Tag: Inference

Scotist Semiotics?

Still slowly working on a re-reading and partial translation of Olivier Boulnois’s L’Être et représentation (1999), we have already gotten a hint that Latin scholastics such as Roger Bacon and John Duns Scotus used some of the very same key terminology as the 20th-century Saussurean structuralists, but seem to have held a diametrically opposed view on the specific matter of the relation of signifier and signified. Boulnois does not explicitly mention the more recent French context. The last post was in part about what is called “signification”.

As a university student in the late 70s, I was tremendously excited to learn about French so-called “structuralism”, which seemed to support my own primitive insight that “relations are prior to things”. In this context there was a lot of talk about signifier and signified, growing out of the structural linguistics of Ferdinand de Saussure. Together with the American pragmatist Charles Pierce, Saussure is considered to have originated modern semiotics, or the study of signs. For a while, semiotics was high on my horizon.

A key point in the Saussurean tradition, which grew very big in postwar France, was that there is no direct relation of the signifier to the signified. Instead, it was said in effect that we are signifying animals who live and thrive in a sea of signifiers, and build meaning out of differentiation.

For Saussure, the signified is not the referent but the concept. What the concept really is was not discussed in detail. Saussure himself seems to have seen it as falling under what he called psychology and social psychology, which was a rather conventional view when he was writing in the early 20th century, but this plays no real role in his theory.

What is essential is the detachment of signification from reference. For Saussure, the sign is a two-leveled thing that consists of (sensible) signifier and (conceptual) signified. But in relation to its referents in the world, the sign is “arbitrary”. The sound or word “tree” has no inherent relation to a tree. I am not concerned to argue for or against Saussure here, just setting the stage.

For Roger Bacon, signs refer directly to things. For Scotus, “The sign leads immediately to the signified. Between them, we must not ask about any intermediary. It attaches only to a single signified: the present thing itself. It represents it” (p. 26, my translation throughout, emphasis in original throughout)

Here we see an explicit strong positive valuation both on presence and immediacy, and at the same time on representation. Representability will be Scotus’s minimal criterion of being. I see all three of these claims as deeply problematic, but that does not mean they can be simply and categorically rejected.

“This theory is unfolded in four theses:

“1) Every sign is a thing, and reciprocally every thing can be a sign; it is thus that the father is a sign in relation to his son. ‘The sign is said relative to a signified, as “father” relative to a “son”; and it is also necessarily the sign of something, which is its foundation.’ A sign is at the same time the manifestation of something, and refers to an other. It is necessarily a real foundation, even if it also implies a relation of signifying/signified. On the one hand, it brings an information to the sense, the sensible species (visible, audible, etc.), or to the cognitive power (the intelligible species); on the other, it produces a knowledge of something else” (ibid).

The sign thus brings a (participial or ongoing) “information” or informing form to sense or intellect.

The notion of forms being somehow transmitted, and of their being a kind of thing that can be transmitted, has an interesting ambiguity. The image of species as discrete things flying through the air seems hard to sustain. And yet, there is a sense in which form is not locked up in one thing, but can be “communicated”. And what we call the thing — not merely stuff or an object, but participial “information”, or some form as a happening — is grounded in the becoming or manifestation associated with a present participle.

This manifestation is the mark of reality, which is not just a collection of ready-made objects or truths but a process of being manifested. This goes beyond mere presence as a snapshot or image capable of being mastered, and beyond mere representation as referentially standing for something. This is the sense in which objectivity as a happening involving essentiality goes far beyond the mere being of objects mastered or possessed.

I have always thought it was a happening or unfolding (or happening-as-unfolding, as distinct from happening as a mere punctual event — procession or “emanation”) like this that the neoplatonic talk about something beyond being aimed at — not mere being-there or a necessary support for it, but a nonpunctual unfolding of unmastered essence that is precisely not to be identified with “Being”, or with the putative object of “ontology”. And on the other hand, I want to think that ordinary being is already nonpunctual or outside of itself, and thus strictly transcends both representation and event, at very the same time that it is susceptible to genuine understanding and criteria of reasonableness.

