralistic/religious, etc.] and forms [e.g., state or state-sponsored terrorism] related by various criss-crossing resemblances. Consequently, the concept as a whole as is the case with all family resemblance concepts is an 'open' or 'open­ textured' concept, nonsharply demarcated from other types/forms of individual or collective violence. ''20 Since terrorism is an evaluative concept, with acts of terrorism widely though not universally regarded as morally wrong, it is also an essentially contested concept in a sense defmed by W.B. Gallie in ''Essentially Contested Concepts."21 As briefly pointed out in Chapter 11, Gallie maintains that all appraisive or evaluative concepts are ''essentially contested," in the sense that ''all evaluative or appraisive concepts are, in principle, open to question or even rej ection." He gives seven conditions which he thinks a concept must satisfy to be essentially con­ tested. 22 By ''appraisive or evaluative concepts'' he means concepts that ''signify or accredit some kind of valued achievement'' such as 'democracy,' ' social justice, ' ' a Christian life,' ' art' or 'work of art. '23 That all appraisive or evaluative expressions expressions that in W.B. Gallie' s words ''signify or accredit some kind of valued achievement''24 are ''essentially contested," is perfectly true. But as I argued in ''Vagueness,"25 I

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disagreed with him that every essentially contested concept is vague. I was and continue to be ''strongly inclined to hold that the usage and uses of an expression are contestable in principle if the expression is either vague or possesses an appraisive function, or both. ''26 But in that paper I thought and still think that ''Gallie may well be right . . . in holding that a concept must have certain other characteristics . . . besides appraisiveness, in order to be essentially contested."27 The additional conditions Gallie lists, except the fifth, sixth and seventh, ''pertain . . . to the appraisive function of these expressions."28 These conditions, as Gallie states in effect, '' 'justify the continued use of any essentially contested concept . . . ' They therefore logically require that the relevant concepts be legitimately contestable to begin with."29 The discussion of essentially contested concepts shows that at least some ''cluster terms'' are ''quasi-essentialist'' terms in the way I defined a quasi­ essentialist term in relation to terrorism. But as we shall presently see such cluster concepts as democracy and religion, and similar concepts, cannot be properly classified as quasi-essentialist concepts unless we broaden that concept to include concepts that, besides (a) a logically necessary condition of application, N, have (b) a characteristic A, or a set of characteristics ABC, which some users also regard as logically necessary for the concept's application, while others may consider ABC as logically unnecessary for it. If we do broaden the concept, evaluative concepts which, like terrorism, involve various contestable criss-crossing family resemblances, would become members ofjust one subclass of essentially con­ tested concepts. In that case the question of whether the contested characteristics consist of family resemblances or common characteristics becomes immaterial respecting the application of the concept in question. In fact, once we broaden the concept, the best way to think of the concept of democracy would be as a quasi­ essentialist concept: given that the concept has (a) a logically necessary condition of application viz. majority rule and, in addition, (b) the contested characteris­ tic of minority rights, which some but not everyone would also consider a logically necessary condition for democracy. To see this more clearly, we need to look at the concept of democracy a little more closely. Slote correctly argues that people agree that the ''possession of majority rule is an important criterion of a nation' s being a democracy'';30 i.e., it is a logically necessary condition, and provides a criterion of democracy, but that only some people consider minority rights too as an important criterion of democracy. They think that the ''granting of minority rights is a criterion of democracy whose presence or absence makes so important a difference to what a nation is like, it is an absolutely necessary condition of a nation' s being a democracy."31 Thus ''the granting of minority rights'' is essentially contestable as a putative ''important criterion'' of a democracy. But later in his article Slote does appear to acknowledge that though some people may hold that it would be correct to apply the term 'democracy' to a state even if it does not grant minority rights, they may nonethe-

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less consistently argue that such a democracy would only be a seriously flawed or imperfect democracy. In other words, though some may admit or concede that minority rights are less important than majority rule as a condition/criterion of democracy, they may nonetheless insist that they are relatively important: impor­ tant enough for a state's qualifying as a democracy ''in the full sense." This idea of degrees of importance or of relative importance of some of the criteria of cluster terms is absent from Slote' s analysis; its underlying reason being that, following Wittgenstein, he thinks that for a characteristic to qualify as a criterion, it must be conceptually necessary for the applicability of the particular expression. That leads him to ignore the fact that like all evaluative concepts, importance is a matter of degree, and that some bona fide characteristics, albeit not conceptually or logically necessary, can nonetheless provide viable criteria for the application of some cluster term. It should be added that the very same standards that rank political systems in terms of their goodness or badness as political systems, also rank different actual or possible democratic systems. They do so in terms of the proximate, intermediate and long-range or ultimate ends or ideals of any and all political systems. Since different people may envisage different, particularly different ultimate ends for political systems, including democracy, they may differ in the standards of value they apply to them making the concepts of a political system, of democracy, tyranny, dictatorship, and so on, essentially contested. Since a political system consists of political institutions and practices, what would be essentially contested would be the regulative principles of these institutions and practices. It is by virtue of their applying ''higher," more stringent standards to a political system purport­ ing to be a democracy that those who maintain that minority rights are essential for it in addition to majority rule, contest the concept of democracy. By making democracy a cluster concept in Slote' s sense, they also make it an essentially contested concept in Gallie' s sense. I maintained in Chapter 11 (1) that the conditions/criteria of a descriptive­ cum-evaluative expression 'x ' are distinct indeed, distinct in kind from the evaluative standards, S, that are used to rank in value the class of Xs that 'x ' designates. Further, (2) that standards S are logically determined by 'x 's ' descrip­ tive together with the evaluative aspects of 'x 's ' meaning. 'X 's ' meaning cannot determine S alone. (In other words, ''descriptivists'' are wrong that values can be derived from matters of fact alone.) Stating this more precisely the descriptive aspect of its meaning conditionally determines in a logical sense of 'deter­ mines' the logically appropriate kind(s) moral, aesthetic, religious or other­ of evaluative standards applicable to the class of Xs. I use the word 'conditionally' because the preceding is (a) contingent on the fact that 'x ' is an evaluative expres­ sion, and (b) it is 'x 's ' evaluative meaning that forms the logical basis for the applicability of the appropriate kinds of evaluative standards to XS.

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Consider 'bravery' and 'cowardice. ' To say that a coward is someone who runs away from danger in battle or other situations of danger to himself and/or others, does not by itself tell us whether that kind of person is condemnable and his action morally or otherwise reprehensible. The condemnation is not logically entailed by or derived (or derivable) solely from the the descriptive meaning of these words alone, but depends on the particular society' s or community' s positive or negative attitude toward cowardice; while the degree of condemnation it attaches to it varies with the circumstances under which different ''cowardly acts'' occur; which include their putative detrimental consequences for or effects on others. The preceding app lies, mu ta tis mutandis, to the other moral or social virtues and vices, and to the uses of all other special evaluative-cum-descriptive terms. Let us return, fmally, to democracy, which we met earlier as a cluster concept in Slote' s sense. What makes it particularly interesting for our present purposes is that, unlike such relatively simple descriptive-cum-evaluative concepts like coward and cowardice, discussed above, democracy is a member of a special class of descriptive-cum-evaluative concepts whose evaluation involves either (1) two logically different sorts of standards of goodness and badness, or at least in some cases, (2) a single standard with two separate logical functions. In the case of (1) we would have (a) standards ''relative '' to the other mem­ bers of that special class; and (b) standards ''in trinsic '' to the particular member of that class; while in the case of (2) we would have a single highly general stan­ dard or set of standards that perform two different evaluative functions . I shall illustrate (1) and (2) with respect to democracy; where (a) would consist in stan­ dards that evaluate democracy by contrast to alternative political systems such as tyranny and dictatorship, oligarchy and plutocracy; while (b) would consist in standards of ''ideal or perfect democracy," and would evaluate different possible or actual democracies in terms of the degree in which they approximate or fail to approximate the ideal(s) of democracy.32 To try to reduce the relative and intrinsic standards into a single general standard able to serve as both a relative and an intrinsic standard, let first consider the rather vague, ''Degree of political freedom afforded its citizens'' (PF), as a possible standard both of the goodness of democracy vis-a-vis alternative political systems and of the degree of goodness or badness of particular democracies or democratic systems in realizing or failing to realize ideal democracy. As can be readily seen, PF fails to provide the requisite standard. The reason is that, as we noted earlier, a political system that provides political freedom for the majority would qualify as a democracy even if it denies political rights to the political minority; so that an important difference would still remain between the ''relative'' and ''intrinsic'' standards. As a relative standard it would be able adequately to evaluate the various possible political systems, including democracy, by the freedom they provide or fail to provide the majority, but would fail adequately to

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serve as an intrinsic standard. And the opposite with the intrinsic standard, which would evaluate the excellence of particular democracies by whether they provide political freedom to the minority as well as to the maj ority. The presence or ab­ sence of this additional feature is the basis for the ''intrinsic'' evaluation of a particular democracy or democratic system. Let us therefore substitute ''Extent or degree of political freedom afforded to all citizens'' (PF') for PF. Unlike PF, it would adequately provide both a relative and an intrinsic standard for other political systems, although the two sorts of functions it performs would still be distinct. The preceding should make clear an important difference between the evalua­ tive standard(s) of democracy and the standard that evaluates the degree of moral/social badness of particular acts of cowardice and the goodness of particular acts of bravery, on the one hand, as well as the moral/social qualities of cowardice and of bravery.

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Notes 1.

Ibid. ' p. 22 1 .

2.

There are a number of problems with Slote' s defmition of ' criterion. ' One is his identification of ''criterion'' with ''necessary condition.'' Another, and for us the more important problem, is his restriction of ''criterion'' to ''logically necessary (sic. ) condition." To allow for the possibility that the criteria of some or perhaps all cluster concepts may be contingent, we need to replace the phrase 'logically necessary' in Slote' s 'logically necessary (sic. ) condition, ' with ' either logi­ cally or actually necessary criterion. '

3.

Op cit., p. 2 1 4 .

4.

Ibid.

5.

''Vagueness," Philosophy ofLanguage and Logical

Theory: Collected Papers. (Lanham, MD:

University Press of America, Inc., 1 995), p. 1 9 . 6.

Ibid. I owed this qualification, and the phrase ' common core of meaning,' to the late Professor Wilfrid Sellars.

7.

Slote, op cit., p. 2 1 7 .

8.

Ibid.

9.

Slote thinks that ' fish' is a cluster term. But that can be readily shown to be false in its scientific meaning and use; while its ordinary meaning, which he focuses on, is quite confused.

10.

The Random House Dictionary of the English Language, College Edition.

11.

Indeed, Austin's concept of illocutionary force pertains to an illocution' s force by virtue of its descriptive character. Austin's theory lacks an account of ''evaluative or evaluative-cum­ descriptive illocutions," as we might call them. Similarly with William Alston's speech act the­ ory.

The Philosopher 's Dictionary, 3rd Edition. Broadbent Press, 2003 .

12.

Robert M. Martin,

13.

A Dictionary ofPhilosophy, Jennifer Speake, ed. Macmillan Books, 1 984.

14.

G.P. Baker, ''Defeasibility and Meaning," in P.M.S. Hacker and Raz. (eds.), Law,

Morality and

Society (Oxford, 1977. Oxford Companion to Philosophy, Ted Honderich, ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1 995). 15.

Henry Campbell Black,

Black's Law Dictionary, Revised Fourth Edition (St. Paul, MN: West

Publishing Co., 1 968). See also ' Defeasible Fee ' and 'Defeasible Title. ' For example, ''defeasi­ ble title'' ''describes counterclaim which, if it prevails, will defeat right of plaintiff to recover.'' 16.

At least in the case of mental retardation, the moral-legal concept of ''diminished capacity'' comes into play. But that only diminishes the agent's responsibility and does not altogether an­ nul it.

17.

New York, NY: Peter Lang, Publishing, Inc, 1 99 8 .

18.

Op cit., p. 1 74 .

19.

Ibid. , p. 1 0 . Italics in original.

20.

Ibid. , p. 1 1 .

21.

Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, N. S . , Vol. LVI (March 1 9 5 6), pp. 1 80ff.

Meaning and Criteria

264 22.

Quoted from my paraphrase of Gallie in my ''Fihn As Art," Music,

Film, and Art. New York:

Gordon and Breach Science Publishers, 1 9 8 5 , p. 1 3 ln. 1 9 . 23.

For the latter two expressions, see W.B. Gallie, ''Art as an Essentially Contested Concept,"

The Philosophical Quarterly, Vol. 6, No. 23 (April, 1 9 5 6), pp. 97- 1 14, and Music, Film, and Art, specifically in relation to architecture and other kinds of artifacts that may be considered art ''as distinguished from mere crafts or technics''

(Music, Film and Art, p. 1 1 7).

24.

Gallie, ''Essentially Contested Concepts," pp. 1 80ff.

25.

Philosophy ofLanguage and Logical Theory: Collected Papers.

26.

''Vagueness," p. 9. Italics in original.

27.

Ibid.

28.

Ibid., p. 1 0 . The fifth condition pertains to the users of the expression. Gallie states that ''to use an essentially contested concept means to use it against other uses and to recognize that one' s use of it has to be maintained against these other uses'' (Gallie, ibid., p. 1 8 0), though it is really not a defming condition of the essential contestedness of the present type of concept, since it does not make any of the actual or possible uses of it contestable in principle. Rather, it is the reverse.

29 .

''Vagueness, '' p. 1 0 .

30.

Slote, op cit., p. 2 1 4. Italics in original.

31.

Ibid.

32.

The same kind of situation obtains with respect to the different art forms Schopenhauer and Hegel, for instance believe

if it makes sense, as

to rank them as ''higher'' or ''lower'' art forms.

There too both ''relative'' and ''intrinsic'' standards of aesthetic excellence would be involved.

Chapter 13 Criteria/ Change and Change of Reference/Meaning An understanding of the various types of relations between the meaning of differ­ ent kinds of expressions and the criteria for applying them may be philosophically useful in many ways. One way in which it can be useful will concern us in this chapter; namely that such an understanding enables us to ascertain the consequences that changes in criteria may have for the meaning and/or reference of the expressions for which they are criteria; and vice versa. In this chapter I shall examine certain changes in criteria and the effect, or lack of it, on the meaning/reference of the expressions in question and the concepts they express; and vice versa. In Section I, I shall con­ sider the possible consequences of criteria! change in relation to a variety of descriptive, or descriptive-cum-evaluative, expressions and the concepts they express . In Section II, I shall outline certain types of criteria! changes selected for their special interest, in relation to evaluative and evaluative-cum-descriptive, expressions . •

I A. It should be clear from our characterization of 'paradigmatic D-criterion' in Chapters 10 and 11 that (1) change of paradigmatic D-criteria, i.e., the criteria of ''essentialist'' concepts, entails change of meaning, whether the former consists in (a) the addition, or (b) the subtraction of criteria. For if the meaning of an expres­ sion 'x ' logically determines 'x 's ' conditions of application, and these in tum determine its paradigmatic D-criteria, no change in the latter is logically possible without a corresponding change in the conditions of 'x 's ' application, hence its meaning. However, where 'x ' has a single, logically sufficient D-criterion, such as in the case of 'triangle,' it is impossible to ''subtract'' the criterion ''being a three­ sided closed figure'' without altogether destroying 'x 's ' meaning or the concept x ' expresses. A change of the D-criteria of contingent concepts entails a change in their possible or potential I-criteria: a partial or complete change in the set of possible regularities that can be utilized as I-criteria for these concepts . For any change in the D-criteria changes the meaning of the expressions in question, hence changes their referent (their comprehension in C.I. Lewis' sense). Consequently, the regu-

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larities that did or could function as I-criteria cease to be regularities obtaining between this referent, Q, and some other phenomenon or phenomena, P. Let me illustrate change of paradigmatic D-criteria in relation to the concept of plane triangle, consisting in the subtraction of a D-criterion. The subtraction of, say, the property ''having an external angle equal to the sum of the opposite interior angles'' from the criteria ofplane triangle results in a complete change in the meaning of the term 'plane triangle' and so, in the concept plane triangle. This does not entail that the addition of new paradigmatic D-criteria would change the concept of a plane triangle; but it is equally true that the addition of new paradig­ matic D-criteria in this case, properties that are not part of the set of theoreti­ cally possible criteria-features of plane triangles would also change the concept of a plane triangle. Here, as with respect to all other essentialist and closed mathematical or logical concepts, the entire set of properties that are in principle capable of serving as the concept's paradigmatic D-criteria, are logically deter­ mined, once and for all, by that concept. This is true of plane triangles insofar as the concept is part of the system of Euclidean geometry, whether in its classical or in a more rigorous modem form. Therefore, any putative new D-criteria for plane triangles must consist of geometrical properties that logically conflict with both the defining and the non-defining properties of plane triangles. For example, intro­ ducing ''having angles the sum of which is 250 degrees'' as a putative D-criterion would simply destroy the present, Euclidean concept of a plane triangle. The present concept cannot be retained without contradiction. Let us now inquire whether criteria! change in various types of contingent (including scientific) concepts would necessarily change the meaning of the ex­ pressions in question, and therefore, the concepts they express. B. In an important paper titled ''Dreaming and Depth Grammar,"1 Hilary Putnam criticizes various basic views put forth in Norman Malcolm's book Dreaming, including the view that ''if a physiological criterion for dreaming is introduced, a new concept would arise for which the name 'dreaming ' could not be rightly used (Dreaming, p. 8 1 )."2 In opposition to that, Putnam argues from ''actual cases of criteria! change in science which are seemingly unaccompanied by changes of sense . ; (C-2)3 entails that much of standard scientific procedure is illegitimate," and Putnam finds this conclusion harder to accept than the falsity of (C-2).4 For example, Putnam takes issue with Malcolm' s contention that ''scien­ tists who try to tell what people are dreaming by studying eye movements during sleep are making stipulations; are introducing a new concept that remotely resem­ bles the old one; their discoveries do not pertain to dreaming (!); and their con­ cept is not a concept of dreaming at all. The scientists are in a 'muddle' (Dreaming, p. 78), and their uses spring from confusion . ''5 Putnam considers multiple sclerosis, whose cause is still debated. He observes that the symptoms of multiple sclerosis, a disease that some neurologists believe .

.

.

.