“2) Every sign supposes an inference. Here Scotus recollects the Aristotelian heritage, in line with the unification aimed at since Albert the Great. Taking the theology of sacraments as a point of departure, and trinitarian theology as an example, it is not limited to the model of the linguistic sign. The sign permits an inference, which starts from the posterior to go back to the inferior [sic]: if b, then a. A thing signifies another if its existence entails that of another, be it anterior or posterior. Indeed it becomes the element of a reasoning by inference or likelihood (enthymeme). One same theory of the sign is to provide an account of signification and of inference. It allows a unified theory of semiotics as cognitive science to be constructed. The linguistic sign is only a particular case, thought on the model of inference. It functions not as a code (according to a biunivocal correspondence), but according to relations that are more numerous and more complex” (p. 27).

Quite unexpectedly, we have here not only an emphasis on inference in the context of signification, but it is contrasted with a mechanical code or biunivocal correspondence in a way that makes it sound like what Sellars and Brandom call material inference. But for Brandom this grounds a non-representationalist account, whereas Scotus, as we will see over the course of a number of upcoming posts, is arguably the arch-representationalist of the whole Western tradition.

“3) Scotus aims to provide a general and unique theory of the sign. To be a sign, it suffices to be a thing. But what is a ‘thing’? Not always a sensible, physical, material reality: for him it suffices to have a formal being, a reality sufficiently unified and positive to be able to be opposed to the term with which it is in relation, to become the foundation of this relation. The sign is the real term of a real knowledge. Unlike a sensible thing, a sign is first of all a formal object, a possible object of knowledge. ‘This is true not only of the sensible sign, taking “sense” [in Augustine’s definition] strictly, for the corporeal sense, but again it is true for the incorporeal sense, taking sense generally, for any cognitive power.’ The senses are not only sensibility (here, in the organic sense), but knowledge in the broad sense — intellection. The sign is not always sensible; it can be immaterial, and consist in a concept or an intelligible species. Like Bacon, Duns Scotus integrates in the theory of the sign the intelligible signs that are the concepts of the soul. But he envisions also the case of the angels, who communicate and transmit species or purely intelligible representations. By a philosophical decision, Scotus generalizes the status of the sign. The subtle Doctor gives an indifferent definition that is neutral and transcends genres. He conceives a transcendental semiotic” (pp. 27-28, brackets in original).

The idea of “formal distinction” — roughly, that there can be a “real” difference in definition where there is no difference in “being”, whatever that is — seems both plausible, and by no means inherently tied to the objectionable claims that will is superior to reason.

I’m still grappling with the suggestion that a concept could be a sign. That concepts are inferences, or at least are closely associated with inferences, seems plausible enough, and certainly better than the idea that a concept is a mental image. Brandom identifies concepts with rules we adopt to govern inference. That signification is closely related to inference also makes sense. But while it makes sense that a concept would be immaterial, I find it hard to affirm that the same would be true of a sign.

“4) The sign concerns the category of relation. Bacon had already remarked that ‘the sign pertains to the category of relation’. By itself, the sign brings about the knowledge of something else. It is constituted by a relation of inference to the thing signified. Does it go the same for signification as for knowledge? For Bacon, the sign represents something to someone: it implies two relations, in the accusative and in the dative, toward the signified and toward the interpreter, and it is the second that is essential. But Aristotle himself describes knowledge as a relation, and remarks that the destruction of the thing known entails that of the corresponding knowledge. Does the sign still signify when its signified disappears? The first, traditional, position consists in dissociating the truth of enunciation from the truth of the sign, and says, like Anselm, that there is a ‘true sign’ even when it does not signify something. Quite the contrary, for Bacon the sign loses its value as a sign. ‘If we cannot conceive anything by a sign, it is void (cassum) and vain, it cannot be a true sign; but it is only a sign according to the substance of the sign, and it does not have the status of a sign: it is thus that the substance of the father remains when his son is dead, but not the relation of paternity. And whatever vocal sound, the circle of wine or an other [sign], imposed in act in relation to a thing and instituted for it, can represent it and signify it, if what it signifies does not exist in act, it is not a sign in act.’ If the thing that it represents is absent, the sign represents nothing, it is indeed not a sign. It must receive a new institution” (pp. 28-29).

This use of Latin substantia seems very far indeed from Aristotle’s ousia.