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is caused by a virus, resemble those of other neurological diseases; but that only some symptoms are usually present. Suppose a patient Xhas a 'paradigmatic' case of multiple sclerosis. Malcolm's view would then be that, ''no matter what we fmd later, X has multiple sclerosis because that is what we presently mean." If later, a virus is identified as the cause of multiple sclerosis, and it is found that that virus was not the cause of X's condition, Malcolm's view would be that ''he still had multiple sclerosis." (''To say that the virus was the cause of multiple sclerosis was to change the concept.") ''One could even say in terms of Malcolm, p. 82: 'consid­ ering the radical conceptual changes that the adoption of a virological criterion would entail, it is evidence that a new concept would have been created that only remotely resembled the old one'."6 Putnam counters that if a patient has the symptoms that, say, a certain virus normally causes, we would say that he has multiple sclerosis: though we would be prepared to admit that we were mistaken if the etiology is found to be abnormal. We are even prepared to classify sicknesses as cases of multiple sclerosis even if the symptoms are rather deviant, if it turns out that the ''underlying condition was the virus that causes multiple sclerosis, and that the deviancy in the symptoms was, say random variation. "7 This seems to him to be the case with a great many terms . One example he gives is the use of the term 'acid, ' which, he says, is based on the belief that there is a 'natural kind' for which we have good but not perfect criteria. The accepted criteria for such terms are often modified in the course of time. He points out that ''we could learn to speak," as Malcolm does, that the term (e.g., 'acid') is given a series of new uses. But speaking in that way would obscure the fact that the changes in the accepted criteria ''reflect the fact that we have more and more knowledge concerning X (where X may be a vims, or a kind of chemical, etc.)." Malcolm assimilates ''two totally dissimilar cases: the case of arbitrary linguistic stipulation, and the case of fmding better ways to tell whether or not something is present. ''8 Similarly Putnam argues that a chemist ''would want to say that he is talking about the same chemical substances that the eighteenth-century called 'acids,' even though a new theoretical definition in terms of the notion of 'proton-donor' re­ placed the rough-and-ready criteria of eighteenth century chemists, who defmed it in terms of 'being soluble in water; sour taste (in water solution); turning litmus paper red' ."9 Putnam' s position is I think essentially correct; further, that his analysis is in accord with our account ofD-criteria and I-criteria in general. For frrst, the original criteria of acids (AC) appear to be D-criteria, although some or all of the charac­ teristics of AC may have been non-paradigmatic D-criteria. Likewise if it eventu­ ally turns out that multiple sclerosis (MS) is caused by a virus, that putative new criterion would also be a D-criterion, replacing, as in the case of AC, the old D-

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criterion or criteria. Nevertheless, for special reasons present in relation to this type of empirical concept and necessarily absent in the case of logical and mathematical concepts, the concept, MS, would remain essentially the same. For by replacing the old criteria with the (putative) new ones, scientists would have substituted the putative sufficien t cause of the disease, as a D-criterion, for the (normal) effects, including MS's symptoms. Consequently the extension (or ''comprehension," in C.I. Lewis ' sense) of MS would remain unchanged so long as the empirical gener­ alizations, ''Whenever a pathological physical condition X exhibits symptoms S, it is (turns out to be) caused by a virus V'' (G- 1 ), and ''Whenever a pathological physical condition Xis caused by a vims V, it exhibits symptoms S'' (G-2), hold, given that 'x ' refers to MS and 's ' refers to the normal symptoms.10 Likewise, mutatis mutandis, with AC. Further, the causal connection between ''having such­ and-such symptoms'' and ''being caused by a virus V,'' or ''being sour, turning blue litmus red, etc.," and ''proton-donor," converts the erstwhile D-criteria into poten­ tial I-criteria. Indeed, if after the discovery of the putative virological cause of MS neurologists continue to use MS' s normal symptoms as D-criteria, the virological characteristics would become potential I-criteria relative to them! I need not add that such a procedure would be contrary to the nature and aims of science, and not consonant with the advance of scientific knowledge. The same is true of AC. The preceding analysis raises two important questions. First, would it mean that the meaning of 'multiple sclerosis ' and 'acid, ' and so, concepts MS and AC respectively would also remain unchanged? Second, what would happen if the neurologist or the chemist encounters exceptions to either of the foregoing empiri­ cal generalizations, G- 1 and G-2? Putnam, in effect, provides an answer to the latter question, in terms of what he believes the scientist would do if confronted with exceptions or seeming exceptions to G- 1 or G-2. He says that some neurolo­ gists have thought that the vims was the normal cause of the symptoms of MS. He adds : ''Perhaps other diseases occasionally (rarely) produce these same symptoms in a few patients. When a patient has these symptoms we say he has 'multiple sclerosis' but, of course, we are prepared to say that we were mistaken if the etiology turns to have been abnormal. And we are prepared to classify sicknesses as cases of multiple sclerosis, even if the symptoms are rather deviant, if it turns out that the underlying condition was the virus that causes multiple sclerosis, and that the deviancy was, say, random variation."11 In other words, Putnam thinks that in these cases the neurologist would stick to his diagnosis of the disease as MS, hence by implication, to ''is caused by a vims V'' as a D-criterion; provided that the positive correlation between this etiology and the symptoms traditionally associ­ ated with MS is the rule, not the exception. But although the neurologist may not (and probably does not normally) explicitly do so, sticking to this diagnosis is tantamount to his deciding to stick to his definition and to his new D-criterion of MS. It is this entailed by his continuing to call certain pathological conditions

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MS despite the so-called ''deviancy'' of some of their symptoms that makes the (putative) new, etiological criterion a D-definition, and keeps concept MS intact. Likewise in the case of 'acid.' Thus Putnam says that, despite the change in the criterion for acids, ''I feel sure that any chemist would want to say that he is talking about the same chemical substances that the eighteenth century chemist called 'acids ' ."12 (That is, the ''comprehension'' of 'acid' has remained constant despite the criteria! change.) He significantly adds, in essential confirmation of my obser­ vations : Is there any decisive reason for rejecting this 'naive' view? It is true that we can to-day speak of a few acids that could not have been identified as such by eighteenth century cri­ teria. If the eighteenth century chemist had insisted that there could not be, say, an acid too weak to tum litmus paper red (or to give any taste at all) as he understood the term, then perhaps we should say that a change of meaning had occurred. But who supposes 13 that an eighteenth century chemist would have so insisted?

From a logical point of view, i.e., so far as the truth or falsity of Putnam' s claims about the ''logic'' of criteria! change in science is concerned, the last sen­ tence in the preceding quotation may seem quite irrelevant. Yet if what I have been saying is true, it has everything to do with the correctness of his view; since it clearly indicates the existence of a ''decision," logically speaking, to maintain the integrity of the old concept. And as he shows, there are excellent reasons for that. In the course of time the very notion of scientific discovery or advances in scien­ tific knowledge, of better explanations of phenomena called multiple sclerosis or chemical substances called acids, would require that we think and talk about the very same disease or chemical substances throughout. That is, it is essential that the ''extension'' of 'multiple sclerosis ' and 'acid' remain (more or less) constant : an important difference between that kind of situation, where we fmd ''better ways to tell whether or not something is present," and ''the case of arbitrary linguistic stipulation''14 that Malcolm fails to distinguish from it, as Putnam correctly main­ tains . Having said these things in agreement with Putnam, I must nonetheless point out that some change in the concept acid has undoubtedly occurred as a result of the criteriological change; and that some change in the concept multiple sclerosis may occur if and when the cause of the disease is discovered. In the latter case at least, what was originally, at best, a ''family resemblance'' concept applied on the strength of a loose set of varying but probably partly overlapping symptoms, none of which is logically necessary or peculiar to MS, would then become a tighter concept. For then the concept would be applied on the strength of a necessary and sufficient condition; e.g., ''caused by a virus V, " if it turns out that the neurological disease is caused by a particular virus, V Concomitantly, the original non­ paradigmatic D-criteria would be replaced by a paradigmatic D-criterion. As a

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result the degree of the original concept's openness would be reduced if not alto­ gether eliminated. (Whether the concept would then be completely closed would depend on whether neurologists would be willing to sp eak of MS in relation to patients who exhibit all the ''normal'' symptoms of the disease15 but whose symp­ toms, it turns out, are caused by a different virus W.) Overall, therefore, the con­ cept would be tightened or refined as a result of increased scientific knowledge. The reason why that notwithstanding Putnam can rightly claim that the concept is (essentially) the same, lies in the already-noted special causal connection between the old and the imagined new conditions and criteria. In the case of acids the situation would be different if a chemical substance's turning litmus red were a peculiarity of acids which it is not; since very weak organic acids (proton­ donors), even in concentrated form, fail the test. Thus as Putnam notes, some acids i.e., acids on the present condition would not be identified by the eight­ eenth century chemist as such. In short, the eighteenth century concept of acid was ''defined'' in terms of a property that is neither necessary nor sufficient for a chemical substance' s being an acid (proton-donor); since turning blue litmus red is a sufficient condition only for inorganic acids; whereas the present concept of acid is defined in terms of a condition that is factually both sufficient and neces­ sary. Whether very weak organic acids would have counted as borderline cases of acids or as bona fide non-acids on the eighteenth century concept, would depend on the relative importance the chemists of the day would have attached to the other physical criteria-features: sour taste, corrosiveness (only in relation to strong acids), etc. It remains to see whether the meaning of 'acid' has changed to any extent with the tightening of the concept of acid, and whether the meaning of 'multiple sclero­ sis' would change if, say, the cause of the disease is found to be a particular virus. The answer depends, I believe, on whether the new conditions/criteria are used as defining features of 'acid' and 'multip le sclerosis ' respectively. For example, if neurologists were to define 'multiple sclerosis ' as ''a neurological disease having such-and-such symptoms, caused by a virus V,'' the meaning of the phrase would become somewhat different from its present meaning, which does not include ''caused by a virus'' as part of the term's definition. This seems to imply that the concept of multiple sclerosis that we now have would also be different from the putative future concept; since that concept is partly or wholly determined by the meaning of 'multiple sclerosis . ' (This is true of any concept: a concept x is partly or wholly determined by the meaning of 'x. ) I say partly or wholly because we frequently include more than defining features in concept x. That is especially true of empirical concepts. Thus even though 'multip le sclerosis ' may in future come to mean (only) ''a neurological disease caused by a virus V'' alone, the general concomitance (both positive and negative) of the viral activity and the disease's normal symptoms would naturally lead the neurologists to include the latter in the '

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concept. That means that the term presently means less than in the hypothetical future; since ''caused by a vims V'' is not presently part of its meaning. In what sense then would the concept multiple sclerosis remain essentially unchanged? In the sense that its ''comprehension'' would not essentially change. In one common philosophical sense of concept x, perhaps also in the corresponding ordinary sense of 'idea,' ''concept x'' is what 'x ' is the concept of understood extensionally to mean ''the class of things called Xs. '' Similar observations apply to the concept acid in the eighteenth century vis-a­ vis the present chemical concept. C. In another essay entitled ''The Analytic and the Synthetic,"16 Putnam introduces the notion of law-cluster concept in analogy with the Wittgensteinian notion of a ''family resemblance'' concept (or a cluster concept as he calls it). He writes : Law-cluster concepts are constituted not by a bundle of properties as are the typical general names like 'man' and 'crow,' but by a cluster of laws which, as it were, determine the identity of the concept. The concept ' energy' is an excellent example of a law-cluster con­ cept. It enters into a great many laws. It plays a great many roles, and these laws and infer­ ence roles constitute its meaning collectively, not individually. I want to suggest that most of the terms in highly developed science are law-cluster concepts . . . 17

The analogy between law-cluster concepts and ''family resemblance'' concepts is clear; the former too lack logically necessary conditions of application, as Putnam points out in relation to the latter. The importance of the notion of law­ cluster concepts for our purposes lies in the fact that criteria! change in a concept of that type does not necessarily result in a change in the concept itself, and in that way but only in that way law-cluster concepts are importantly similar to the otherwise quite different kind of scientific concept Putnam considers in ''Dreaming and Depth Grammar'': concepts such as multiple sclerosis and acid. But the reasons for the similarity I mentioned are, of course, very different in the two cases. Moreover, the ''criteria! change'' I have in mind here in relation to law-cluster concepts, consists in the abandonment, in a particular law-cluster concept e.g., in the physicist's concept energy of any one or more, but not most of the laws in its law-cluster. But Putnam thinks that ''There is a [fuzzy sense or] use of the term 'meaning' according to which any change in important beliefs may be said to change the 'meaning' of some of the constituent concepts."18 Whether or not such a sense of 'meaning' exists, it is true that any change in important beliefs is usually said to change the ''meaning'' of the constituent concepts; given that those who employ these concepts do not usually draw a clear line between attributes included in the meaning and additional attributes that are usually considered part of the concepts. Some of the latter may consist in attributes involving generally-accepted beliefs.

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Although the j ettisoning of a law L-1 from the cluster of laws constituting a concept X means that L- 1 can no longer provide part of the (actually sufficient) criterion for X's application, X remains intact. Putnam states the latter thus : ''in general, any one law [within the cluster of laws constituting the concept] can be abandoned without destroying the identity of the law-cluster concept involved, just as a man can be irrational from birth, or can have a growth of feathers all over his body, without ceasing to be a man. ''19 Putnam's reference to the concept man here is clearly intended to point out the parallel between what he says about criteria! change in relation to law-cluster concepts and that type of change in the case of ''family resemblance'' concepts . Thus if we suppose with him that man is a ''family resemblance'' concept (or ''cluster'' concept in Putnam' s sense), the ab sence of logically necessary conditions for its paradigmatic application has the same consequence as in the case of cluster­ law concepts. That is, that the jettisoning of ''rational'' or ''being featherless'' from the ''list of attributes that make up a normal man''20 would not change the meaning of 'man, ' and so, the concept man provided that most of the other attributes in the cluster are retained. For ''the meaning in such a case is given by a cluster of properties. To abandon a large numb er of these properties . . . would be felt as an arbitrary change in its meaning. ''21 The preceding points to an interesting parallel between, on the one hand, family resemblance concepts and, mutatis mutandis, law-cluster concepts, and, on the other hand, such concepts as multiple sclerosis and acid. The hypothetical rejection of the whole cluster of symptoms associated with the disease D-criteria would change the concept of multiple sclerosis and, to that extent, the meaning of 'multiple sclerosis. ' That would be true even after the (hypothetical) substitution of ''caused by a virus V'' for ''having such-and-such symptoms'' as the criterion for the disease, as a consequence of the causal connection that exists between the putative new criterion-feature and the present symptomatic criteria-features. For if the empirical generalization ''Whatever disease has symptoms a, b, c, d, etc., is (has been found to be) caused by virus V'' turns out to be false with the discovery of some other cause of multiple sclerosis, the dropping of a, b, c, d, etc., as symp­ toms of the disease would also mean the j ettisoning of ''being caused by virus V'' as the putative necessary and sufficient condition of the disease. And that would change the concept multiple sclerosis and the meaning of 'multiple sclerosis .' II In this section I shall turn our attention to the possible changes in the evaluative aspect of the meaning of evaluative, or evaluative-cum-descriptive expressions, which may result from changes in their criteria; and the opposite. I shall begin with

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( 1 ) general grading labels, then pass to (2) 'right ' and 'wrong, ' and fmally, to (3) specialized grading labels and similar evaluative-cum-descriptive expressions. ( 1 ) We saw in Chapter 1 1 that the general grading labels 'good' and 'bad,' may have a descriptive meaning or descriptive meanings in certain of their uses. Consequently, any change in their criteria is necessarily reflected in the meaning itself; inasmuch as it is these criteria-features themselves that logically provide (besides the evaluative component of their meaning) whatever descriptive meaning the expressions have. Nonetheless, in contrast to purely descriptive expressions whose criteria are D-criteria, the appeal, or continued appeal to certain currently employed criteria of moral, aesthetic, or other sorts of goodness, on the ground that their abandonment would destroy the evaluative meaning of 'good' and 'bad' cannot be logically justified unless, of course, the criteria for 'good' and 'bad' are completely reversed, so that 'bad' comes to mean ''good'' and 'good' comes to mean ''bad''! As was noted in Chapter 1 1 , in agreement with R.M. Hare, the evaluative (aspect of the) meaning of 'good' and 'bad' is independent of their criteria; since the latter vary while the (evaluative) meaning of 'good' and 'bad' remains constant. The mistaken supposition of some philosophers that any change in the criteria of goodness or badness changes the evaluative aspect of the meaning of 'good' and 'bad' rests on their claim that a particular featuref's use as a crite­ rion of goodness or badness is what gives these expressions their evaluative meaning. (2) The foregoing observations apply for essentially the same reasons to 'morally right' and 'morally wrong. ' But these expressions involve special com­ plexities in the putative descriptive aspect of their meaning; that is, if they are understood to mean, say, ''conducive to the best consequences possible in the circumstances," and ''conducive to the worst consequences possible in the circum­ stances," respectively. Understood in that way, they essentially function like 22 specialized grading labels and other evaluative-cum-descriptive expressions . I therefore tum to the latter. (3) Part of the question here is whether (a) the descriptive aspect of the mean­ ing of such words as 'rude, ' 'brave, ' 'heroic, ' 'kind' and 'compassionate' would change if some or all of the De-criteria for their paradigmatic uses change. The answer is clearly ''yes''; provided that these specialized expressions are (i) precise, not vague, and (ii) have at least a relatively fixed meaning. In that respect they are similar to all other expressions that possess a precise and relatively fixed descrip­ tive meaning. The second part of the question, (b) concerns the evaluative aspect of their meaning vis-a-vis the criteria for the correct application of these expres­ sions. That is, whether the evaluative aspect of their meaning would be reversed with a change in the criteria or with their replacement by other criteria. The answer is I think ''No, not necessarily.'' Whether such a drastic change does occur would depend, for one thing, on how drastic the criteria! change happens to be. It would •

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also depend on whether people's pro or con attitude toward what these expressions descriptively mean or refer to, are reversed with changes in their criteria. At the same time, the changes that may occur in their criteria may result from change in the users ' attitudes and emotional responses to these referents. War, revolution, terrorism, Communism, dictatorship are examples of emotionally charged obj ects towards which, not infrequently, people in the same or in different cultures and times may experience profound changes of heart. We are also familiar with the fairly drastic changes, including complete reversals in what people, especially the younger generations, now tend to mean by 'virtue' and 'vice' (and the various traditional ''virtues'' and ''vices'') in, say, Western culture as a result of funda­ mental changes in the criteria they apply to them. The opposite process may also be taking place: with criteria! changes following changes in people' s conception of and attitudes towards these and other erstwhile values. The discussion of sexual harassment under (c) should illustrate some of these as well as additional pertinent points . (c) Since the start of the feminist movement in the West some decades ago, the social, moral and legal rules or criteria, hence the conditions, of sexual harassment have undergone a sea change: what used to be socially-morally generally accept­ able behavior in the professional, social and personal relations between and among the sexes has come to be frowned upon and condemned as ''sexual harassment." With the significant change in the rules or criteria defining what is now called sexual harassment, the meaning of 'sexual harassment' (together with the stan­ dards now being used to evaluate sexual harassment) has undergone a corre­ sponding significant change, particularly in its legal definition in the United States. Note that what has changed is the meaning of 'sexual harassment ' as a phrase, not the meaning of its components . The words 'sexual' and 'harassment'23 continue to enjoy their conventional meaning. Earlier in this section I noted what I believe it is the error of attempting to justify some particular criterion of goodness and badness in actual use on the ground that dropping or changing it would change or destroy the evaluative mean­ ing of 'good' and 'bad. ' An example of this error is found in Philippa Foot's discussion of moral justification in ''Moral Arguments ."24 What is especially noteworthy is Foot's supposition that all evaluative terms, not just 'good' and 'bad,' would lose the meaning they have if their actual criteria (the rules that govern the meaning) are dropped or changed. I quote: Anyone who uses moral terms at all, whether to assert or deny a moral proposition, must abide by the rules for their use, including the rules about what shall count as evidence for or against the moral judgment concerned . . . The only recourse of the man who refused to accept the things which counted in favour of a moral proposition as giving him a reason to do certain things or to take up a particular attitude, would be to leave the moral discus­ 25 sion and abjure altogether the use of moral terms.

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The only evaluative word Foot considers in any detail is the word 'rude. ' Since it is an evaluative-cum-descriptive expression as normally employed, dropping the De-criteria of rudeness would clearly change the descriptive meaning of 'rude­ ness.' For instance, if 'rudeness' is descriptively defmed as, e.g., a gentleman's not standing up when a lady (other than a member of his family) enters the room, or not lifting his hat when he meets a lady acquaintance on the street, or other forms of such behavior, one or more of these ''inconsiderate'' modes of behavior would provide a criterion of rudeness. If for some social reason we now start to consider a very different mode of behavior as a (descriptive) criterion of rudeness say a man's not flirting with a lady of his acquaintance every time he meets her the current descriptive meaning of 'rude' would clearly suffer a noticeable change. That in turn may change in some degree the evaluative aspect of the word's mean­ ing; but rudeness in the new sense may still be negatively graded, as a form of bad manners ! It would depend on people's attitude, at the time, towards the idea of a man's not flirting with his female acquaintances . At least as far as middle class Americans are concerned, a man's not flirting with a lady of his acquaintance every time he meets her would I think be lauded: in which case the imagined change in criteria of rudeness, hence the putative change in the word' s meaning, would result in a corresponding change in the word 'rude's' general evaluative meaning. But the essential point is that that change need not always occur. As noted in Chapter 1 2 in relation to 'good' and 'bad,' the evaluative aspects of their meaning and their De-criteria are not conceptually connected; and the same is, mutatis mutandis, true of descriptive-cum-evaluative expressions. (Section II, (3).) As pointed out under (2) above, the situation with 'right' and 'wrong' would be like (a) evaluative-cum-descriptive expressions or (b) general grading labels, depending on whether a descriptive meaning is or is not ascribed to them. In either case Foot's assumption about them would be mistaken. Nevertheless it is instruc­ tive to consider 'right' and 'wrong' again briefly in order to bring out more clearly certain interesting peculiarities I referred to earlier. For that I shall quote another passage from Foot. She writes: ''Bentham . . . may be right in saying that when used in conjunction with the principle of utility 'the words ought and right and wrong, and others of that stamp, have a meaning: when otherwise they have none' ."26 That Bentham maintains that 'right' and 'wrong' have meaning only by reference to utility27 appears to be implied by his definition of the principle of utility. Bentham writes : By the principle of utility is meant that principle which approves or disapproves of every action whatsoever, according to the tendency which it appears to have to augment or di­ minish the happiness of the party whose interest is in question: or, what is the same thing 28 in other words, to promote or to oppose that happiness.