Earlier, Boulnois had contrasted the radicality of Bacon’s direct realism with traditional views. He said that Bacon’s notion of the sign — in contrast with either that of Augustine or that of Aristotle — involves only two elements, omitting the mediating role of concepts or of the soul. Here it sounds like Bacon on another level does still leave a role for an interpreter. But perhaps an implicit distinction is being made between interpretation as immanent to the level of content (which a direct realist would presumably reject), and a transcendent dimension of something like the person of an interpreter standing over and above any content, which may be related to the voluntarism we will be hearing about shortly.

“The distinction between the kinds of sign is at the center of the semiotic theory: it brings out the principal articulations, and in particular allows the relation of signs in general to linguistic signs, of semiotics to semantics, to be thought. In Scotus, the relation signifier/signified is organized along three divisions” (p. 30).

Much more than a simple division of the subject matter is going on here.

“1) The relation signifier/signified can be natural or conventional. The natural sign manifests a real relation that is found in nature, while the conventional sign translates a relation of reason, which only exists for the intellect that establishes it. This opposition recovers the division between two kinds of inferential signs. The non-linguistic natural signs imply a causality and a real relation; the instituted signs, of which linguistic signs are a part, imply an intellectual decision, and indeed a relation of reason. The conventional (ad placitum) sign has only a relation of reason with its object; it is a second intention, a simple perspective of the mind with no objective correlate. Scotus gives as an example ‘the voice and the gestures of the monks’ who have taken a vow of silence. These signs ‘could signify other things, if it pleased the institutors’, for what has been instituted at will can be revoked at will. — But the natural sign better reveals the essence of the sign: ‘The natural sign signifies more truly than the conventional sign’. In effect, the natural relation of the thing to its sign is a real relation, implying a first intention: an aspect of the thing has exercised a direct causality on what signifies it. For example, the relation of smoke to fire and that of the thing to the concept are real” (pp. 30-31).

The vocabulary of first and second intentions comes from Avicenna. Roughly, first intentions are supposed to refer directly to concrete real things and genera like “horse”, whereas second intentions refer to abstract concepts like “subject” or “genus”. For Avicenna, Scotus, and others in the scholastic tradition, second intentions generally have a second-class status and valuation in comparison to first intentions.

Whether there really are such things as natural signs is a question that will have to be considered. Of course insofar as there are natural things, or phenomena that we agree to call natural things, there “are” such natural things as smoke and fire. We can probably agree too that smoke is in some sense “caused” by fire. But that that inference from smoke to fire is truly naturally given, and not in any way due to us, is quite debatable.

Scotus’s talk about the will of the institutors of a language is also problematic. It can be fairly said that the state of a natural language at a given time is not the product of anyone’s will, individual or collective. Even more generally, real history is not based on a foundational moment. It is the cumulative compound of many accidents.

“Duns Scotus nonetheless does not relate signification to knowledge, but to will. Speech is an ordered communication, which makes manifest certain signs of a mutual will…. Language does not express a knowledge, but rather indicates a will…. What we understand, what is said, manifests what the speaker wants to say. It is inscribed in the space of reciprocity (mutuae voluntatis), and not that of monologue or meditation. Finally, it has communication in this space of interlocution as its aim. Language agrees with the human as a being who is not limited to reason, but who is given a will” (p. 31).

The invocation of mutuality and reciprocity and a “space of interlocution” here is an important surprise that makes this more interesting. This overlaps with the concerns of Hegel, Gadamer, Habermas, and Brandom.

I use the locution “I want to say that x” from time to time myself. Right now “I want to say” that while to speak of a definite will in the sense of intending this and not that is a perfectly good distinction, claims that there even is a power of pure arbitrary choice — let alone that it is superior to intellect — ought to be rejected. What the speaker according to herself wants to say is indeed a part of the story of meaning, but it is only a part.

“Signs suppose an institution on our part. They follow from a voluntary decision, and in no way from a nature of signs. The order of signs is not in the nature of things. Established, stopped, they found a status, a state, or an order among the participants in discourse. But the instituted sign can efficaciously represent an invisible reality: a will. It thus represents an intellection, but under its highest form, as will, and allows the willed effect to be produced. The sign thus instituted has a double function: it guarantees the certitude of recognition, it allows the efficacy of its operation. The model is thus that of a pact (pactio), whether it is a matter of a firm engagement (sponsio), a guarantee (fideiussio), or an oath (juramentum). The efficacy of signs comes from a pact between the liberties they represent” (pp. 31-32).