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Thus as Henry Sidgwick maintains (quoted by G.E. Moore with approval in Principia Ethica), Bentham appears to define 'right ' as ''conducive to the general happiness."29 If that is indeed Bentham' s view, and ifhe is correct in ascribing that particular descriptive meaning to 'right, ' we get the following situation: that the meaning, hence the definition of 'right,' would entail that ''conduciveness to the general happiness'' is the De-criterion of rightness. Consequently if that criterion is replaced by some other criterion of rightness, e.g., by ''conduciveness solely to the agent' s happiness," the descriptive aspect of the meaning of 'right' would suffer a corresponding change. The interesting part begins here. For Bentham identifies the ''general happiness'' with ''the good.'' Since the word 'good' has a decidedly positive evaluative meaning, Bentham' s definition of 'right' gives that word the positive30 evaluative meaning that 'good' conventionally has .31 However, even the replacement of the Benthamite univeralistic principle of utility with an egoistic ethical principle, such as Thomas Hobbes ' egoistic-hedonistic principle, may not alter either the sp ecific or the general laudatory meaning of 'right.' That is true even though the word, on Bentham's criterion, would then apply to morally neutral or positively wrong actions. For instance, an act of killing out of revenge may lead to or augment the agent' s happiness, consequently be right on the new principle; even though that act may bring great unhappiness to the family and friends of the deceased. On the other hand the word' s general commendatory meaning would be altered (reversed) if the new criterion adopted is, say, ''condu­ civeness to social disharmony or general unhappiness''; when at the same time, that continues to be generally considered an evil. 32 The discussion of 'right' and 'wrong' raises the following general question : ''To what extent if at all is the meaning of a referring-type expression affected by changes in the expression's reference?'' In answer to that question the following may be noted. With respect to expressions whose meaning is fixed by the fixing of their referent, changes in reference may result in change of meaning; though we often cannot tell whether or when the meaning changes as a result of a particu­ lar change in reference. That usually leads to certain practical problems in human relationship s, as well as to certain philosophical problems. For example, in the conceptual analysis of the uses of expressions of philosophical interest. 'Right, ' 'wrong, ' 'morally responsible,' and 'morally obligatory' would, perhaps, some­ times provide instances of this uncertainty and its attendant complications; and, presumably, the same sometimes happens in relation to both evaluative and non­ evaluative aesthetic terms 'art, ' 'painting,' 'music, ' 'romantic,' 'classical, ' and the like. Moral terms are particularly suited to shifts of reference, because they are commonly employed to refer to ever-different, even the opposite kinds of persons, actions and activities or states of affairs, in one and the same or in different con­ texts . Similarly, mutatis mutandis, with many aesthetic terms. The situation is further complicated by the fact that we are sometimes unsure as to what the precise

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shifts in reference are. Sometimes we cannot tell whether a change in reference consists in the inclusion or exclusion of the new sorts of phenomena, or in a complete shift to a new class of phenomena. We can observe this and the preceding uncertainty in the current world scene, particularly in the moral and aesthetic aspects of the so-called generation gap. Do the young speak a ''different language'' than their elders? Do they use 'right' and 'wrong,' 'good' and 'bad,' 'ought ' and 'ought not' with a different meaning? Or do they ostensibly apply them with their old meaning but to radically different things? The debates concerning these and related issues are dramatic illustrations of these uncertainties. It is clear that in the case of general grading labels a change in their reference may result in changes in their criteria, even when the changes do not alter the evaluative aspect of the label 's meaning. As we saw in Chapter 12, the criteria for these expressions vary with the kinds of objects to which the expressions are applied, quite independent of the constant evaluative aspect of their meaning. Further, the shift in the reference or in both the reference and the meaning of an evaluative-cum-descriptive expression, such as a specialized grading label, may or may not be accompanied by a change in the latter's general evaluative aspect of its meaning, its positive or negative grading role. This further complicates the situation for the hearer or reader. Whenever a change does occur, the original criteria are modified or rep laced by new criteria.

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278 Notes

1 . Analytical Philosophy, First Series, R.J. Butler, ed. (Oxford: Basil Blackwell and Mott, 1962), pp. 2 1 1-235. Reprinted in Hilary Putnam, Mind, Language and Reality, Vol. 2 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1 975), pp. 304-324. 2.

Anthony Kenny, ''Criterion," Encyclopedia ofPhilosophy (New York: Macmillan and Co. and The Free Press, 1967), Vol. 2, p. 260.

3 . ''To add a criterion to a concept is ipso facto to change the concept (to change the meaning of the relevant expression), and/or to introduce a new concept in its stead." W. Gregory Lycan, ''Noninductive Evidence . . . ," American Philosophical Quarterly, Vol. 8, No. 2, April 1 97 1 , p. 120. Italics in original. 4.

Ibid., p. 1 2 1 .

5 . Putnam, op cit., p. 305. 6. Ibid., p. 3 1 0. Italics in original. The Mayo Clinic Family Health Book, Second Edition (New York: William Morrow and Company, 1996), p. 4 7 5, states that the cause of the disease is un­ known. But that does not affect Putnam' s argument. 7. Putnam, ibid., pp. 3 1 0-3 1 1 . My italics. 8.

Ibid., p. 3 1 1 . Italics in original.

9.

Ibid.

10. Ibid. 1 1 . The signs and symptoms of MS are: ''Numbness, weakness, or paralysis in one or more limbs''; ''impaired vision with pain during movement in one eye''; ''tremor, lack of coordination, or un­ steady gait''; ''rapid, involuntary eye movement." (The Mayo Clinic Family Health Book, p. 475.) 12. Ibid. Putnam, op cit., p. 3 1 1 . 1 3 . Ibid. 14. Ibid., pp. 3 1 1-3 12. 1 5 . Ibid. ' p. 3 1 1 . 16. Mind, Language and Reality, Vol. 2, pp. 33-69. 17. lbid., p. 52. 1 8 . Ibid. Minnesota Studies in the Philosophy of Science, Vol. ill, Herbert Feigl and Grover Maxwell, eds. (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 1962), pp. 358-397. See also, ''It Ain't Necessarily So," The Journal ofPhilosophy, Vol. 59, No. 2 1 , October 1 1 , 1962, pp. 664-665. 19. ''The Analytic and the Synthetic," p. 378. 20. Ibid., p. 379. 2 1 . Ibid., p. 378. 22. Ibid.

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23. But see later in this chapter for a consideration of certain peculiarities relating specifically to 'right act' and 'wrong act,' if they are defmed in terms of ''good'' and ''bad'' consequences. 24.

The Random House Dictionary of the English Language, College Edition, 1 969, defmes the relevant sense of 'harass' as: ''2. to disturb persistently; torment; pester; persecute." This defmi­ tion, I think, still applies to the word as it occurs today in ' sexual harassment.' Similarly with the word ' sexual. ' What has changed is the way in which 'torment,' 'pestering, ' and 'persecu­ tion' themselves are now defmed or understood, with respect to the present relations between the sexes and among members of the same sex.

25.

Contemporary Ethical Theory, Second Edition, Joseph Margolis, ed. (New York: Random House, Inc., 1966), pp. 1 76-190.

26. Ibid., p. 1 8 6. 27. Ibid. 28. Jeremy Bentham, ''The Principle of Utility," Philosophy: An Introductory Reader, P.R. Strohl and K.J. Struhl, eds. (New York: Random House, 1972), p. 143 . 29. Ibid., p. 140. 30. G.E. Moore, Principia Ethica (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1962), p. 1 7f. 3 1 . But not necessarily the same degree of positive evaluative meaning. At least ''pure'' Consequen­ tialists maintain that right acts, as a means to intrinsic good, as ''instrumentally'' good, have a lesser degree of value than states of being or states of affairs that are intrinsically good. 32. The above is not necessarily the way, or kind of way, other evaluative-cum-descriptive expres­ sions get their evaluative meaning; i.e., in terms of some Consequentialist ethical theory: as­ suming that ' right' does get its commendatory meaning in the way described.

Chapter 14 Confusions Concerning Conditions and Criteria of Use, Evidence, and Meaning In Section I I shall present and illustrate with historical and contemporary exam­ ples some philosophical errors involving the misidentification or confusion of (A) meaning and criteria/necessary and sufficient conditions. In Section II I shall briefly consider (B) confusions or fallacies concerning meaning and evidence in relation to deductive arguments, as well as some possible tests for determining the semantic relation between the warrant and conclusion of what I shall refer to as J­ arguments . I To expose the confusions that are the subj ect of Sections I and II it is necessary to discover, in light of our analysis and conclusions in the preceding chapters of Part II, criteria for the contingent identity and non-identity of criteria-features and defining features of particular expressions or types of expressions. Likewise it is necessary to discover criteria for ascertaining, in particular cases, whether the meaning of a statement ''R, which states the evidence for the putative truth of a statement S, is or is not identical with part or the whole of S 's meaning. Unless such criteria are available we cannot know whether any of the errors alluded to is committed by a particular view or doctrine, and, if so, which. That attempt will occupy us in Part II of the chapter. It should be noted that the theoretical task of functionally distinguishing and labeling the array of possible errors or fallacies is much easer than the practical task of establishing which of the errors, if any, is committed in what particular cases, and why. For instance it is often difficult to ascertain whether a particular explication of a given, or a given type of, moral judgment commits the error of identifying criteria-features with defining features when the two are distinct; or whether evidence and meaning are confused in a particular explication of, say, the concept of a physical obj ect. Perhaps a basic reason for the essentially controversial character of claims about the putative commission of this or that error is the fact that, in the last analysis, we are forced to fall back on our ''sense of language'' in trying to decide what is or is not the meaning or part of the meaning of a particular crucial expression, hence what statements are or are not logically (conceptually) connected with a particular statement; and so on. In fact I tend to think that some if not all of the criteria ''

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considered in Part II require for their proper utilization an appeal to our pre­ analytical, ''intuitive'' knowledge of the meaning of the expressions under consid­ eration or, at least, an appeal to the pre- or post-analytical knowledge of other expressions related to them. If this is true the sole ultimate criterion in these cases will be our pre-analytical knowledge of the language involved; since our post­ analytical knowledge of the language itself ultimately rests on our pre-analytical knowledge of it. (See below.) The truth or falsity of this hypothesis with respect to the various putative criteria to be considered should become evident in the course of the discussion. Our sense of language, our pre-analytical ''intuitive'' knowledge of the ac­ cepted meanings of particular expressions, is considerably aided by careful, meticulous conceptual (''linguistic'') analysis of the ways in which complex ex­ pressions or concepts are actually employed. But at every step in the analysis an implicit or explicit appeal to our knowledge of some expressions, not arrived at by that particular piece of analysis, is absolutely necessary. The latter knowledge may be a partial product of previous analysis; but the analytical process cannot proceed ad infinitum. The advance made in conceptual analysis is essentially due to the fact that the pre-analytical knowledge generally appealed to in the course of a particular analysis is knowledge of expressions whose meaning is relatively simple and generally uncontroverted. Therefore a piece of analysis essentially involves the attempt to understand or ascertain the complicated and controversial meanings and uses of the complex expressions, with the help of these uncontroversial (or less controversial) expressions; although, generally speaking, not by defining the former in terms of the latter. There is of course a different, a more empirical and reliable way of settling such semantic disputes; namely, by making proper empirical surveys of what users of the language mean and/or take to be the linguistic meaning of the philosophi­ cally troubling expressions in their everyday employment. Above all that is neces­ sary in relation to the words 'meaning' and 'means ' themselves. For what we call the meaning of the phrase 'the meaning of an expression 'w ' ' lacks sufficient precision or definition. But it would be quite naive to assume that empirical surveys would resolve the most crucial philosophical disputes respecting the meaning of this or that troublesome expression, or resolve them once and for all. But this is not the place to go further into the matter. I shall begin by recapitulating some of the main distinctions I made in the preceding chapters, which will be utilized in this chapter. A. ( 1 ) In the frrst place the (D- and I-) criteria for the correct application of a given expression 'w ' and 'w 's ' meaning are logically distinct, in the sense that to state the former even the D-criteria is not to give or explain the meaning of 'w. ' For example, it does not constitute a definition of 'w. ' The meaning of an expression and the criteria for its correct application, whether D- or I-criteria, etc.,

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are logically distinct. But (2) the two are closely related. For one thing, no expres­ sion can have a meaning ifthere are no (D-)criteria determining its correct applica­ tion. (3) Further, and more germane to the present inquiry, a statement that sets forth criteria CR may be actually either (a) part of 'w 's ' definition, (b) identical with it, (c) logically follows from it, or (d) none of the preceding. B. The foregoing is also true, mutatis mutandis, of indicative sentences and statements. That is, the criteria CR-1 for the correct employment of an indicative sentence 'T' in a given context to make a statement ''T-1, and 'T's ' meaning, are logically distinct. But no indicative sentence can have a meaning, hence can be used to make statements, if there are no criteria that determine the circumstances or the contexts in which it would be correct to apply it, and those in which it would be correct to withhold it. More important for our purposes, the meaning of a statement setting forth criteria CR-1 (the ''criterion-formula'') may be part of or identical with the meaning of 'T-1, ' depending on the particular statement ''T-1 and its criteria of app lication CR. C. The foregoing is also true with respect to certain arguments, as we shall presently see in considering what I shall call the 'J-fallacy. ' The evidence for a belief or proposition P expressed by a sentence 'S ' having the form ''This is an X'' and constituting the valid conclusion of a deductive argument A (hereafter called a ''justification argument'' or 'J-argument'), is, qua evidence, logically distinct from the meaning of sentence 'C ' expressing the conclusion. But that part of the evidence which, following Stephen Toulmin I shall call the warrant (W) and which is usually omitted in informal argument as too obvious to need stating, sometimes utilizes or is ''definable'' in terms of the meaning of predicate 'x ' that occurs in the conclusion (C) . Whenever the warrant in a J-argument utilizes the meaning of the predicate 'x ' in the conclusion, the data do likewise. Again, the data do not utilize 'x 's ' meaning whenever the warrant does not utilize (or, as I shall also say, is independent of) the meaning of that predicate. Having noted this I shall ignore the data as such in the rest of this section. Let me illustrate with two simple examples. Suppose someone says ''This is a triangle (pointing to some figure drawn on the blackboard) because it is a three­ sided figure." Following Toulmin, we may schematize the argument as follows : 1 ''

''

D

I

> so C

Since w

Or, This is a three-sided figure (D)

.. -> � so This is a triangle (C) ---.... 1Since I A triangle is a three-sided figure (W)

It is clear that W is the definition, gives the meaning of 'triangle' ( 'x ') , in C.

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At the same time D here (necessarily) refers to and utilizes the defming feature of a triangle. Thus here the criteria-features of a triangle 'X's ' features which the data D utilize as data for the above J-argument actually coincide with 'x 's ' defining feature( s). Now suppose someone says : ''This (pointing to a ball, say) is attracted by the earth, since it is a physical body," or: This is a physical body (D)

1

> so it is attracted by the earth (C)

Since I All physical bodies are attracted by the earth (W)

Here W does not constitute part or the whole of the meaning of 'physical body' ; i.e., Wis an empirical statement, and is an application of a natural law, not an analytic statement which it has to be to constitute a verbal definition. Corre­ spondingly, ''being attracted by the earth'' is not a defining feature of 'physical body. ' (But, of course, it can be made into a defining feature by stipulation.)

Fallacies Concerning Meaning and Criteria/ Necessary and Sufficient Conditions I believe that philosophers, especially in the past, have been generally unclear about (A)-(C) above; particularly about (A)(3), (B)(3), and (C)(2), but in some cases about (A)(l ), (B)( l ) and (C)(l) as well. Thus some philosophers logically fail to distinguish, consciously or by implication, the meaning of an expression and the criteria for its correct application. As a consequence they explicitly or implic­ itly logically identify or fail to distinguish the meaning of particular expressions and the criteria for their correct application when the criteria features and the defining features do not logically coincide. On the other hand one may rightly distinguish the concepts of meaning and criteria of correct application but errone­ ously infer from that, often unconsciously, that the criteria-features for any expres­ sion are never numerically the same as, never coincide with or are never among the expression' s defming features: perhaps that they are not conceptually connected with its defining features. What is more, many philosophers independ­ ently of their views concerning the possible relations between meaning and crite­ ria commit the error of actually identifying the meaning of an expression and the criteria involved by identifying their criteria-features with the defming features, in those instances in which they do not in fact coincide. Or they commit the same type of error in the opposite way albeit less often than the preceding error, I believf-'eby supposing that the meaning of a particular expression and the criteria-features involved are actually distinct when they coincide, are the same; or when these

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features are numerically part of the meaning. More generally, philosophers com­ monly suppose that the criteria for the application of particular expressions are D­ criteria when they are in fact I-criteria; or vice versa. Analogously, some philoso­ phers err in thinking that the ''warrant'' and the ''data'' in particular J-arguments utilize the meaning of the predicate x ' in the conclusion, when they do not. Or they commit the opposite error. I shall refer to the error of logically identifying the concepts meaning and criteria as the 'Formal Identification Fallacy' or 'If-fallacy. ' I shall not distinguish by separate labels the two species of that error; namely, the kind of error which obtains when 'x ' stands for a word or phrase, and the kind which obtains when x ' stands for a whole sentence. But our discussion should throw light on the latter, since the two forms of the fallacy are closely related. I shall use 'Material Identifi­ cation Fallacy' or 'Im-fallacy' to refer to the erroneous actual identification of an expression' s meaning or part of its meaning with the criteria for its correct appli­ cation,2 whenever the two differ. By this I refer to those instances where the criteria indirectly follow from the meaning; when additional premises are supplied, as well as to instances in which they follow directly from it rather than being actually identical with it or with part of it. In my use of the expression, the Im-fallacy is committed when, in either of the foregoing types of cases, the criteria are thought to actually coincide with part or the whole of the meaning of the relevant expres­ sion. I shall also use 'Im-fallacy' for the error of treating the two as actually different whenever the criteria are in fact part or the whole of what the expression means. It is clear that one may commit the Im-fallacy without also committing the If-fallacy; but the opposite is false. An interesting example which illustrates the question of the relation between meaning and criteria relates to the problem of the synonymity or non-synonymity of two or more expressions . In Chapter 1 3 I noted that whenever we find two or more D-criteria, C l , C2, etc., of an expression 'x, ' C l , C2, etc., they cannot be logically independent of one another. That is true if we are talking about the same meaning or sense of the expression. It follows that if 'x ' has two (sufficient) D­ criteria, C l and C2, which are logically independent, it must have two distinct senses or meanings, M l , M2, etc., C l , say, would be a (sufficient) criterion for 'x 's ' application with meaning M l , while Cl would be a sufficient criterion, etc., for its application with sense or meaning M2 . Although this alone would not show that the criteria-features involved in C l and those involved in M2 are in fact different and similarly with C2 and M2 the likelihood that they are would be very great. They would necessarily be different if the criteria-features involved in C 1 are identical with the defining features involved in M l , and if the criteria­ features involved in C2 are identical with M2 ' s defining features. In short, if C l and C2 are different as criteria-features, and are independent of each other, Ml and

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M2 would be different in sense or meaning. Whether this is or is not true in a given case can only be ascertained on other grounds. Again, if two expressions x ' and y ' belong to two different logical categories in a sentence-in-use 'S, ' they cannot have the same literal meaning in 'S, ' even if the categories to which they belong are complementary. A category A is logically complementary to a category B if the sentence-factors that fall under A are capable of replacing without absurdity a given gap-sign in a range of possible sentence­ frames constituted by sentence-factors belonging to category B.3 Thus the category to which 'triangle' belongs is a complement to the category to which ' . . . is a three­ sided figure' belongs. The relation of complementarity between two categories is of a different kind from the relation between any one category and all other possi­ ble non-complementary categories. Two complementary categories are logically closer possess a greater degree of ''kinship'' than non-comp lementary catego­ ries. Falling under the same set of categories is a necessary but not sufficient condition of word and phrase synonymity; and this can provide a criterion of non­ identity of defming and criteria-features, F and C, respectively. Unless F and C­ more correctly, unless the referring-type expressions occurring in these formula e ...... belong to the same categories, F and C must be different. (On the other hand, categorial differences between F and C would not entail that C are not D-criteria for an expression 'x, ' where F consists of its defining features. As we have seen the D-criteria of an expression 'x ' need not be in fact identical with 'x 's ' defining features.) This is immediately seen in the simple examples I used in this book, such as 'circle' and 'triangle' ; but it is also seen in the case of, e.g., P-predicates . The D-criteria for the other-ascriptive use of P-predicates are, as I have reiterated, various forms of overt behavior or various bodily states; and the expressions that describe them belong to categories under which mental terms do not and cannot fall; and vice versa. This entails, for example, that the locution '(being in) pain' has a quite different meaning from, e.g., 'crying Ouch ! ' and so on. -

Applications of the Preceding Analysis to Various Philosophical Problems A. 'Exists' One of the problems that attempts to apply the criterion described above frequently encounter is the difficulty of one's ascertaining whether an expression 'x ' falls under the same or llllder different (sets of) categories, in two or more employments of it. This problem cannot be satisfactorily resolved in our present state of philo­ sophical knowledge, inasmuch as, as far as I know, we lack an adequate systematic theory of categories. Let me illustrate. In The Concept ofMind Gilbert Ryle states the following about the word ' exists ' :

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It is perfectly proper to say, in one logical tone of voice, that there exist minds and to say, in another logical tone of voice, that there exist bodies. But these expressions do not indi­ cate two different species of existence, for 'existence' is not a generic word like 'coloured' or ' sexed. ' They indicate two different senses in 'the tide is rising', 'hopes are rising', and 'the average age of death is rising' .4

The reason Ryle states for his view is confused. First, from the supposition that, contra Ryle, 'exists' is a generic term, it would not follow that (a) ''There exist minds," and (b) ''There exist bodies'' refer to two different species of exis­ tence or even that existence has any species to begin with. Second, I believe that 'exists ' is univocally uscd in sentences (a) and (b), at least ifby (b) we understand, as I think it is intended by Ryle, to mean (b') ''There exist living (human or animal) bodies," not (c) ''There exist physical (material) bodies ." For though minds and living bodies do not fall under the same set of categories, the categories under which they fall are complementary. This is seen in light of the fact, that as P.F. Strawson has convincingly argued in Individuals, the concept of person is basic or primary, while the concepts of mind and body are derivative; and so, that P­ predicates and M-predicates are intimately connected in the concept of a person. Although 'exists ' is, I believe, univocally used in sentences (a) and (b ), and in some other existential sentences, there are obviously different kinds of existing things insofar as they have different features, different natures, not necessarily as existing things. Ryle rightly maintains in The Concept ofMind that to suppose that 'mind, ' like 'body, ' belongs to the category ''thing'' or ''entity'' is to commit a host of category-mistakes. But that does not entail that ' exists ' belongs to or falls under different categories in (a) and (b) above, respectively; i.e., that in its case a cate­ gory difference accompanies the difference in the category(ies) to which 'mind' and 'body' respectively belong. This concomitance may occur, mutatis mutandis, with respect to some verbs, such as 'rise' and 'fall, ' as well as adj ectives like 'red,' 'hard, ' and so on.5 But it needs to be shown to occur in each case. The problem is that it is difficult, perhaps impossible, adequately to substantiate this or the oppo­ site claim in the absence of a satisfactory comprehensive theory of categories.6 B . Figurative Expressions A further question to the one discussed above is whether the proposition that a word x ' has two different meanings if it belongs to two different sets of independ­ ent categories, extends to metaphors and other figures of speech. In the case of metaphor the source of the question can be briefly stated as follows . Metaphors may be generated whenever a sentence-in-use 'S, ' in which a particular expression 'x ' occurs, cannot be non-absurdly construed, by virtue of the literal meaning(s) of 'S ' as a whole, as belonging to a particular category C 1 or categories C 1 , C2 , C3, etc., to which it belongs in its conventional meaning or meanings. The question

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then is whether, as metaphorically employed in 'S, ' 'x ' can be said to belong to some other category or set of categories: whether the concept of a category applies to metaphor or can be made to apply to it by appropriate broadening or modifica­ tion. In other words, the question then is whether a metaphor can be sometimes said to involve a so-called category or type-crossing. In the absence of a systematic theory of categories, only a rough answer can be expected on the strength of our everyday pre-analytical knowledge of particular languages. But that is unlike to carry us very far.7 Category- or type-crossing is of course not the only way in which metaphor or certain other figures of speech may be generated. More commonly they are gener­ ated without a category- or type-crossing being forced on the expression in ques­ tion by the meaning of the sentence-in-use (the ''frame'' in Max Black's usage8) in which it occurs. But that does not affect what I have said. The relation between difference of meaning and categorial differences can be stated in general terms as follows : (1) a word 'x ' that belongs to two distinct categories or sets of categories in its literal employment will have two different literal meanings in the appropriate contexts; and (2) a univocal word 'x ' that in a particular sentence-in-use 'T ' must be subsumed under a different category C2 from the category C 1 to which it conventionally belongs if 'T' as a whole is not to be rendered absurd, must be judged to be figuratively, e.g., metaphorically, used in that context.9 The difficulty here is that we are sometimes quite uncertain as to whether ( 1 ) and (2) is the case; whether or not 'x ' is univocal; since ( 1 ) and (2) cannot both be true with respect to one and the same expression, in the same context. C. Rene Descartes' Cogito Ergo Sum Going back to the beginnings of modem philosophy, let us turn to Descartes ' Cogito ergo sum. In the case of any given person, the Cogito is the logical ground or evidence for the assertion of his or her existence, the sum. 'To think' is not the same as 'to exist (as a mind). ' Hence Descartes ' inference from the Cogito (a) that as a person or self is nothing but a thinking thing, a mind which, stated in se­ mantic terms, is that 'self or 'person' means no more or other than ''mind'' is an error. Its erroneousness follows from the logical distinctness of the concepts of meaning and criteria (hence the distinctness of the evidence for statements in which the concepts of meaning and of criteria respectively occur). Descartes ' inference would be an error even if one supposes rightly or wrongly that thinking in Descartes ' inclusive sense constitutes the (whole) meaning of 'self or 'person' ; therefore if Descartes ' conclusion is or were true. Another way of putting the matter is that Descartes ' being a mind entails that he has the ability to think, and so long as he thinks or can think, he exists as a mind. But from this it does not follow that he is not or cannot actually be more than just a thinking thing, even in

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Descartes ' very inclusive use of 'think. ' (b) Similarly it does not follow from the Cogito that Descartes exists (as a self) only as long as he thinks. ''Whenever I exist I think'' does not logically follow from the true proposition, ''Whenever (and as long as) I think, I exist," which, though not a definition, is analytically true by the ordinary meaning of 'think' and 'exist.' Descartes ' error stems from his deducing, from the Cogito, that thought is the ''essence'' of the mind. If thinking is the whole and sole evidence I can have for my knowledge that I exist as a mind, thought alone can inseparably belong to me as a mind. This illustrates the fact that Descartes ' confusion of the order of proof the way he proved his existence with the ontological order the ontological relation between thinking and the self results from his commission of the Im-fallacy or the If-fallacy. The foregoing enables us to see the Im-fallacy in a new light, to give a broader characterization of it than I have hitherto given; namely, that it consists in the error of identifying two distinct though related things: ( 1 ) the way(s) in which it is possible (a) to know or to discover, or (b) to provide, evidence that something X is the case, that some proposition p is true; and (2) the evidence that makes Xwhat it is, what makes p a true proposition. One aspect of this confusion is the confusion of questions about the criteria of the truth of a proposition p with what we mean or what we assert when we assert that p is true. In general, it is a confusion of criteria of truth with the meaning of 'true.' This, again, is due to the fact that to say ''p is true'' implies that p satisfies the conditions of truth: that good reasons can be '' adduced in its support. ''P is true'' implies p satisfies certain conditions C, or has certain features and capacities, q, r, s, etc."; but the former does not mean the same as the latter statement. The criteria for the truth of a given proposition are what they are partly by virtue of the proposition' s being the kind of proposition it is : a proposition about physical sensations, a sensible obj ect, state of affairs, a sensible quality or property or something mental; or . . . The meaning of 'true proposition' (meaning, ''any true proposition in general'') does not, in and by itself, determine the criteria of truth. The criteria of truth are various; some pertain to one kind of proposition, others to a second kind of proposition, and so on; just as in the case of the uses of the expressions 'exist(s),' 'is real, ' and 'there is (are) . . . ,' in such statements as ''There are (no) electric eels in our Zoo," and ''Centaurs do not exist, are unreal.'' The preceding observations provide us with a further way of seeing why and how ''P is true'' does not mean the same as ''P satisfies criteria C''; just as it provides us with another way of seeing why ''X exists, is real," or ''There is an X. . . '' does not mean the same as ''X is a sensible quality," or ''X is a sensible obj ect," or ''X is a feeling," or ''X is a thought''; and so on. It remains that ''X exists . . . ," etc., and ''P is true," would not have the same meaning as their logical grounds even if in an effort to make our definition wholly depend on the meaning of 'exist' ('is real') or of 'true, ' as the case may be we try to equate their mean-

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ing with the whole set of disjunctions expressing all these possible grounds in the particular case. That is, if we say, for instance, that ''X exists'' means ''X is a sensible object," or ''a sensible quality or property," or ''a thought, or . . . etc." Similarly with ''P is true.'' It is clear that no statement can mean the same as any set of two or more disjunctions. In the case of truth the implication of this is that we cannot validly argue that because ''P is true," which is a statement of kind a, is true, means (say) ''P 'corresponds with' facts F''; that correspondence is neces­ sarily the criterion of truth in this particular case. A fortiori, we cannot validly argue that because ''P is true'' P being any kind of statement means (say) P corresponds with certain facts, hence that correspondence constitutes the criterion of truth. But that does not preclude correspondence from actually being both a (or the) criterion of truth and constitutive of the meaning of 'true' (or of 'truth'). Conversely, if correspondence with facts is found to be a criterion of truth with respect to a given kind of statement, it cannot be validly inferred from that that correspondence must be what 'true' means in that kind of case. Similarly with the identification of the set of criteria of truth, with respect to all the different kinds of statements, with the meaning of 'true' or 'truth. ' What I said about the dependence of the criterion or criteria of truth on the kind of statement that is in question appears to entail that no single criterion­ whether correspondence, coherence, intuition, or anything else or a single set of criteria can constitute the criterion or criteria of the truth of all types of true statements. Whether this is true or whether correspondence, say, very broadly understood, is, after all, the criterion of truth of all types of statements, is a large question into which we cannot go here. Similar considerations apply to the criterion or criteria of the existence of reality of different kinds of entities. Of course, ''P is true'' may mean some (one) defmite, fixed thing nay, will have to be so, if we are thinking of the use of 'true' in relation to statements . (Likewise 'true' may mean some one definite thing in each of its other ordinary uses.) D. Some Skeptical Metaphysical/Epistemological Views : In Relation to Berkeley, Hume, J.S. Mill and C.I. Lewis Leaving aside the radical skepticism that holds that no knowledge at all is possi­ ble attributed by Plato and Aristotle to the ancient Greek Sophists I shall attempt to show that some well-known epistemological and consequently meta­ physical skeptical views or conclusions in modem philosophy concerning the so­ called ''ordinary'' or ''commonsense'' ''conception," can be seen as overtly or covertly motivated by their authors ' desire to ''close'' conceptually what they consider to be unacceptable ''gaps'' between the everyday meaning of the particular ' expressions ( 'x, y, w, etc.,) or the concepts these expressions express, and the '

'

'

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factual evidence E, F, G, etc. , in their support, by changing 'x 's, ' y 's, ' 's, ' everyday meaning through their identification with the ordinarily accepted criteria C, D, E, etc. for their correct application. Or stated otherwise, through the identifi­ ' ' '' '' cation of the statements S, '' T, '' ''R, '' etc., in which 'x, ' y, ' w occur with the facts or states or affairs that are ordinarily adduced as sufficient evidence for the ''S, '' ''T, '' ''R. '' The stipulative meaning/ truth of statements equation with criteria/evidence springs from a desire to render the meanings/ concepts fully and completely empirical, hence impregnable to the kinds of skepti­ cal concerns that render the original, ordinary meanings/concepts vulnerable to skeptical criticism. David Hume' s skeptical phenomenalism with respect to what we ordinarily call ''physical obj ects," or, following George Berkeley, J.S. Mill' s view that so-called physical obj ects are a ''permanent possibility of sensation," are classic examples of these moves. C.I. Lewis states Hume's skeptical position clearly and succinctly, as follows : ''As long as Hume, it was suggested that there is no difference between the com­ mon-sense supposition of a real world (when the significance of this supposition is validly interpreted) and the summary statement that at certain times we have certain specific sense impressions [the empirical eviden ce for the putative real world] ."10 Yet in his own attempt to refute Hume' s skeptical position, Lewis essentially ends up doing what Hume (as well as Berkeley and J.S. Mill) does : that is, essentially redefine the meaning of ' (sensible) obj ect or thing. ' For in his own way too he changes what he calls the ''sense meaning'' of ''objective statements," redefines the expression '(sensible or physical) obj ect or thing, ' thinking that he is offering evidence against Hume' s phenomenalism. He unwittingly redefines the foregoing expressions by equating their meaning with the set of ''possible confir­ mations," ''verification of which would constitute verification of an objective statement.'' His reasoning is that ''The set of possible confirmations, verification of which would constitute verification of an obj ective statement, also exhibit discursively the sense meaning which this obj ective empirical statement has . . . The sense meaning of such a statement coincides with what it would mean, in terms of experience, to determine fully that it is true."11 Or stating the matter in terms of his concepts of''terminating'' and ''non-terminating judgments," Lewis writes: ''As we now see, the sense meaning of the assertion that a thing is square or white or hard, must be in terms of the terminating judgments [''prediction(s) of a particular passage of experience, describable in expressive language''12] implied in attribution of these properties. It is only such terminating judgments which express the meaning of obj ective attributions directly in terms of sense.''13 In other words Lewis identifies the meaning of the conjunction of the hypotheticals entailed by the statement of obj ective fact (the ''non-terminating judgment''), with the latter statement' s meaning. These hypotheticals are entailed by the obj ective statements by virtue of their ordinary meaning, in the sense of their signification; but they are

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not even part of that meaning (although, perhap s, we can speak of the meaning of the hypotheticals as part of the uses of the obj ective statement). On the ordinary meaning of ''An object X continues to exist while unperceived," that statement [ ''S ''] entails that whenever the normal perceptual, including environmental, conditions prevail, obj ect X will be perceived after an interval in which it was not perceived [ ''T'']. But ''S '' does not even roughly mean the same as ''T. '' X's continued existence is a necessary condition of its being perceived (and being perceivable). Its being perceived (or being perceivable) is not the same as its existence (existing). A basic difference between Lewis and Hume with respect to their views about what we ordinarily call physical or material objects is this. Hume' s redefinition of the concept is a result of a false theory of perception: the view that what we perceive are merely ''impressions'' (a precursor, with Berkeley and J.S. Mill, of the 20th century ''sense-datum'' theory) of what we ordinarily or '' commonsensically'' believe are obj ective entities, existing independently of the perceiver. That is not the case with Lewis. As I pointed out his view is a result of an attempt to respond to Hume' s in general, the skeptic' s doubts about or rejection of a realist metaphysics. But though he attempts, in his conception of obj ective reality, to make room for those ''features that characterize the meaning of belief in an objec­ tive reality which is verifiable but is independent of being verified or experi­ enced,"14 his ''solution'' to the problem likewise turns out to be a stipulative redefinition of the concept of obj ective reality, hence no solution at all. The basic point I am trying to make can perhaps be stated thus. Statements of the form ''X continues to exist when unperceived," or the expressions 'identity, ' 'continues to exist, ' 'continued existence' and their cognates are normally given certain meanings and uses in a particular ordinary language by virtue of their actual applications in relatively regular ways . If and when these usages become relatively fixed, their relative regularity can be explicitly stated in the form of certain seman­ tic, syntactic, etc., conventions or rules. These conventions/rules are taken as determining further applications of the particular expressions, in the sense of determining their correct usage. They now provide the reasons or rationale that need to be ordinarily appealed to, to provide evidence for the correctness of the application of these expressions, and to show the truth of the statement ''Obj ects continue to exist when not perceived.'' The meaningfulness of these expressions, as I said, is determined by actual usage. But they are not and the same is true of all other expressions given their meaning by being defined in terms ofthe criteria of their correct application. In light of the foregoing discussion I find no real need or warrant for the Humean-Lewisian type of modification of the meaning of the statements I consid­ ered, as a way of providing their ''empirical content.'' For the criteria, consequently the evidence we ordinarily adduce in support of these statements and is adduced

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by Lewis himself is empirical. It is possible to safely claim, I think, that one general feature of ordinary language is the availability, in relation to any ordinary statement, of some empirical way or ways of ascertaining the correctness or incorrectness of every precise expression occurring in it. E. Logical Positivism and Sense-Datum Theories Berkeley's, Hume' s, and C.I. Lewis ' views concerning sensible obj ects and their 20th century reformulation in terms of the sense-datum theory which, for example, some Logical Positivists hold commit the Im-fallacy in still another way than described above. These theories essentially attempt to translate obj ect-statements into statements or conjunctions of statements of an indefinite number of sense­ datum statements. As their critics have noted no finite set of sense-data statements can exhaust in principle the meaning of the original obj ect-statements. But even a conjunction of an infinite number of sense-data statements would not have the same meaning as the obj ect-statements of which they are supposed to constitute translations. The statement ( 1 ) ''This is a table'' is clearly not the same in meaning as (2) ''There is a tablish sense-datum (in a certain region of space, at a certain moment of time)'' since, for one thing, a sense-datum has necessary reference to an actual or hypothetical perceiver. ( 1 ) is even more obviously not the same in meaning as (3) ''I see a tablish sense-datum," or even (4) ''There is a certain colored expanse of a certain size, shape, texture, hardness, etc., in a certain region of space S at a certain moment of time Tl, or at time interval Tl-Tn ''; even if these and similar properties are thought of as existing, or as capable of existing, inde­ pendently of any perceiver. The non-synonymity of ( 1 ) with (2) or (3) is clearly shown by J.O. Urmson in the following passage: (i) To say that there is a desk in my room is not to say anything more about my sense­ datum than about anyone else's. (ii) Even when I am in my room and can see my desk, when I say that there is a desk in my room I do not say that I am having any sense-data of it. Berkeley' s alternative analysis absurdly suggests that one means something different by saying that there is a desk in a room when one can see it from what one means when one cannot. We can thus enlarge on (i) above by saying that to say that there is a desk in my room is to say nothing about what I or anybody else can now see. (Even if God can see the 15 desk all the time, we do not say so.)