We can see that there is a high-level analogy between this notion of the “institution” of a regime of signs and the common early modern foundation myth of a social contract. Like the social contract, which is supposed to ground strong claims of political sovereignty — and unlike Hegelian mutual recognition, which is always in process and open to another chapter — the institution of signs for Scotus putatively has an “always already founded” status.

As is common in the scholastic tradition, efficacy here is also unequivocally associated with efficient causation, which is treated as the most primary kind of cause, whereas in a purely Aristotelian context efficient causes are subordinate, which implies that efficacy cannot be simply identified with efficient causality. Moreover, for Aristotle himself, something like the art of building is more truly an efficient cause than the architect or the carpenter or the hammer or the hammer’s blow.

“2) The signified can be permanent or intermittent. The sign that always has its signified is a ‘true sign’ in the sense of saint Anselm. It is also called ‘efficacious’ because it implies an efficient causality between the event and its sign. Reciprocally, for the one who depends on it, it always leads to a knowledge. It has no need of an interpreter, and always does what is expected of it: it always realizes its proper operation. The necessary sign can only appear accompanied by its signified: the eclipse is the true sign and efficacity of the interposition of the earth, since it is always the effect. This signification, which rests on a necessary inference, is necessary and always true. Thus all the natural signs are efficacious signs” (p. 32).

From an Aristotelian point of view, I have already expressed some skepticism about the claim that there are natural signs, but in the Catholic tradition it is commonly held that the sacraments, unlike linguistic signs, are efficacious in themselves, and Scotus is giving voice to this.

“But among the conventional signs, certain are efficacious (the sacraments), while others are not. The latter do not always imply their signifieds, but are sometimes true, sometimes false, that is to say neutral. This kind of sign is falsifiable, it is enunciated in variable propositions, and its signification is contingent. It is not efficacious, not having the power to realize its signified: in a proposition, it is not in the power of the speaker to make it so that the sign is accompanied by the thing it signifies. The sign is thus not true by itself, but is an exterior adequation to its signified. The ambivalence between the truth of the sign and truth of adequation mark the division between the conventional sign in general and the efficacious sign” (ibid).

The notion of efficacy here also seems be an all-or-nothing proposition — either total or inapplicable. I think there is a kind of efficacy of signs, but it is never total.

“3) Again we can distinguish signs according to their relation to a temporal signified. Some refer to the past (commemorative signs), others to the future (predictive signs: prognosticum), and others finally to the present (deictic signs: demonstrativum). For Scotus language is a commemorative sign, while the sacrament is a demonstrative sign” (pp. 32-33).

The “commemorative” status of linguistic signs is presumably supposed to be a kind of reference back to a founding event or will. Again I think of social contract theories.

Husserl also speaks of “deictic” expressions, but gives the term the nearly opposite meaning of indexical or occasional, as contrasted with ideal. Something like Husserlian deictic expressions are called “floating” signifiers in the Saussurean tradition, because they have no fixed reference.

“According to Thomas Aquinas, every sacrament has an omnitemporal signification. It is the sign of the past, of the present, and of what is to come (it recalls respectively the Passion of Christ, source of all grace, the present which is the gift of grace, and the glory to which every grace destines the human). Its signification contains an essential presence, present to all the dimensions of time. For Scotus, on the contrary, the sacrament is a demonstrative sign. Like every sign, it has an intentionality pro praesenti. It refers to the present and to it alone. It is in this sense that it is a representative sign: the representational function of the sacrament as sign implies the realization of the signified at the instant of its utterance, and indeed the temporal presence of the object represented. It has a deictic dimension that is demonstrative, in contrast to memory and the promise. Representation is first of all a form of presence.”

Aquinas and Scotus are both doing things with presence, but it seems as though presence in Scotus is contracted to a punctual status that is connected with a punctual or all-at-once view of representation. The strong association of representation with presence is also important.