Urmson gives a third reason; namely that the deskish sense-datum I have may be hallucinatory. That obj ection, which app lies to Berkeley' s theory, is inapplica­ ble to the more sophisticated modem theories that, as I stated, render, e.g., ''There is a desk in my room'' by a conjunction of an indefinite number of sense-datum statements. In fact the obj ection often does not arise, so far as the ordinary criteria of physical reality are concerned, in relation to a finite conjunction of sense-datum statements, provided that they include the relevant statements about the table' s

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tactual as well as visual, olfactory (if any) and auditory sense-data. Although this would not satisfy the epistemological skeptic, we often ordinarily consider our having them, particularly the relevant tactual perceptions, as sufficient to show that what we are perceiving is real, not a hallucination or illusion. 1 6 The non-synonymity of statements ( 1 ) and (3) is not as obvious as the forego­ ing. The reason is that we do ordinarily mean by 'desk' an object that has certain sensible qualities . ''X is a desk'' means ''X is an obj ect that has such-and-such overall shape, size (or range of sizes), etc., and a certain kind of use or uses." But the point I have made remains. What we mean by 'desk' or ''X is a desk'' is an object that has these or like qualities and uses. ''Xis a desk'' does not merely refer to the sum-total of these qualities and uses or functions. This means that even the more plausible alternative account Berkeley (and later, J.S. Mill) give in terms not of any actual perceptions or sense-data but of possible sense-data or perceptions, will not do. On that alternative a desk is something perceivable under suitable conditions . It is, as noted earlier, a permanent possibility of sensation in Mill' s phrase. Although more plausible than ''To be is to be perceived (at a given moment by a given mind)," it would still not do. The statement ''Xis (a real) desk'' implies in some ordinary sense of 'implies' that it is perceivable (in principle): that it is the sort of thing that can be perceived under suitable conditions . But ''X is a (real) desk'' and ''X is perceivable under suitable conditions'' do not have the same meaning. Its being perceivable, we would ordinarily say, is a consequence of its having certain qualities a certain shape, size, color, etc., because it itself is sensible. Its perceivablity is not the same as its possessing these qualities, of its being a physical obj ect. The upshot is that in attempting to translate the latter into sense-data state­ ments, sense-datum theories and similarly phenomenalism-modify the ordinary meaning of obj ect-names or the meaning of obj ect-statements. In other words, the sense-datum and phenomenalist languages are, in effect, alternatives to ordinary language. They do not give us an analysis of what we mean when we employ obj ect-names or object-statements. This is recognized, for example, in Ayer' s writings. F. G.E. Moore and the Sense-Datum Theory An interesting example of the sense-datum theory which involves further compli­ cations is G.E. Moore's theory. Here I only wish to show the bearing of our discus­ sion of the theory in its more traditional forms on Moore's conception of philosophical analysis. I refer to his well-known conception of analysis as opposed to much of his actual and really significant practice of analysis as the reduction or ''division'' of a complex whole ultimately into simple unanalyzable constituents or elements.17 With regard to physical (sensible) objects, Moore holds

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that the reductive analysis of obj ect-statements would ultimately result in state­ ments that are partly about the sense-data of the physical obj ects and partly about the obj ects themselves. (The statements should also express the relation between the two.) I am not saying that Moore thought that a sensible object is actually composed of sense-data: the exact relation between the sense-data of a given physical object and the obj ect itself is rather complicated and not very clear in Moore. I merely wish to say here that for Moore a physical object is at least partly analyzable in terms of sense-data, whatever the precise ontological relation be­ tween the two may be according to him. Stated in terms of statements, Moore's view is that an obj ect-statement, such as ''This is a hand," is analyzable, hence translatable in part into a statement or set of statements about sense-data. The central point I am concerned with is that Moore regards (reductive) analysis as a method whereby we can arrive at a ''real definition'' of the term expressing the analysandum. Stated otherwise, he holds that the statement cor­ rectly expressing the analysans will nay, must be synonymous with the expres­ sion correctly expressing the analysandum. This, according to him is an essential requirement of correct analysis in the present sense. In light of our preceding discussion of the sense-datum theory in general, we can see that this synonymity­ condition simply cannot be realized with respect to the translation of obj ect­ statements, precisely because of Moore's demand that the analysis must be partly in terms of the appropriate sense-data. We can also see that the reason for it is what I stated earlier; that a sense-datum statement or any including an infinit,... c.._ set of such statements cannot possibly have the same meaning as the obj ect­ statement that expresses the analysandum. The same goes for his view that an object-statement can be translated into a statement that is partly about sense-data. Even if a conjunction of an infinite set of sense-data statements had the same meaning as the original obj ect-statement, no finite set of them can exhaust that meaning. So if we are to adhere to his strict synonymity-condition, an analysis of that nature can never be complete, can never terminate in any given instance, for the simple reason that the infinite set of requisite sense-data propositions cannot be provided. Alternatively, if we are to hold that a complete correct analysis is actually possible, we must jettison the synonymity-condition. ''This is a hand," say, can then be said to be completely analyzed into another statement or set of state­ ments partly about a hand, partly about certain sense-data; including a statement about the relation between the two, only if it is not claimed that the latter is syn­ onymous with it. At best the two statements would, or could, be logically equiva­ lent. Had Moore held that the translation of an obj ect-statement into sense-data statements cannot result in statements that are synonymous with the original statement, he may have come to realize, as A.J. Ayer realized, that the sense-datum language is an alternative to ordinary language. He would have also realized that

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the analysis that he sometimes performed by translating obj ect-statements into statements partly about sense-data, was not really an application of analysis by division the analysis of a ''complex'' concept into ''simple'' concepts ''constitut­ ing'' it that he unwaveringly advocated to the end and attempted to apply in analyzing object-statements in terms of sense-data statements. If he had further supposed that a relation of logical equivalence but not synonymity exists between a given object-statement and the appropriate sense-data statements providing its analysis, he would have helped to make that form of analysis less drastically limited in application or value. For forcing analysis into a straitj acket, Moore's view has been justly criticized. G. Hume on ''Sensible Objects'' We saw under IV above how Hume identifies the meaning of '(sensible) obj ect' with the meaning of the statement(s) expressing the warrant for asserting that something is an (is a sensible) obj ect. This kind of move is not an isolated phe­ nomenon in Hume' s philosophy. 18 It underlines his empiristic theory of meaning as a whole, in making meaning and not only the content of concepts, logically determined by its source(s) in experience. In other words Hume conflates two related but logically distinct questions : ''How did human beings in general arrive at a given concept X or what are the sources of concepts X?'', and ''What is the logical content of concept X?'' (In sub-section F we shall see the same kind of move in J.S. Mill' s empiricistic theory of number.) By considering a concept as a mere copy of sense impressions, Hume answered the latter question in terms of, or by answering, the former question. However, the confusion of the preceding two questions does not by itself lead to Hume's derivation of the meaning of an expres­ sion from experience. For that a further step is needed: the illicit identification of ''meaning of expression 'X '," with ''concept expressed by 'X'." In other words, Hume' s empiricistic theory of meaning, which underlies the fallacy in his concep­ tion of sensible objects, includes the concept/image theory of meaning. The content of a concept is logically determined by the meaning of the expression which, as we ordinarily say, expresses or conveys it. Hume' s error as a classical empiricist was to regard the content of the concept as determined by the alleged empirical facts­ the alleged sense impressions of which concepts are alleged copies. In so doing Hume (a) created a discrepancy between the actual content of a (an ordinary) concept and the concept as he delimits it. That is, he in effect modifies the particu­ lar ordinary concept by making its content logically dependent on something other than the meaning of the expression that conveys it, as determined by the latter' s conventional usage. This is, for example, precisely what he does with respect to the concept of an external world, of physical obj ects. There he makes the empirical criteria-qualities for the application of the particular expressions the logical

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determinants of the content of the corresponding concepts those which we ordinarily say are expressed by these expressions. (b) An alternative way of looking at the preceding error is I think that, in effect, Hume identifies the meaning of an expression with the concept the expres­ sion conveys, and makes the empirical grounds for the expression's correct appli­ cation in true statements the latter' s hence also the former' s-determinants.19 If this is true, we have a conception of meaning that is very close to the Logical Positivists' Verifiability Principle, in the narrow form advocated by some members of the Vienna Circle; in which it was held that the meaning of a locution that purports to express an empirical proposition is the method of its verification: the empirical observations that would have to be made to confirm or disconfirm it with some degree of probability. Likewise it is very similar to the operational concep­ tion of meaning in which ''we mean by any concept nothing more than a set of operations ; the concept is synonymous with the corresponding set of opera­ tions, ''20 and which, both logically and historically, is closely related to the Verifi­ ability Theory of meaning in its original form. But we should note that operationism was intended, at least by Bridgman, to apply to the concepts and propositions of physical science, not to other concepts or propositions. H. Hume on 'Cause' In his excellent ''Concepts and Criteria''21 Rom Harre cogently argues that ''the view that the meaning of the relational predicate ' . . . causes . . . ' is not ' . . . is the invariable antecedent of. . . ' , by showing (i) that ''Hume's arguments against 'connexion' are not strong enough to carry the sceptical conclusion he derives from them, . . . "22 And (ii) that ''constant conjunction is one of the criteria [i.e., not a sufficient criterion] for asserting that there is a causal relation between event pairs. ''23 For Hume '' 'The vibration of this string is the cause of this particular sound' 'that this vibration is followed by this sound, and that all similar vibrations have been followed by similar sounds . . . ' ''24 Part of Harre' s response to this is to point out that ''what we mean by 'vibration causes the sound' involves implicit reference to the intervening mechanism which links the vibration in the strings to the sound we hear . . . What we mean by 'x causes y ' is that x generates (or produces) y, not x is followed [invariably] by y. ''25 Harre then proceeds to show that this is the case. Part of what he has in mind is '''neuro-physiology' as partly connecting the vibra­ tion and the sound."26 That clearly entails that y would be a logical consequence of x 's producing (generating) y, not what 'cause' or 'produce' means : which appears to be true. Harre adduces empirical evidence designed to show that in actual cases of physical causation certain events (causes) do generate or produce the effects. He =

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considers the examp le of the wheels of a car going round. He asks : ''What makes the wheels go round?'' Suppose we answer: ''Explosions in the cylinders."27 ''We secure conviction that this is the cause [not by showing that there were explosions whenever the wheels went round but] by describing the mechanism of pistons, connecting rods, crank shaft, gear-box and final drive, that connects explosions in the cylinders with the movement of the wheels."28 Harre rightly dismisses the equation of the meaning of ' cause' and 'the neces­ sary and sufficient conditions of the effect. ' For he points out, in relation to the example of a car's wheels going round, that ''since explosions in the cylinders neither invariably accompany motion of the wheels nor are they always absent whenever the wheels are stationary, . . . the explosions cause the wheels to go round cannot mean that explosions are the necessary and sufficient conditions for the wheels to go round."29 This too is true; except that we should add that even if the explosions were necessary and sufficient conditions for the wheels to go round, it would not follow from that that 'cause' means ''the necessary and sufficient conditions of an effect.''30 Harre goes on to say that invariable following is A test for causation; that is, it lays down one of the set of [sufficient] criteria for the satis­ faction of which entitles us to assert the relational predicate ' . . . causes . . . ' of the two events X and Y, or two classes of events of the type of X and of the type of Y, then it follows that a test for whether x and y are related in this way will be to see whether whenever X occurs, Y follows, and whenever X is absent, Y is absent. The motoring ex­ ample shows that failure always to satisfy this test is not an adequate reason, given a mechanism linking cause and effect in a generative or productive way, for denying the causal connection; though if Hume were [sic.] really explaining the meaning of causation it would have to be. Similarly, it is not difficult to fmd cases, for instance astronomical conjunctions, where, though certain events always occur together, and in the absence of one the other does not, as a matter of fact, occur; that is where the necessity and suffi­ ciency criterion is satisfied in the highest degree, we should still be most reluctant, and rightly, to say that a causal relation holds. If this is the case, even though we may say that the conjunctions we observe are the visible appearances of quite different trains of hap­ penings, ' X causes Y' cannot mean 'x and y are invariably conjoined' ."31

We might add that in that type of case, since conjunctions always occur together, they could not be ascribable to mere chance but would probably be, at some point in the ''different trains of happenings," effects of the same cause or set of causes. Another important point Harre makes, regarding the necessary and sufficient conditions for the occurrence of an effect, is this: that ''they [the necessary and sufficient conditions] include conditions that are not events, which are excluded from the cause. For example, conditions for an ignition-explosion sequence, such as the gas/air mixture being in the gaseous state under the suitable pressure." This

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again means that the ''necessary and sufficient conditions view of causality is difficult to sustain. ''32 Finally, Harre observes that adopting the production/generation view easily explains why these conditions are not part of the cause of the explosion. That they hold ensures that the appropriate machine-system to produce an explosion on ignition is present. By distin­ guishing between those conditions necessary for there to be the appropriate machine­ system present and the event or state which activates this machine-system to produce or generate the effect we can distinguish the cause more or less uniquely. By searching out the necessary and sufficient conditions for an event we invariably get too much. 33

He then goes on to show that although ''there are interactions which we would be prepared to call 'causal' but which are not connected; that is for which we have no hypothetical link by which we suppose the cause to produce or generate the ef­ fect. ''34 But he contends that it will turn out that, far from undermining the general case of this paper, ''the existence of these causal relations'' ''actually reinforces the production/generation view of causation. ''35 Although I am in complete agreement with Harre' s rej ection of the necessary connection analysis, as not providing what 'cause' actually means, what we (ordi­ narily) mean by 'cause, ' the clarification of some of Harre' s claims as well as some critical comments about them are in order. First, contrary to Harre ' s claim, Hume does not deny that ''what we mean by 'x causes y' is that x generates (produces) y." What, on the basis of his phenome­ nalist theory of perception he does argue, is that ''what we mean by cause'' has no basis in fact, is empirically false. That is, he (a) redefines 'cause' (and therefore also 'effect'), giving it a new, stipulative meaning. Consequently, his (b) identifi­ cation of ' cause' and 'invariable conjunction' does not constitute a confusion of meaning and either (i) criteria or (ii) necessary and/or sufficient conditions of causation. From this it follows that in addition to what Harre attempts to do in the part of his article I have summarized, Harre needs to show the erroneousness of Hume's phenomenalism. Since I have already dealt with the question of Hume's view concerning objects in sub-sections D, E, and F, I will not say any more about it. Second, it should be noted in relation to the general theme of this sub-section, that Hume' s (implicit) stipulative redefinition of 'cause' does not entail a change in the criterion or criteria of causation. In that respect the logical situation considered here differs from the cases considered in Chapter 1 3 . Third, Harre speaks of constant conjunction as ''one of the criteria for assert­ ing that there is a causal relation between event pairs."36 But since criterion and conditions of an expression 's or a concep t 's correct application are distinct

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concepts, it would be more correct to say that constant conjunction provides ''one of the criteria for asserting that there is a causal relation between event pairs."37 Harre draws an important distinction between two types of conditions for causation: (a) conditions for causation to which we have been attending so far, of which constant conjunction is an example (call them 'type-A conditions'), and (b) conditions for causation that are not events, which are excluded from the cause. That is, conditions for the presence of conditions of type-A (call them 'type-B conditions '). Unlike constant conjunction, type-B conditions are necessary for the occurrence of causation in a particular case. Introducing the concept of a test for causation, Harre says that insofar as constant conjunction ''lays down one of the sets of criteria the satisfaction of which entitles us to assert the relational predicate ' . . . causes . . . ' of two events X and Y, or two classes of events of the type of X and of the type of Y. If 'X causes Y' means 'X generates or produces Y,' then it follows that a test for whether X and Y are related in this way will be to see whether whenever X occurs, Y follows, and whenever X is absent Y is absent."38 But since invariable following is neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition for causation, it is a rather uncertain, problem­ atic test. For a test for the presence or absence of causation to be successful in a given case, one must ascertain whether or not type-B conditions prevail. But only the presence of the relevant conditions of type-A and type-B can provide a suffi­ cient positive test for causation, although the absence of conditions of type-B alone would provide a sufficient negative test for it. I. The Logical Positivist Verifiability Principle of Meaning The Verifiability Principle of meaning provides a further interesting example of the fundamental error described in Hume' s case, concerning sentences or state­ ments rather than individual words or phrases, and for basically the same logical and historical reasons. In its extreme form it is mainly if not wholly Hume' s radical empiricistic heritage bequeathed to the Logical Positivists or Logical Empiricists. But it goes farther than Hume and constitutes a more radical form of the Im-fallacy than we find in Hume or in the other cases I considered earlier. It does not merely identify the meaning of a statement ''S '' with the meaning of the statement( s) that express(es) the empirical observations that confirm or dis confirm it, ''T'' ( ''R, '' ''N, '' etc.). That is, it identifies ''S '' with the statement(s) that describ e(s) the means or method of its verification. Although ''T, '' etc., sometimes or always coincide with ''S, '' they are logically distinct from it. By contrast, the operational theory in the form in which it identifies the meaning of a statement with the set of operations that verify its truth or falsity, would lead to nothing but confusion if extended to non-scientific statements ; e.g., to everyday statements of interest to philosophers. There the error would be similar to, though not identical with, the

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error of the Verifiability Principle in its extreme form. It would consist in identify­ ing a statement' s meaning with the operations designed to test its truth or falsity; not with statements that set forth the evidence for its truth or falsity. Note that if we interpret Operationism as consisting in the doctrine that ''the meaning of an empirical concept is identical with a description of the set of operations required to complete a certain measuring procedure,"39 it would certainly follow, as Harre notes, that Operationism confuses meaning and criteria (sets of operations of measurement in this case). One consequence would be that ''the multiplicity of criteria leads to the claim of a multiplicity of meanings of length, temporal interval, etc.; and hence to the paradoxical conclusion that there are as many distinct em­ pirical concepts as there are sets of operations of measurement."40 Harre demon­ strates that the criteria for asserting that there is a spatial interval (temporal interval) are not identical with the meaning of the assertion that there is a spatial interval (temporal interval), but that for a common definition ''which fixes the meaning, various metrics, i.e., criteria for assigning particular lengths and times to intervals and sequences of events, can be derived, by employing the laws of physics . "41 Harre' s interpretation of Operationism does not coincide with Bridgman' s defmition of the ''meaning'' of a concept, stated a little earlier, which identifies the meaning of a concept with the corresponding set of operations themselves. On Harre' s interpretation, 'meaning' in the operational defmition differs less from its ordinary employment than in Bridgman' s definition. Apart from the peculiarities of the operational defmition of 'meaning, ' however, the use of the phrase 'meaning of an empirical concept' is unusual. It is interesting to note that a less radical formulation of the Verifiability Principle, that a locution that purports to express a statement is literally meaning­ ful only if it is verifiable (usually, dis-confirmable) in principle, does not in and by itself imply or entail the J-fallacy or either of the I-fallacies. It does not assert, entail or imply that the meaning of the locution, if and when it has meaning, is logically or materially identical with, reducible to or even utilized in the meaning of the statement( s) expressing the warrant for its truth or the criteria for its correct application. Thus although it can be readily shown that that formulation of the verifiability principle logically involves a modification of the ordinary meaning of 'meaning' in relation to indicative sentences, and although that modification stems from the radical Humean empiricistic presuppositions of Logical Positivism, it is not the sort of modification that, when unwittingly effected, commits what I called the J-fallacy or the I-fallacies . More precisely, the Verifiability Principle in its present form provides what its advocates suppose is an adequate empirical crite­ rion of meaningfulness. It does not, or does not also albeit its advocates have by no means been always clear about this identify the meaning of the statements expressing the logical ground, with the meaning of the statement they support.42

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I argued that a fallacy is committed whenever the criteria-features appealed to in the correct application of an expression 'x ' are unwittingly identified with part or the whole of 'x 's ' meaning, whenever the two are different. Similarly I argued that a fallacy is committed whenever, in a J-judgment, the warrant Wis unwittingly identified with 'x 's ' meaning in the conclusion C, whenever they are different. I also attempted to show that at least in the case of some of the examples I consid­ ered the deliberate identification of meaning and criteria(-features), or W and 'x ' in C, involving the modification of 'x 's ' ordinary meaning, is, at best, unnecessary and at worst misleading. The situation is sometimes different with respect to scientific concepts. It is commonplace that many scientific concepts those that have their ''counterpart'' in ordinary language involve, in Wittgenstein's phrase, a ''shift of meaning," are reconstructions of their everyday counterparts.43 What is specially interesting for our present purposes is that such shifts of meaning or reconstructions in science sometimes take the form of redefining the particular expressions/concepts in terms of (a) the observable criteria-features of the expressions/concepts in ordinary discourse; or (b) features partly or wholly different from those that constitute criteria-features of that expression/concept. In either type of case the reconstruction takes the form of redefining the expression wholly in terms of the relevant observable criteria-features. (b) does not concern us here, and so I shall limit myself to (a). A redefinition there occurs only when­ and this statement is analytic the ordinary observable criteria-features are not identical with the expression' s/concept' s ''defining features." That may be true, theoretically speaking, either when (i) the two sets are completely different,44 or­ which is much more likely (ii) the former features are identical with some but not all of the latter features; or (iii) the former are ''consequential'' features; are present whenever, and only whenever, the latter are present. The essential point is that this procedure, as well as other forms of conceptual reconstruction effected by empiri­ cal science, is often if not always perfectly consonant with the nature, methods, and aims of science. The purpose of the form of reconstruction under consideration is to make the statements in which these expressions occur amenable to empirical verification; or to make them empirically verifiable with exactness and precision. Scientists can tighten the particular observable criteria-features, which in ordinary discourse are perhaps always or almost always quantitative only in a very rough and crude way, to make them quantitatively or mathematically precise to any degree the scientists desire for their particular purposes. The tightening up of the criteria-features is a further asp ect of the reconstruction of ordinary concepts for scientific purposes. It is, indeed, part of that logical procedure both in relation to our present type of reconstruction and other forms of reconstruction. I mean types of reconstruction of ordinary concepts in which the reconstruction does not entail the use of the relevant criteria-features as the entire set of ''defining features."

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J. Behaviorist Psychology and Different Concepts of a Person One of the controversial examples of the foregoing logical moves in the social sciences has been the reconstruction effected by modem behaviorist psychology in relation to the ordinary lay concept, and by philosophers in many classical and contemporary philosophical concepts of a person. A main aspect of the recon­ struction has been the elimination, from the ordinary concept, of the notion of conscious ''inner'' psychic experiences of feeling, thinking, desiring and the like, found in the ordinary meaning of these words. By the same token the reconstruc­ tion deviates from the concept(s) of the self utilized by psychoanalysts and psy­ chiatrists, by having no place for subconscious or unconscious psychic drives, complexes, and the like. The reconstruction is motivated by the desire to make psychology a full-fledged experimental science; to anchor its concepts in empirical facts . To do so classical logical behaviorism45 leaves out of the concept of a person all psychic phenomena; notwithstanding the fact that the existence of these phe­ nomena is verifiable in principle, in terms of the publicly observab le criteria­ features built into the ordinary concepts of pleasure, pain, fear, anger, etc. It is effected despite the fact that overt human behavior together with dispositions to it, to which they reduce the human person, is but part of the everyday criteria by means of which we ordinarily distinguish a person from other animals and from inanimate things, respectively. As skeptical arguments in the history of philosophy have reiterated, overt behavior does not logically suffice to distinguish a human self or person from a very cleverly contrived and highly sophisticated automaton, and constitutes a basic flaw in the argument from analogy first stated by St. Augustine and reiterated by George Berkeley and J.S. Mill, among others. For the empirical facts pertaining to the entity whose selfhood is in question are the observable resemblances between its overt behavior and our own overt behavior. (The other premise of the argument consists in the proposition that our overt behavior is the effect or, at least, a ''manifestation'' of our self.) In order to discover whether the logical behaviorist ' s move constitutes an ordinary concept's legitimate reconstruction for scientific purposes, the logical relation between the ordinary criterion-features of selfhood and the ordinary meaning of 'person' must be traced with some precision. Although a fully adequate analysis of this relation would require an extended discussion, the following considerations are, I believe, sufficient to provide the beginnings of an answer to the question. The considerations I have in mind are these. An essential part of the ordinary concept of person is the notion of the capacity or ability46 to feel, think, desire and act in various ways; and that to say that something A has the capacity to think, feel, desire or act is not merely to say that if certain conditions C are present, A will feel, think, desire this or that, or will perform this or that action. 47 On the ordinary

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meaning of ' capacity' or 'ability' the proposition expressed by ''Whenever certain conditions C obtain, A will feel L (will think X, do R, etc.)," follows from the proposition expressed by ''A has the capacity (ability) to feel L (think X, do R, etc.)," but is not logically equivalent to the latter, let alone identical with it in meaning. The former implies the latter in the sense that it logically presupposes it. In other words, we would ordinarily say that whenever the former is true, it is true because the latter is true. The capacity to feel L (or the capacity to feel, in general) think X (or to think, in general), and so on is not exhausted by A 's invariably feeling L or thinking X under conditions C; albeit the latter is certainly an essential part of the meaning of 'capacity' or 'ability. ' The logical behaviorist' s concept of the self, by being limited to the overt, publicly observable part of the activities, experiences, or behavior of persons and the corresponding dispositions, leaves out not only (a) the actual feelings, thoughts, volitions of persons but also (b) the capacity of persons to feel, think, desire, etc. It leaves out a person' s ''dispositions'' or her ''dispositional properties," as well as the actual psychic content of her immediate awareness. Nevertheless, so far as the other-ascriptive use of P-predicates is concerned, another person' s overt behavior (including her avowals) is the whole and sole criterion for her having (a), hence also for (b). Passing to the self-ascription of P-predicates, we find that the situation is different in certain significant ways. First, as I have maintained in earlier chapters in agreement with P .F. Strawson, the concept of criterion, as understood in this book, is inapplicable with respect to our own psychic states. Still, we do speak of knowing that we know that we are in pain or that we are sad, depressed, and so on; and that we know, we are aware of, these feelings, states, etc. by direct awareness of them: something we cannot truly say about our knowledge of or beliefs about another's feelings, thoughts and so on. Thus a certain analogy to the use of criteria is involved here. Further, and closely related to the preceding point, it would not make sense, under ordinary conditions (except, perhaps, if the speaker is psy­ chotic) to say: ''I wonder whether I am a person or a cleverly contrived automaton." But even ''I know I am a person'' would sound odd in ordinary circumstances. The statement makes sense, just as Descartes ' ''I am'' normally makes sense, only as a retort or part of a retort to some hypothetical skeptical philosopher who doubts that, or does not know for certain, whether, her ''interlocutor'' is a person. I said that we ''appeal'' to our immediate experience of our psychic states in relation to the question of whether or not a particular P-predicate applies to us at a given moment; and we may also ''appeal'' to the fact that we have consciousness, or psychic states in general, in support of our retort to an actual or hypothetical skeptic that we are persons (also, that we are absolutely sure that we are persons). But it seems to me that we never appeal to the fact of our consciousness, or of our

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experiencing feelings, having thoughts, etc., ''in order to discover'' whether we are persons; since the locution between the quotation makes no sense here. In the preceding discussion I spoke about the ordinary concept of a self or person. That is, I assumed that the words 'self and 'person' are univocally used in relation to ourselves and others . In any event, the question whether 'self and 'person' are univocally used in the situations I considered is logically distinct from and does not determine or prejudge the issue of whether P-predicates are univocal in their self-ascriptive and other-ascriptive uses. Clearly the claim that the meaning of 'P-predicate' (and the meaning of the various P-predicate words are) is different in the two types of cases entails that the meaning of 'person' is different in the two types of cases too. Consider for example the question48 whether '(am) in pain' has the same meaning in ''I am in pain'' in ''You are (she is) in pain.'' If, as I believe, the answer is ''yes''49 although it is impossible to begin to defend that view here we can I think validly infer that the criteria for the other-ascriptive uses of P-predicates are independent of 'in pain, ' 'sad,' 'happy, ' etc., hence are not part of the meaning of these predicates. Strawson in some places (e.g., in Individuals, p. 1 1 0) appears to hold, at least, implicitly, that the criteria constitute part albeit only part of the meaning of the P-predicates. K. 'Morally Right' and 'Morally Good' In addition to the examples of its commission considered so far, the Im-fallacy is also committed in the attempt of some moral philosophers to tell us what 'right' and 'good' in their moral uses mean, as opposed to stating the reasons for applying them in particular situations. Rather than providing the ordinary meaning, in the form of a reported definition, of 'right' or 'good,' the theories in question often unwittingly change the meaning of these words. The fallacy is committed if, e.g., 'right' in the moral sense is defined as ''conducive to the general happiness," as well as when ' a right act' is more generally defined, as an ''act conducive to or productive of the greatest good of which the circumstances." For our present purposes it should suffice to recall W.D. Ross ' argument in ''The Meaning of 'Right' ,"50 where Ross in effect extends to the word 'right' G .E. Moore' s Open Question Argument respecting the indefinability of 'good. ' That is not accidental: Moore' s Naturalistic Fallacy, construed as a Defmist Fallacy,51 is but just one type of application of the Im-fallacy; whenever 'right' is defined in terms of those features of morally right acts that serve as criteria-features for them. In other words, the fallacy is committed whenever 'right' is defined in terms of the ground we adduce in determining whether, or to show that, a given act or kind of act is morally right. With the worldwide increase in secularization, people increasingly appeal to the presumed goodness or badness of the probable consequences of

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particular kinds of acts as partial or even sufficient grounds for judging them as right or as wrong. This is well-recognized by W.D. Ross, in the passage alluded to above, where he says: 'Ideal utilitarianism' [which he defmes as the view which states that 'right' means 'pro­ ductive of the greatest possible good'] is, it would appear, plausible only when it is under­ stood not as an analysis or defmition of the notion of 'right' but as a statement that all acts that are right, and only those, possess the further characteristic of being productive of the best possible consequences, and are right because they possess this other characteristic. 52

That is, the characteristics referred to in the quotation are part of the ''comprehen­ sion'' of 'right' but not of its ''connotation," in the sense in which Ernest Nagel in In troduction to Logic and Scientific Method and other logicians use these terms. The Im-fallacy is also sometimes committed when it is claimed that 'right ' or 'good, ' as referring to actions or to states of affairs, means ''reasonable'' or ''ra­ tional''; that 'right,' or that 'good' as referring to actions, means ''commanded by God," ''in conformity with the moral law," or ''in conformity with the moral law and performed out of respect for it." Or, finally, if it is claimed that 'right' or 'good' means ''performed with a good motive or right attitude.'' The fallacy is committed whenever the right-hand side of the alleged definition is part or the whole set of criteria of the rightness or goodness of right or good acts. It is so with the definition, 'right ' means ''commanded by God," and 'right ' means ''in confor­ mity with the moral law'' or very differently, that 'good' means ''pleasurab le." The claim that 'good' means ''apprehended by a rational intuition as good'' would provide another example still if at the same time it is claimed that a rational intuition is the criterion for the goodness of the particular kind of state of affairs. I said that in the preceding types of cases the Naturalistic Fallacy is committed whenever the Im-fallacy is committed. In fact it can be shown that, understood as the Definist Fallacy, the former is a special form of the latter fallacy; whenever, that is, 'good' (or 'right' for such thinkers as Ross) is defmed in terms of criteria­ features of goodness (or rightness). In the case of ' good, ' the commission of the J-fallacy by defining 'good' in terms of the criteria-features of moral goodness­ (which is an instance of committing the Definist Fallacy) would also entail the commission of the Naturalistic Fallacy in another sense. I mean in the sense that the ''ought'' is reduced to (not derived from) the ''is," or ''value'' is reduced to ''fact." For moral goodness, rightness, and ought are normative concepts, whereas the criteria-features of moral goodness or rightness are non-normative. Indeed, the latter would inescapably be empirically observable features, if it is the case that no ''intuition'' of the putative quality, ''good," or relation, ''right," in fact exists. More precisely, if that putative quality or relation itself is not, or is not thought to be, a direct obj ect of experience but is always inferred from the presence of certain

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perceptible qualities or properties some type of state of affairs or are not appre­ hended by means of our ordinary mental processes. The Im-fallacy (together with the If-fallacy) itself can be thought of as a special form of the Naturalistic Fallacy in its broadest formulation; i.e., as con­ sisting in the identification of two distinct characteristics of things . The form that the principle that everything is itself and not another thing takes in the present discussion, is I think equally obvious : ''A word, phrase, or sentence means what it means and not something else." An important aspect of this is the fact that, like the Naturalistic Fallacy in its present broad formulation, the Im-fallacy as I have defined it is independent of the normative/factual dichotomy. That is, the Im­ fallacy may arise as we have already seen and in precisely the same way in relation to non-normative as well as normative expressions and sentences. The reasons that may lead a philosopher to commit the Im-fallacy, even in relation to, say, 'good' and 'right, ' in terms of ''natural'' characteristics or relations, have really nothing to do with the fact that good and right are normative while the defming concepts are factual. So the fallacy's commission in relation to Naturalis­ tic/Descriptivist definitions of 'morally good' or 'morally right' does not entail or imply that normative discourse cannot be translated into non-normative language, is ''autonomous." Further support for that proposition is provided by the fact that the Im-fallacy may arise within moral ''language''; or vice versa. An example of the former is the definition of 'morally right' as ''having morally good conse­ quences.'' Slipping into the Im-fallacy is facilitated by the fact that in the case of many normative expressions we fmd what corresponds to the dual the descriptive and the evaluative uses of 'work of art' in aesthetic discourse. For example: in ''Here is a man!'' (''Voila un homme !''), which Napoleon is alleged to have said about Goethe, ''Give me a man!'' (or ''Give me a real man! ''), or ''I am looking for a man!'' (attributed to Diogenes the Cynic), 'man' is used in an evaluative sense: in the sense of 'good man,' 'great man' and the like. Similarly the word ' argument' is used in an evaluative sense in: '' This is an argument (or this is a real argu­ ment !)-not that! '' Another example of the same sort is: ''Th is is a society (e.g., U.S. society), not that (e.g., a primitive society in Polynesia)." The Im-fallacy is a special form of the J-fallacy, insofar as criteria are or usually are p art of the criteria of artistic, moral or other forms of goodness, are converted into defining features of e.g., morally good acts or morally good states of affairs in general, and so on. The definition of ' art ' is a particularly interesting example. If characteristics a, b, c are thought to be criteria-features of art in the evaluative sense i.e., in the sense of 'good art' one may slip into the error of erecting them into defining features of 'art' in the descriptive sense; i.e., of all art, good, bad and indifferent. Actual historical examples of this are not difficult to find.

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In tracing the logical relation of the Im-fallacy to the Naturalistic Fallacy, I have been assuming for the sake of argument that the latter is indeed a fallacy. But with the exception of what I called its broadest form, I do not wish to be under­ stood as categorically asserting that it is a fallacy in any of its other possible forms. Only in its broadest form, in which two or more distinct things are unwittingly identified, is it obviously a fallacy. The Im-fallacy in the form discussed in the preceding sub-sections is closely related to the confusion of certain (a) logical questions or assertions on the one hand and (b) psychological in general, genetic or (c) epistemological questions or assertions on the other hand, by many or all 1 7th-1 8th century British empiri­ cists. An important example is J.S. Mill's defmition of number. Briefly, Mill holds that when we define any given number, n, we do not merely fix the meaning for the term 'n ' but also assert along with it an observed matter offact. In the case of 3, for instance, the observed fact consists in this : ''That collections of obj ects exist, which while they impress the senses thus, • • •, may be separated into two parts, thus, • • • ."53 ''This proposition being granted," Mill continues, ''we term all such parcels threes . ''54 In this and in his view that the laws of arithmetic e.g., ''The sums of equals are equal'' are inductive generalizations, Mill in fact identifies the question of how an (any) individual arrives at the concept of particular numbers also, the question of how an individual arrives, or how human beings in general arrive, at the concept of number in general with the question of the meaning or definition of the numerals ' 3 , ' '4,' '5,' etc., that stand for these numbers. Since Mill is a classical empiricist, the former question boils down for him to the psychological question as to the sensations or impressions from which the concept of a given number is derived. Similarly with the concept of number in general. As a result, his proposed definition is not a defmition at all but an answer to the different, psychological and epistemological questions about number. As an empiricist account of how we arrive at the concepts of some (small) numbers, I think what he says is, in general, correct. But it does not and cannot provide an adequate account of their logical content. Gottlob Frege, from whom I have taken Mill' s account, was fully aware of the distinctness of the logical question of justification and what he refers to as psy­ chological questions, in mathematics and in philosophy. Indeed, as is well known, his entire work on the foundations of mathematics and logic constitutes a strong reaction against the psychologism of 1 9th century empiricism typified by Mill, in these areas as well as in philosophy. His criticism of Mill is partly based on his exposure of this confusion. The essential distinctness between the two types of questions, hence the answers to them, is clearly stated by Frege as follows :

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It not uncommonly happens that we frrst discover the content of a proposition, and only later fmd the rigorous proof of it, on other and more clifferent lines; and often this same proof also reveals more precisely the conditions restricting the validity of the original proposition. In general, therefore, the question of how we arrive at the content of a judg­ ment should be kept distinct from the other question, Whence we derive the justification .(:'_ its 1or . assertion. . 55

As far as I can see, Mill does not commit the Im-fallacy here. At first, indeed, he seems to consider the definitions of various numbers he gives as definitions in the logical sense; i.e., as not including or involving any assertions about matters of fact. (System of Logic, Bk. III, cap. xxiv, 5 : Frege, ibid., p. 9e.) But soon enough he abandons that view by asserting, as I noted earlier, that in addition to fixing the meaning of a term, these ''definitions'' also assert an observed matter of fact. (Mill, op cit., Bk. II, cap. vi, 2 : Frege, ibid.) Further, Mill does not seem to slip into the fallacy when he goes on to say that From this we can see that it is really incorrect to speak of three strokes when the clock strikes three, or to call sweet, sour and bitter three sensations of taste; and equally unwar­ rantable is the expression ''three methods of solving an equation." For none of these is a parcel which ever impresses the senses thus, • • • . 56

In these statements Mill says, in effect, that we cannot properly apply the term ' 3 ' to these things because they fail to satisfy certain conditions : being a parcel which impresses the senses as a parcel (thus : • • •). But that condition is stipu­ lated, according to Mill' s defmition, by that ''part'' of the ''definition'' of ' 3 ' which consists in the assertion of an observed fact, not that part of it which gives the word' s meaning proper. Hence the Im-fallacy is not committed. For the stipulated condition, to quote Frege again, includes the fact that ''collections of obj ects exist (i.e., parcels), which . . . impress the senses thus, • • • ." The ''three strokes'' or the ''three tastes'' fail to satisfy that condition. But if so, Mill' s view faces a different obj ection. For if the alleged statement of fact included in the defmition of '3,' say, is really a statement of observed fact, and therefore does not give us any part of the meaning of ' 3 , ' it may be inquired, first, whether any logical relation can hold between it and the defmition or meaning of ' 3 ' proper. On Mill 's account, it cannot logically follow from the latter. If it did, it would be an analytic, not an empirical, synthetic, statement. Nor does the definition of ' 3 ' follow from it. The statement ''Collections of obj ects exist, which while they impress the senses thus, • • •, may be separated into two parts, thus • • • '' does not entail the definition: '''3 ' con­ notes the manner in which single obj ects of a given kind must be put, in order to produce an aggregate that impresses the senses thus • • •," or '''3 ' connotes some property belonging to the agglomeration of things which we call ''three''; and the property is the characteristic manner in which the agglomeration is made up of, and may be separated into, parts."57 Consequently the empirical statement asserted by

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the '' definition'' of 'three' cannot possibly serve as a logical condition (or semantic ecriterion58) of the correctness of any app lications of the word 'three' ; therefor� and this is the second point in order that it may be able to serve this purpose, it must be considered as part of the meaning or definition of 'three. ' The possession of the property of being a parcel and of impressing the senses as a parcel, and its being separable into (two) parts, will then be necessarily possessed by anything correctly called ''3 so-and-so's''; or 'Xis 3 so-and-so's' would mean, among other things, that Xpossesses those ''properties." But that cannot be done in the case of Mill ' s statement, since it asserts the existence of certain sensible things. Another way of stating the obj ection is this: If Mill's statement is (intended to be) empiri­ cal, it can only be probably true. That is, it would be logically possible for certain things to exist that do not possesses these ''properties," yet satisfy the conditions for the correct application of ' three, ' as these are determined by actual lay usage and the usage of mathematicians. But even if we supposed that being a ''parcel'' of things of a certain ''nature'' and a ''thing'' here may be anything: an obj ect, a quality or property, a relation, and so on is a part of the meaning or the uses of any positive integer, that is a different matter from the question of the existence of such parcels. Thus Frege is right in holding that Mill, in calling arithmetical truths laws of nature, is confusing them with their applications. The upshot is that in his defmition of number, Mill tries to eat his cake and have it too. He wants to make his ''definition'' partly empirical, yet make it do the job of a definition in the logical sense; moreover, one which includes the conditions of the correct application of number-words. In conclusion, note that if the empirical part of Mill ' s ''definition'' of a given number were capable of being included, and were actually included, in the strict definition of the number-word, it would provide some of the conditions for the correct application of the particular word. That is, it would provide reasons to which we must appeal to justify any numerical statements of the form: ''Here are 3 potatoes," ''There are 100 pages in this book," and therefore also the correctness of our application of the particular number-word. For the relation between warrant and conclusion here is like the relation in our first example of a J-argument, and unlike our second example, in the Introductory. II

Fallacies Concerning Meaning and Evidence in Relation to Deductive Arguments I shall sp eak of the ''Justification Fallacy'' or ' J-fallacy' as the error of supposing that the warrant and the data of a J-argument, an argument whose conclusion has the form, ''This is an X, '' utilize the meaning of the predicate 'x ' when they do not. In my usage the warrant ''utilizes'' the meaning or is ''definable'' in terms of the

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predicate 'x ' if it is identical with 'x 's ' definition, is part of the definition, or follows directly from it. In all other cases the warrant will be said not to utilize the meaning or be definable in terms of 'x. ' The fallacy can be more generally defined as the error of identifying the meaning of the statement W that sets forth the evidence for a statement C, with part or the whole of C 's meaning, whenever the two are in fact distinct. Two forms of the J-fallacy may be distinguished, the 'ER­ fallacy' and the ' EI-fallacy. ' The former is the error of identifying W's meaning with the whole of C 's meaning, when W's meaning is only part of C 's meaning. The latter is the error of identifying W's meaning with part or the whole of C 's meaning when W's meaning is not even part of C 's meaning. Both forms of the fallacy are errors in the explication of the meaning of particular, or particular classes of, statements . Neither is or presupposes the general conceptual error of identifying the concepts of meaning and evidence, which, as far as I know, no philosopher worth his salt has explicitly committed. The EI-fallacy is committed when the evidence is only contingently connected with the belief or proposition it supports; that is, when the criteria-features utilized in the reason-statements are I-criteria. In these cases the translation of the belief­ statement into the reason-statements may result in considerable distortion of the former' s meaning. The ER-fallacy is committed, in certain cases to be specified, when the evidence (the warrant in this case) is conceptually connected with the belief to be supported; i.e., when the criteria-features utilized by the evidence are D-criteria, including paradigmatic D-criteria. The special types of cases obtain when there is a formal or non-formal two-way implication between a statement S and the reason-statements RQT, and where the terms of the equivalence-relation refer to the same things but S states more than RQT, and so is not synonymous with it. There the error of equating two, or two sets of, non-synonymous but logically equivalent statements is a consequence of the ER-fallacy, not the fallacy itself. Note that that error can also arise independently of the ER-fallacy. The foregoing situation arises when S follows deductively from RQT together with one or more relevant factual statements (data), but not from it alone. When RQT entails S, and vice versa, the ER-fallacy cannot arise. That occurs when the features utilized in the warrant consist of, e.g., the (whole) set of D-criteria that may be involved. There is a simple but important logical connection between the Im-fallacy and the J-fallacy. In the case of all J-arguments we justify the conclusion, ''This is an X'' by appeal to one or more of the criteria for 'x 's ' correct application, in the warrant and the data. In some instances the criteria are identical with 'x 's ' mean­ ing, while in others they are partly or wholly distinct from it. The J-fallacy is committed whenever the Im-fallacy is committed; that is, if the criteria utilized in the J-argument' s warrant and the data are in fact different from 'x 's ' meaning as a whole. The opposite is also true.

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312 III

In this final section I shall briefly consider some possible tests for determining the semantic relation between the warrant and the conclusion of J-arguments . (A) A possible criterion for the desired tests is implicitly suggested by P .F. Strawson in ''Ethical Intuitionism.''59 It goes as follows : ''Generally, we may say that whenever q is evidence for p, either q is the sort of thing we mean by ''p '' '' (''p '' is definable in terms of q '') or we can60 have knowledge of the state of affairs described by ''p '' independently of knowledge of the state of affairs de­ '' scribed by q. ''61 Strawson' s criterion is intended to apply to any kind ofjustifica­ tion-argument and not only to what I called J-arguments, with the special, simple conclusion to which I restricted myself. It is undeniable that we can sometimes have knowledge of the state of affairs described by ''p '' independently of knowl­ '' edge of the state of affairs described by q '' (which we happen to use as evidence for ''p ''). But we cannot have grounded belief or knowledge of the state of affairs described by ''p '' unless two conditions are met. First, we must have some knowl­ edge of or at least a belief about some state of affairs S that obtains at the time the prediction ''p '' is made (in this case, in the evening) or at some prior time. Second, S must be causally related or presumed to be causally related with the state of affairs described by ''p. '' If these conditions are not fulfilled, we would not ordi­ narily say that we have knowledge in the present situation. We would say that we have an unfounded, irrational or superstitious belief in the state of affairs described by ''p. '' In other words, our knowledge of or our grounded belief in the state of affairs described by ''p '' is not, cannot be, by the very meaning of 'knowledge' or 'grounded belief, ' independent of knowledge of all states of affairs that can constitute evidence for the state of affairs described by ''p. '' This problem would not arise if we substitute the unqualified word 'belief for 'knowledge' in Straw­ son' s statement of the criterion. What concerns us at the moment is the latter term of the above disjunction; '' viz. ''We can have knowledge of the state of affairs described by q. '' Strawson gives the following argument as an example of the latter. Suppose I say it will be fine tomorrow because the sky now, i.e., the previous evening, is red. It is obvious that ''It will be fine tomorrow'' ( ''p '') is not ''definable'' in terms of the warrant, ''Whenever the sky is red in the evening, it will be fine the following morning'' '' ( q ''); or more correctly, W does not utilize the meaning of 'fine day' or ' fine '' morning. ' (Therefore q '' is not ''definable'' in terms of ''p. '') So obvious is this that Strawson's criterion is hardly needed to show it, although it is certainly applicable here. In this particular case we can have knowledge of the state of affairs described by ''p '' independently of knowledge of the state of affairs de­ '' scribed by q. '' But one problem with this criterion is that we cannot always be sure whether, in a given case, we can have knowledge of the state of affairs de-

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scribed by the conclusion ''p '' independently of the state of affairs described by the putative evidence ''q. '' We can know that this is the case whenever the state of affairs described by ''q '' is completely different from the state of affairs described by ''p, '' when ''p '' and ''q '' are about entirely different things. But when that is not so, a problem does arise. Indeed, we sometimes attempt to ascertain whether it is possible to have such independent knowledge by attempting to ascertain whether, in the particular instance, ''q '' is ''definable'' in terms of ''p. '' The following difficulties sometimes encountered in applying Strawson' s criterion can perhaps be stated more precisely as follows. ( 1 ) If we have knowledge of the state of affairs described by ''p, '' and at the same time lack knowledge of the state of affairs described by ''q, '' we cannot safely infer that ''q '' is not ''definable'' in terms of ''p. '' It is possible that ''q '' is definable in terms of ''p, '' although we do not know that it is. (2) Suppose we do not know the state of affairs described by ''p '' without knowing or having known the state of affairs described by ''q. '' For instance, suppose that I actually came to know the state of affairs that ''p '' describes through my knowledge of the state of affairs that ''q '' describes; e.g., if I ''know'' that it will be fine tomorrow through my knowledge that the sky now, i.e., the previous evening, is red. In that case the question of whether I can in principle know the state of affairs that ''p '' describes without knowing the state of affairs that ''q '' describ es remains wide open. I can only answer that question, if at all, on some other ground. The question is what; and whether it is available in particular cases. This appears to be true whenever our predictions about some future occur­ rence are based on some present or past observed fact or presumed fact; i.e., whenever we can properly say that we know or even have a reasonable belief that ''p '' is true, that p will be the case. In other words, is Strawson not confusing (our knowledge of) two different propositions ''p '' and ''q '' when he says : ''I might observe the fine morning (i.e., the following day)''? For the state of affairs de­ scribed by ''p, '' for which ''q '' is the presumed evidence, is not this but the state of affairs described by ''It will be a fine morning'' made the evening before. And the question is whether we can know this (the latter) without at the same time knowing something else, about the present or past (e.g., that the sky is red the previous evening). Of course we might believe that it will be a fme morning, on the basis of just a feeling or intuition. Now consider the following situation. I may (that is, in principle, I can) know that a particular geometrical figure before me is a circle for example, because it looks like a circle or because I have drawn it with a pair of compasses but not know that it is the locus of a point equidistant from a certain fixed point; although ''Xis the locus of a point equidistant from a certain fixed point'' is, I believe, often given in textbooks of elementary geometry as a definition of 'circle. ' I can know what a circle is without knowing anything about the latter. For instance, I need only know that it is a figure all of whose radii are equal. Yet ''having equal radii'' is not

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usually considered by mathematicians as a defming property of a circle but as a non-defining property that deductively follows from its definition together with certain other definitions. Assuming that Strawson's criterion is sound, the foregoing example suggests '' that we cannot maintain that q '' is not ''defmable'' in terms of ''p, '' whenever we can have knowledge of the state of affairs ''p '' describes without actually having '' knowledge of the state of affairs q '' describes . It would not improve matters to '' expand Strawson's criterion as follows : q '' is not ''definable'' in terms of ''p '' if it is either logically or contingently possible for us to know (a) the meaning, or (b) '' the truth or falsity of q, '' but do not know (i) the meaning, or (ii) ' 'p 's '' truth­ value. Or vice versa. This criterion may be applicable to certain types of cases; but it is often difficult to apply it to the kind of situation with which we are dealing. Where the warrant and the conclusion in a J-argument are complicated, namely, in the sort of J-argument in which philosophers are usually interested, the need for general criteria of the kind under consideration is most acute; since it is then that our ''sense of language'' tends to be uncertain or completely fail us. In such cases it is difficult to know with assurance whether either (a) or (b) is true. It would not help to reformulate the above criterion in terms of our ability or inability to (a') learn the meaning, or (b') discover (or be informed of) the truth-value of the conclusion (warrant), without, in so doing, learning the meaning, discovering, or being informed of the truth-value of the warrant (conclusion). Likewise, mutatis mutandis, with the meaning of ''This is an x'' and the criteria for 'x 's ' correct application. It is possible that there are many other criteria, and consequently, tests, of the contingent identity or lack of identity of criteria and defming features of verbal expressions in particular cases. Similarly with tests of the warrant' s dependence or lack of dependence, in the manner earlier described, on the valid conclusion of a J-argument. But the foregoing discussion should give us some idea of the limita­ tions which the various putative criteria or the putative tests probably suffer from; or some of the difficulties that may arise in the attempt to apply them to particular cases. Similarly with tests of the warrant' s dependence or lack of dependence, in the way described earlier, on a J-argument' s valid conclusion. But the foregoing discussion should give us some idea of the limitations from which the various putative criteria or putative tests probably suffer; or some of the difficulies that may arise in one's attempt to apply them to particular cases.

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Notes 1.

The Uses ofArgument (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1958), p. 99.

2. But only when one does not deliberately modify the meaning of an expression to make it include, or become identical with, the criteria, for some special philosophical purpose or reason. The same applies to the deliberate modification of criteria to make them identical with, or with part of, the meaning of a particular expression; or to the deliberate modification of both meaning and criteria for the same purpose. 3 . A sentence-factor is an expression that conveys what Gilbert Ryle calls a ''proposition-factor." Ryle defmes 'proposition-factor' as follows: ''I use 'proposition-factor' . . . to collect whatever is signified by an expression, simple or complex, which can be a complement to a gap sign in some sentence-frame or other (or which can be a value of a variable in some propositional function or other)." (''Categories," Logic and Language, 2nd Series, A.G.N. Flew, ed. (New York: The Philosophical Library, Inc., 1953, p. 77). This defmition is not perfectly adequate, since propo­ sitions are expressed by statements, or sentences-in-use, not by sentences as such. Thus, prop­ erly speaking, a ''proposition-factor'' is the complement of an expression as a factor of a sentence-in-use. 4.

Ibid., p. 23.

5 . This ''shift'' appears to occur in these cases; hence it constitutes an important difference between these words and ' exists. ' Ryle, on the other hand, brackets them in the present respect. 6.

One way to ascertain whether ' existence' in sentences (a) and (b) above is univocal is to try to fmd out whether the word's meaning is independent of, for example, either PCR or MCR. This can be done by using R.M. Hare's criterion; namely, by ascertaining whether one can learn or know the meaning of ' exists' or of ' existence' without knowing or learning that either MCR or PCR constitute(s) a criterion of existence of some kind of thing or other. But I shall not go into that here.

7. In ''Metaphor-II," Philosophy ofLanguage and Logical Theory: Collected Papers (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, Inc., 1995), pp. 1 55-1 69. 8.

''Metaphor," Models and Metaphors (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1962), pp. 25-47.

9. In some instances even that ''move'' would not save 'T' from absurdity or meaninglessness. Mixed metaphors are good examples of this. 10. An Analysis ofKnowledge and Valuation (La Salle, IL: The Open Court Publishing Co., 1946), p. 193 . My italics. It is possible that Hume's regular-sequence theory of causation is another ex­ ample. 1 1 . Ibid., p. 193. See also ibid., pp. 190, 195, 201-202, 208, 2 1 5 , and passim. 12. Ibid., p. 1 8 1 . 1 3 . Ibid., p. 1 92. 14. Ibid., p. 225. 1 5 . Philosophical Analysis (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1 956), pp. 154- 1 5 5 . 16. Hallucinatory experiences that are both visual and tactuaL or only tactual, are exceptions to this.

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17. For a detailed critical discussion of Moore' s reductive analysis, the interested reader is referred to O.J. Urmson, Philosophical Analysis, and to my A Critical Study In Method (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1 967), Chapter Five. 1 8 . In addition to the same kind of move in his famous critique of the rationalist conception of causality and his replacement of it with his regular sequence theory. 19. The concept theory of meaning held, frequently consciously by other philosophers as well; e.g., G.E. Moore does not, as such, logically lead to the commission of the hn-fallacy or the J-fallacy. As stated above, more is required for the commission of the error than that theory of meanmg. •

20. P.W. Bridgman, The Logic ofModern Physics (New York: The Macmillan Co., 1927), p. 5 . Italics in original. 2 1 . Mind, Vol. LXXID, No. 29 1, July 1964, pp. 353-3 63 . 22. Ibid., p. 361 . My italics.

23. Ibid. p. 354. 24. David Hume, Sec. VII, pt. ii, Enquiry. Harre, ibid., p. 356. 25. Ibid., p. 356. 26. Ibid. 27. Ibid. 2 8. Ibid. Italics in original. 29. Ibid., pp. 356-3 57. 30. Cf. the distinction between the meaning of an expression 'x ' and the necessary and sufficient conditions for its correct use in Part I of this book, in relation to Donald Davidson's avowedly self-conscious and essentially stipulative identification of a sentence' s meaning and the neces­ sary and sufficient conditions for its truth. Similarly, mutatis mutandis, with Paul Grice's and William Alston' s attempts to provide an adequate analysis of linguistic meaning in relation to sentences-in-use. 3 1 . Ibid., p. 357. My italics. 32. Ibid., pp. 356-3 57. 33. Ibid., p. 358. 34. Ibid. 35. Ibid., p. 358. 36. Ibid., p. 359. 37. Ibid., p. 359. 38. Ibid., p. 357. 39. Ibid., p. 361 . 40. Ibid., p. 362. 4 1 . Ibid.

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42. Cf. J.O. Wisdom, ''Metamorphoses of the Verifiability Theory of Meaning," Mind, Vol. LXXII, No. 287 (July, 1 963), pp. 33 5-347. Cf. also Herbert Feigl: ''With the current liberalization of the criterion of empirical meaningfulness the narrower positivism of the Vienna Circle has been defmitely repudiated, and is being replaced by a (''hypercritical'') realism. No longer do we iden­ tify the meaning of a statement with its method of verification." (''The 'Mental' and the 'Physi­ cal'," Herbert Feigl et al., eds. [Minneapolis, MN: Minnesota Studies in the Philosophy of Science, Vol. II, [ 1 958], p. 393].) Feigl adds: ''Nor do we consider the meaning of a concept as equivalent with the set of operations which in test situations enable us to determine its (more or less likely) applicability.''

43. Cf. Stephen Toulmin's discussion of this, following Wittgenstein, in relation to scientific laws and theories; e.g., in relation to the concept of light waves in Snell's Law or the Wave Theory of light. (Philosophy ofScience: An Introduction [London, New York: Hutchinson's Univer­ sity Library, 1958], Chapter III, and passim. 44. Whether this can ever actually be true is an important question. But it does not concern us at the moment. 45. Herbert Feigl, in ''The 'Mental' and the 'Physical'," ''distinguishes three types of behaviorists. He writes: ''Behaviorists . . . either denied the existence of raw feels (materialism); or. . . they de­ fined them in physical-observation terms (logical behaviorism); or they maintained that the sub­ ject matter of scientific and experimental psychology can be nothing but behavior (methodological behaviorism), which leaves the existence of raw feels an open question, but is of no relevance to science.'' (Op cit., p. 429.) My critical remarks about behaviorism in what follows are directed against the second of these, viz. logical behaviorism. But in redefming ''raw feels'' in physical-observation terms, logical behaviorism denies by implication the existence of any psychic content of experience, viz. ''raw feels'' in a psychic sense. On the other hand, I fully agree with Feigl that methodological behaviorism ''is an admittedly fruitful but limited program of research . . . '' (ibid.). It is limited precisely because it leaves out feelings, sensations, images of the imagination, bodily sensations, and other forms of immediate experience as distinguished from their behavioral manifestations from its experimental program. 46. The concept of ability or capacity here does not necessarily include, presuppose, or otherwise involve the idea of free choice. That is a distinct question. In the present use, capacity or ability is logically compatible with determinism, at least in some of its common forms. For our pur­ poses, I am ignoring the differences between the ordinary uses of 'ability' and 'capacity. ' 4 7. Cf. my earlier statement in relation to Hume's account of causation, that such statements as ''Fire has the power (capacity) to bum wood'' are not synonymous with ''Whenever such and such conditions prevail, and frre is applied to wood, the latter bums.'' 48. In Individuals, Strawson maintains that ''It is not that these (personal predicates) in the two types of cases have two kinds of meaning. Rather, it is essential to the single kind of meaning that they do have, that both ways of ascribing them should be perfectly in order'' (ibid., p. 1 1 0). Elsewhere he explicitly maintains perfectly rightly to my mind that the various P-predicates are ''used in just the same sense when the subject is another as when the subject is oneself' (ibid., p. 99, and passim). 49. Cf. in this connection: ''When we say of someone that he feels a pain, longs for home, or that he seems to see a red circle, we treat the words he uses in certain respects as if they were our own first-person words, our own experiences. This attitude, . . . is the attitude we express in our

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dealings with people. To treat another person's words in any other way is not to treat him as a person." Karl Britton, ''The Inner Life: Expression and Description," Proceedings of the XII International Congress ofPhilosophy, Venice and Padua, 1958 (published 1960), Vol. V, p. 9 1 . See also passim. 50. Ross, ''Subjectivism and Naturalism in Ethics," Readings in Ethical Theory, Wilfrid Sellars and John Hospers, eds. (New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, 1 952), pp. 1 63-173. 5 1 . Cf. William Frankena, ''The Naturalistic Fallacy," ibid., pp. 1 03-1 04. It is difficult, especially in complicated cases, to ascertain whether the Open Question argument actually applies. For it is far from easy in many cases to tell whether the apparent sig­ nificance of the ''open question'' is real or only due to our ignorance of the proper analysis of the particular expressions. Moore does of course distinguish knowing the meaning of a word 'x ' and knowing its correct analysis. But there are many types of cases in which we cannot know, without very considerable reflection, whether x ' means ''YW '' This is because ordinary words are ''defmed'' in use, not explicitly. The Open Question argument would apply without difficulty to scientific and, perhaps, other technical expressions. But it is really superfluous there! In this particular case, in relation to 'right,' however, the analysis of the ordinary moral uses of the 'right' does confrrm, I think, the conclusion Ross reaches by applying the Open Question argument to it. 52. Ross, op cit., p. 1 69. It is immaterial for our discussion whether the grounds for the rightness of actions are their possession of some ''right-making'' property or characteristic. For example, whether being productive of the greatest possible good can be said to be a property or a charac­ teristic of right actions. 5 3 . Gottlob Frege, The Foundations of Arithmetic, Second Revised Edition, translated by J.L. Austin (New York: Philosophical Library, 1 9 5 3 ), p. 9e. 54. Ibid. 5 5 . Ibid., p. 3e. 56. Quoted from The Foundations ofArithmetic, pp. 9e-1 Oe. 57. These defmitions are based on Mill's general account of the nature of number. He does not give us any defmitions of ' 3 . ' 5 8. Which is the kind of criterion with which we have been chiefly if not wholly interested in this book. 59. Readings in Ethical Theory, Wilfrid Sellars and John Hospers, pp. 253-254. 60. We must add: ''in principle.'' 6 1 . Op cit., p. 254.

Index acid, 54, 267-272 aesthetic concepts, 1 83, 2 1 6, 2 1 9, 244 Albritton, Rogers, 1 75, 1 9 1 , 224 Alston, William P., 3-4, 6, 9-10, 20-2 1, 40, 45, 49, 5 1 , 63-65, 75-85, 87-89, 1 05-106, 1 1 5, 1 1 7, 134, 1 3 7, 173, 1 89, 209, 226, 25 1 , 263, 3 1 6 ambiguity, 27, 30-3 1, 49, 105, 1 1 8, 1 20, 1 30, 134, 1 52, 193, 2 1 2 analogical argument, 1 84 analysis of meaning, 10, 33, 35, 37 angina, 59, 176-178 Aristotle, 290 Augustine, 48, 303 Austin, J.L., 4, 5 1 , 74-76, 80, 82, 1 0 11 02, 1 1 7, 1 3 7, 148-149, 179, 190, 255, 263 avowal, 60-63, 65, 73, 170, 198, 224, 304 Ayer, A.J., 35-36, 63---65, 74, 1 84, 1 89, 294-295 Baker, G.P., 47, 1 1 6, 133 Baker, Judith, 1 14 behavioral criteria, 6 1 , 63-65, 73, 1 62, 1 70, 1 8 1 , 1 89, 20 1 , 2 1 0, 22 1 behavioral theory of meaning, 99 behaviorism, 2 1 1 , 224, 303, 3 1 7 behaviorist psychology, 303 Bentham, Jeremy, 275-276 Benthamite, 276 Berkeley, George, 13, 290-294, 303 bifocal character of some concepts, 258 Black, Henry Campbell, 263 Black, 1.fax, 9 1 , 133, 1 64, 288 Bloor, David, 5 1-52 borderline case, 5 , 200, 205-206, 210, 2 1 3 , 224-225, 270 Bridgman, P.W., 297, 301 brillig, 68, 87, 197 Britton, Karl, 3 1 8 Brown, Roger W., 1 12 Carroll, Lewis, 68, 87, 197 Cartesian Dualist, 1 83 Cassirer, Ernst, 1 14, 1 3 8 category, 45, 79, 286--2 88 causality, 299, 3 1 6

C-convention, 134, 137, 140-142, 145149, 1 5 1 , 153-154, 156 change of meaning, 25, 1 84, 209, 265, 269, 276 reference. See reference Chappell, V.C., 1 92, 225 Chihara, C.S., 186, 2 1 2, 220, 222-223 codes (Norman), 1 09, 1 1 7-1 19 Cogito ergo sum, 288 communication, 4, 1 0-1 1 , 48--49, 76-78, 88, 1 0 1 , 1 04, 1 06, 1 12, 1 17, 1 22, 1 30, 137, 143, 150, 152-153 comprehension (C.I. Lewis), 9 1 , 1 64, 265, 268-269, 27 1 , 306 concept closed, 5, 1 1, 1 97, 2 1 0-2 1 1 , 266 ''cluster'', 197, 209, 2 1 2-214, 226, 25 1 , 254, 256-257, 259-26 1 , 263, 271-272 ''essentially contested'', 1 2, 237, 248, 254, 258-260, 264 open, 200, 205-206, 2 1 0, 220 conditions of truth. See truth-condition use, 6 1 conditions of speech acts G-condition, 148 IL-condition, 148 L-condition, 148 P-condition, 148 RS-condition, 148 connotation, 49, 53-54, 58, 72, 9 1 , 1 64, 206, 236, 245-246, 306 constitutive analysis, 17, 35, 4 1 convention. See rule conversation manner maxim, 1 5 2-1 5 3 quality maxim, 1 52-1 53 quantity maxim, 1 52-153 relation maxim, 152- 1 5 3 Cooperative Principle (Grice), 1 5 1- 1 5 3 correspondence rule, 221 criteria! change, 13, 265-266, 269, 271272-274 criteriological argument (C.H. Langford), 3, 60, 1 78, 1 84, 1 90, 2 1 1 , 220, 222 criterion •

320 C-criterion, 1 95 , 209, 2 1 9-220, 223, 244 D-criterion, 5, 173, 1 8 1 , 1 83, 1952 1 1 , 2 1 7-227, 229-230, 23 6-238, 240-24 1 , 245, 265-269, 272-273, 282, 285-286, 3 1 1 I-criterion, 1 8 1-1 83, 1 95, 1 98-20 1, 203-207, 209-2 1 1 , 2 1 7, 220, 222225, 229-230, 237, 249, 265-268, 282, 285, 3 1 1 Q-criterion, 1 95, 1 98, 2 1 7, 223, 248 ''criterion-formula'' (CR-1 ), 283 Davidson, Donald, 3 , 6-7, 1 7-20, 22, 243 1 , 40-43, 54, 224, 3 l 6 defeasible concepts, 1 1, 198, 2 1 5-2 1 8, 25 1 , 256-257 definiendum, 36, 193 definiens, 36, 1 66, 1 87, 1 93 defining feature, 8, 100, 1 80-1 8 1 , 196, 1 98, 2 1 1 , 2 1 7, 229, 233, 236-237, 239-240, 242, 246, 249, 270, 28 1 , 284-286, 302, 3 1 4 Definist Fallacy, 305-306 definition, 1-2, 4-5, 1 7, 20, 36, 49, 5657, 89, 123, 1 66, 282, 284, 295, 3 0 1 , 311 democracy (concepts of), 2 1 2, 2 1 4-2 15, 232, 25 1-252, 25 8-262 dependent practice, 1 3 1, 141, 146, 148, 1 55 Descartes, Rene, 13, 1 7 1 , 288-289, 304 Diggs, B.J., 125-126, 248 Double-aspect theory, 200 Dowling, Eric, 1 92 Dulaney, Don E., 1 12 E-concept, 2 1 2-2 1 3 EI-act, 142 Elton, William, 193, 248 EP-act, 142, 146-147 ''essentialist'' concept, 209-2 1 0, 2 1 2-2 13, 257-258, 265-266 essentially contested, 2, 12-1 3 , 237, 248, 25 1 , 25 3-255, 25 8-260, 264 Ethical Intuitionism, 13, 3 1 2 evaluative coloring, 241, 255

Meaning and Criteria terms/concepts, 1 1-12, 1 54, 22923 1 , 234, 243, 25 1 , 253-26 l , 274 evidence, 13, 5 8-60, 66, 171-172, 175, 1 77-180, 184-185, 193, 225, 28 1 , 283, 288-289, 29 1 , 3 1 1-3 1 3 exhibition analysis, 3-4, 1 1 , 36, 78-79, 90, 1 04, 1 15, 133 existence, 2, 1 3 , 287-288, 292, 3 1 5 expression (aesthetic), 183, 2 1 8-2 1 9, 226, 242, 244-245, 248-249 ''expressive'' concept, 1 95, 2 1 5 , 2 1 8-219 fallacy EI-fallacy, 3 1 1 ER-fallacy, 3 1 1 ''Justification Fallacy'' (J-fallacy), 283, 3 0 1 , 307, 3 1 0-3 1 1 , 3 1 6 ''family resemblance'' concept, 1 1, 88, 9 1 , 1 1 7, 195, 197, 209, 2 1 3, 223, 226, 25 7-258, 269, 271-272 F-concept, 209-2 1 0, 2 1 2, 2 1 3-2 1 5 Feigl, Herbert, 249, 278, 3 17 figurative expression, 1 73, 1 88, 287 Flew, Antony, 1 73, 225-226, 249, 3 1 5 flexibility of meaning, 205 f-ness, 2 1 2-2 15, 252 Fodor, J.A., 1 86, 2 1 2, 220, 222-223 Foot, Philippa, 1 82, 1 92, 234, 274-275 Formal Identification Fallacy (If-fallacy), 285, 289, 307 Frankena, William, 3 1 8 Frege, Gottlob, 26, 32, 43-44, 308-3 1 0 functional words, 137, 139, 154, 208, 23 1 , 235, 238-240, 243 functions/goals of speech, 137-138, 149 Gallie, W.B., 2, 12, 237, 258-260, 264 games, 47, 49-52, 70-7 1, 1 2 1 , 128-1 29, 138, 140, 142-144, 154-155, 2 1 2 general names, 2 1 0, 2 5 1 , 271 genocide, 56 God, 254-256, 293, 306 good, 1 3 , 86, 1 00, 1 29-130, 138, 1 82, 206-208, 220, 229-23 8, 238-247, 273, 275-278, 306-307 ground. See criterion Hacker, P.M.S., 47, 54, 58, 60-62, 64, 66,

Index 72-73, 1 1 6, 133, 1 75, 1 93, 224 Hare, R.M., 9, 75, 83-85, 88, 90, 100, 1 3 7, 192, 208-209, 23 3-235, 243, 248, 273, 3 1 5 Harre, Rom, 297-3 0 1 Hasker, William, 220-222 Heidegger, Martin, 56, 73, 120 Henze, D.F., 192 Hintikka, Jaakko, 47, 50, 7 1 Hospers, John, 209, 226, 249, 252 Hume, David, 1 3 , 290-293 , 296-301, 315, 317 hyperbole, 109 IA analysis, 76 IA potential, 75-76, 78-82, 88-89

illocutionary act, 3, 9, 2 1 , 75-85, 87-89, 1 0 1-102, 1 05-106, 1 12, 1 1 6, 133, 148-149 force, 3 1 , 76, 79-83, 90, 255, 263 potential, 9, 75, 77, 81-83, 86-87 type, 8 1 imagery, 143, 1 53, 155 independent practice, 141, 155 institution, 12, 5 1 , 56, 1 1 5, 1 1 7, 122, 1 27-133, 1 3 6-144, 146-1 5 1 , 1 531 57, 234-23 5, 240, 260 instrumental value, 1 integrative practice (Schatzke), 144-145 intention, 3-4, 6-7, 9-10, 19-2 1 , 3 1, 33, 77, 93-97, 99-108, 1 12, 1 14, 120, 1 26, 1 52, 1 7 1 , 235-236 interpretation, 27, 30, 52, 72, 1 09, 1 1 81 20, 134, 1 89, 242 intrinsic value, 1-2 irony, 30, 1 05, 1 09-1 1 0 I-rule, 76 James, P.D., 1 10 J-argument, 13, 2 8 1 , 283-285, 3 10-3 12, 314

321 Kripke, Saul, 28, 3 1-32, 43-44, 1 3 3 language, 5, 8, 10, 39, 46-47, 56-58, 62, 67-7 1, 74, 77-78, 88, 1 00, 1 04- 1 05, 107, 109, 1 14-124, 126-128, 1301 32, 136-140, 142-143, 145-147, 1 5 1-154, 163, 176, 187-189, 196197, 203, 207, 2 1 1 , 232, 247, 277, 28 1 , 292-294, 296, 302, 308 language-games, 3, 8, 10-1 1 , 47-52, 5457, 63, 69-7 1 , 1 1 5, 133, 137-138, 145, 154 ''law-cluster' ' concept (CL-concept), 209, 223, 27 1-272 Lemkin, Raphael, 56 Lewis, C.I., 1 3 , 9 1 , 164, 265, 268, 290293 Logical Behaviorism, 303, 3 1 7 Logical Positivism, 293, 301 Lycan, William G. (Gregory W.), 26-3 1, 42-43, 1 06-108, 1 1 3, 1 80, 1 82, 1 851 87, 190-193, 2 1 0-2 1 1 , 226 Malcolm, Norman, 73, 167, 176, 1841 86, 190, 193, 225, 266-267, 269 marginal indeterminacy, 200, 205, 255 Martin, Robert M., 263 mathematics, 3, 48-50, 55, 70, 143, 1 97, 200, 203, 205, 207, 2 1 0, 257, 266, 268, 302, 308, 3 1 0, 3 1 4 Mavrodes, George, 173 McGinn, Colin, 1 14 McGinn, Marie, 193 meaning mean- 1 , 20, 95-96, 99-1 03, 1 07108, 208 mean-2, 95-96, 99-102, 108, 1 12, 208, 289 semantic, 3, 1 0-1 1 , 19, 37-38, 7980, 85, 88 sentence- 3-4 6-7 9-10 1 7-2 1 ' ' ' ' 23-25, 28, 33, 36, 39-40, 42, 45, 68, 75-85, 88-90, 98, 1 03-1 06, 1 15, 1 1 9, 197 speaker-, 3-4, 9, 20, 3 1 , 37, 77-80, 88, 90, 1 05-108, 1 1 3-1 14, 1 1 9 word-, 4, 9, 26, 47, 50, 70, 84, 87, 95, 1 03-1 05, 1 8 1 •

'

Keller, Helen, 14 Kennedy, Jack, 2 1 8 Kennick, W.E., 226 Kenny, Anthony, 59, 174-178, 1 85-186, 1 89-19 1 , 20 1 , 224 Knight, Helen, 1 93 , 239, 248

322 meaningfulness, 7, 1 7-18, 32-33, 35-36, 4 1 , 45, 6 1 , 68, 88, 1 86, 1 90, 292, 301, 317 memory, 95, 177, 1 89-190, 194 metaphor, 49, 56-57, 1 09, 1 88, 287-288, 315 Mill, J.S., 1 3 , 1 84, 225, 290-292, 294, 296, 303, 308-3 10, 3 1 8 mind, 2, 1 83- 185, 20 1 , 2 1 1 , 225, 287289 modes of meaning (Max Black), 1 64 monoclinous, 25 5 Moore, G.E., 4, 1 3 , 36, 1 87, 206, 276, 294-296, 305, 3 1 6, 3 1 8 moral concept, 256-257 Multiple Sclerosis (MS), 266-272 Nagel, Ernest, 306 Natural Law, 1 Naturalistic Fallacy, 305-308, 3 1 8 Naturalists, 1 82, 234, 244 Nazi extermination of Jews, 56 necessary and sufficient conditions, 1 , 3, 7, 1 1 , 20, 65, 70, 82-83, 88, 90, 99, 146, 148-149, 1 6 1 , 1 63-167, 170, 1 73, 1 86, 197, 200, 209, 2 1 4, 2 1 62 1 7, 238, 242, 258, 269, 272, 28 1 , 284, 298-299, 3 1 6 necessary being, 25 5 NEI-activities, 142 NEP-activities, 142 No Criteria Theory, 2 1 2, 220 non-evaluative terms, 1, 8, 66, 1 8 1 , 195, 204-205, 2 1 5 , 238, 240, 242, 253 non-inductive evidence. See evidence Non-naturalists, 1 82, 244 nonsense words, 4 1 , 87, 197 number, 29, 67, 296, 308, 3 1 0, 3 1 8 open concepts, 200, 205-206, 2 1 0, 220 Open Question Argument, 305, 3 1 8 operationalism, 192 Pahel, Kenneth, 134, 154 Papazian, Dennis, 56 paradigm case, 258 paradigmatic D-criterion, 1 8 1 , 195-1 96, 1 99, 20 1 , 203, 2 1 0-2 1 1 , 222, 265-

Meaning and Criteria 266, 269, 3 1 1 Paradox of Analysis, 187 PC-conventions/rules, 146-14 7 Perfect Being, 254-25 5 perfection, 2 5 1 , 254, 256 performative utterance, 85-86, 96, 137, 1 56, 1 7 1 , 179 perlocutionary act, 9, 5 1 , 76-77, 83, 88, 1 0 1 , 106, 148 ''permanent possibility of sensation'', 291, 294 ''Persons'', 1 69, 20 1 , 224 Pitcher, George, 73, 1 54, 1 9 1 , 226 Plato, 1 7 1 , 174, 1 9 1 , 224, 290 Positivist conception of Law, 1 possible world, 28-32, 43--44, 255 Possible Worlds logic (Kripke), 28, 30-32 P-predicate, 65, 1 62-163, 1 69-170, 1 83185, 188-190, 193, 20 1-203, 2 1 02 1 2, 22 1 , 224-226, 286-287, 304305, 3 1 7 other-ascriptive use of, 162, 170, 185, 188-190, 193, 20 1 , 286, 304305 self-ascriptive use of, 1 63, 1 70, 1 88, 190, 225, 305 practice dispersed, 144-145 integrative, 144-145 Prichard, 206 private language, 5 1 , 55, 57, 64-65, 7 1 , 133, 189-190, 192, 194, 2 1 1 promise, 85, 96, 1 30- 1 3 1 , 149, 1 7 1 , 179, 2 1 4, 234 proper name, 28, 43, 69, 74, 87, 1 62 ''proposition-factor'', 3 1 5 propositional attitude, 33-34, 36-39, 1 04, 1 14 propositional terms, 1 73 Putnam, Hilary, 1 3 , 52-53, 58, 72, 1 35, 209, 223, 266-272, 278 Q-criterion. See criterion quasi-essentialist concept, 1 1 7, 178, 25 1, 257-259 Quine, V.O., 224 Rawls, John, 124-125, 1 30, 1 34, 1 38,

Index 140-141 Raz, 263 Recanati, Francois, 1 5 6 reference, 5-6, 66, 69, 85, 9 1 , 1 50, 1 6 1 , 1 69, 206, 230, 233, 23 5-236, 253, 264, 275-277, 293 referring expression, 88, 91 representation, 33, 7 1 Rosenberg, Jay, 93, 95, 1 1 1 Ross, W.D., 196, 206, 305-306, 3 1 8 rule. See convention Russell, Bertrand, 35, 69 Ryle, Gilbert, 3 , 198, 20 1 , 224, 286-287, 315 sarcasm, 30, 1 05, 1 09-1 1 0 Saunders, J.T., 1 92 Schatzki, Theodore R., 143-145 Schiller, Marvin, 1 3 5-136, 1 54, 192, 248-249 Schilpp, P.A., 193 Scriven, Michael, 1 82, 192 Searle, John, 4, 9, 1 1 , 49, 5 1, 7 1 , 74, 7576, 79-80, 82-83 , 86-87, 100-102, 1 1 1 , 1 1 5-1 1 7 122, 124-125, 128, ' 1 3 3-1 34, 1 3 7-138, 148, 1 54-155, 1 92, 234-23 5, 248 semantic convention/rule, 60, 123, 166 sense of language, 281-282, 3 14 sense-datum theory, 27, 292-295 sexual harassment, 274 Shoemaker, Sidney, 1 86, 1 90 Shope, Robert, 6, 17, 22, 32-39, 4 1 , 45 Sibelius, Jan, 2 1 9 Sibley, Frank, 1 83, 2 1 6-217, 2 1 9, 226, 244 Sidgwick, Henry, 276 sign- I , 98-99 sign-2, 98-99 signal, 5, 39, 78, 98 significance, 72, 85, 98, 1 2 1 , 143 signification. See meaning skeptic, 183, 185, 193, 2 1 1 , 292, 294, 304 skepticism, 133, 290 Skinner, B.F., 153 Slote concept (S-concept), 1 95, 212, 2 14215 Slote, Michael, 1 1, 197, 2 1 2-2 15, 226,

323 25 1-253, 25 9-26 1 , 263 Speake, Jennifer, 263 speech, 3-4, 7, 1 0-1 1 , 2 1 -22, 25, 50, 69, 70, 74-75, 77, 79-80, 82-87, 102, 1 14-1 1 6, 123, 125-126, 128, 1361 39, 142-143, 145-150, 152-154, 1 87, 287 as practice, 1 1 , 1 3 , 49-50, 52, 67, 7 1 , 1 14-1 1 6, 136, 138-139, 143, 145, 1 50, 152, 154 speech act theory, 4, 9, 3 1 , 5 1 , 74-75, 80, 82-84, 1 1 5, 1 1 7, 1 37, 1 88 S-phenomenon, 2 1 3-2 14 Spinoza, Benedict de, 200 St. Augustine. See Augustine standard of excellence intrinsic, 261-262, 264 relative, 261-262, 264 Stern, Kenneth, 122, 134 Strawson, P.F., 1 3 , 62, 64-65, 68, 1 62, 1 69-170, 173, 175, 189-190, 198, 20 1 , 207, 224, 287, 304-305, 3 123 14, 3 1 7 symbol, 5, 32-33, 36, 38, 48, 70, 78-79, 98, 138, 143 symbolic form, 1 04, 1 3 8 ''symptom'' (Wittgenstein), 5 8-60, 66, 98, 1 62, 176, 178, 180, 182-183, 204, 220, 222-223 synonymity, 8 1 -83, 1 68-169, 173-1 74, 285-286, 295-296 Tarski, Alfred, 3, 1 7, 20, 26 technics, 264 Theory of important criteria, 2 1 2, 2 5 1 theory of meaning, 6, 9, 1 6-17, 1 9, 27, 52, 54, 84, 87, 92, 296 ideational, 4, 67, 77, 93 referential, 4, 7, 48, 68, 78, 1 0 1 truth-conditional. See truth­ conditional theory of meaning use theory, 9, 89 Thompson, Janna, 1 67 Toulmin, Stephen, 283, 3 1 7 Travis, Charles, 93, 95, 1 1 1 truth, 3-4, 7, 1 7- 1 8, 20-30, 35-36, 4042, 45, 58, 60-61 , 63, 66, 85, 102, 1 36, 1 6 1 , 165, 168, 172-173, 179,

Meaning and Criteria

324 182,184,186,188,217,281,289291-292,300,314,316 truth and meaning, 17 truth-condition, 3,6-8,11, 21,23-31,40, 45,54,60,63,77,161,163,168171,179 truth-conditional theory of meaning, 3,7, 17,19,21-22,24-28,31,40--41,78, 104 truth-value, 7,18,25-27,30,33,36,4041,45,61-62,314 type-token distinction, 11,81,84 Ur-language game, 49 Urmson, J.O., 293,316 use. See meaning vague expression, 178,203-205, 252 vagueness, 5,27,31,50,71,118,120, 130,134,204,206,210,225 value expression, 12-13 Verifiability Principle of Meaning, 300 verification, 291,297,300,302,317 Vienna Circle, 297,317 Waismann, Friedrich, 210 warrant (Toulmin), 13, 256, 281, 283, 285,292,296,301-302,310-312, 314 Weitz, Morris, 209 Williams, Meredith, 48,50,66,71,73 Williams, Stephen G., 7,17-18,21-26, 37,40-42 Wisdom, J.O., 317 Wittgenstein, Ludwig, 2-3,6,8-11,36, 47-52,54-59,61-75,78,89-91, 105,114,116,120,133,137-138, 144-145,154,162,166-167,169170,172,175-178,180-183,185, 189-193,207,210-211,214,220, 222,224,226,252,257,260,271, 302,317 Yandell, Keith, 173 Ziff, Paul, 52,94-95,122