“Duns Scotus cannot accept the thesis according to which the verb in present tense signifies the instant at which the utterance of every enunciation is completed, or all the conclusions that depend on it. ‘When it is uttered, the verb cosignifies time in the same way that it signifies [the signified]’: as a consequence, when it cosignifies the present, it only refers to the instant of its utterance. When no indication comes to specify a proposition, the time of the enunciated in the present is that of its enunciation. The intention of the speaker comes to coincide with the rhythm of the phrase. Expressed temporality follows lived temporality. In the same way, by the force of discourse, the demonstrative pronoun hoc [this] signifies what it shows the instant it is proffered” (pp. 32-34).

For Brandom, pronouns like “this”, far from being indissociable from immediacy, are anaphoric back-references to something said before.

“Three metaphysical principles are interlaced in the Scotist semantics: the primacy of the will for justifying the institution of signs, that of univocity for establishing their ideal state, and that of presence for explicating their temporal reference” (p. 34).

Next in this series: A Triangular Relation

Signs, Concepts, Things

Aristotle, Augustine, and Boethius each in their own way discuss signification as a triadic relation, with the soul or concepts in between signs and things. The 13th-century Franciscan Roger Bacon diverges sharply from this older view, arguing instead that signs refer directly to things. Bacon, who with Albert the Great was the first European to lecture publicly on the major works of Aristotle, is said to have initiated the study of Greek and Arabic optics (perspectiva) in the Latin-speaking world. The 1978 discovery of a manuscript of his lost work De Signis (On Signs) has raised scholarly awareness of his semiotics.

Boulnois has previously mentioned that Bacon treats concepts as a kind of sign. Here he contrasts Augustine and Aristotle with Bacon.

“Augustine thinks signification as a triadic relation between a thing, the sensible species perceived by the senses; another, the signified; and an interpreter, the mediating thought…. From the outset, Augustine distinguishes ‘natural’ signs from ‘given’ signs (data). Natural signs do not involve a voluntary production, but correspond to a natural causality: footprints recall the passage of an animal that produced them, smoke the fire that caused it. But the ‘given’ signs presuppose the intentional activity of a living being” (L’Être et représentation, p. 18, my translation throughout).

I like the idea that there is always need for interpretation.

The idea of natural signs is fascinating. These would have to be distinct from the sensible and intelligible “species” whose existence and role were debated by medieval authors. Whereas species are a kind of images or likenesses of things, smoke is not an image of fire, and tracks are not the image of an animal. The natural signs are each interpretable as effects of a particular kind, that point to a particular kind of natural cause. This implies the existence of a natural causality that is real in the sense of being in the things and not imposed by us, even if its particulars require interpretation.

Meanwhile, “given” signs do reflect a sort of imposition, even if the imposition is not the act of an individual. In contrast with the natural signs, they are said to be voluntary. The main example seems to be the words and expressions of a language. Relative to an individual, they are pre-given; but relative to a historical community, they mean what the community in fact takes them to mean.

“Augustine articulates this theory of the sign to that of language and intellection, notably with the idea of the verbum cordis [word of the heart], mental language, interior word, thought fixed on a word, definitional image of the thing in thought: ‘Even without sounding words, the one who thinks speaks in his heart’ ” (p. 19).

On this view, thought is understood as a kind of speaking in one’s heart. Subjective meanings attributable to speakers of spoken language are to be explained in terms of a “mental language” that is different from, but analogous to, any particular spoken language. This is different from the view that speaking in one’s heart is enabled by an interiorization of spoken language, without the need to posit a separate mental language.

Boulnois contrasts Augustine’s view with Aristotle’s “semiotics of inference”.

“But a completely different definition of the sign, of Aristotelian origin, interferes with this…. Here the sign is a proposition, the point of departure for reasoning by inference, such that it founds a demonstration…. The sign is the antecedent of a conditional proposition or of an inference” (ibid). “The sign, which in Augustine grounds a relation between two things, in Aristotle founds induction between two propositions” (p. 20).

Neither of these is equivalent to the simple view that signs stand for things directly, which is closer to what Bacon will defend. Boulnois is reading Augustine as saying that a sign is or grounds a real relation between two things, and Aristotle as saying it is or grounds a relation of implication between two assertions. But for both Aristotle and Augustine, the sign refers primarily to some kind of relation, rather than simply to a thing.

“Besides this semiotics of inference, Aristotle develops a complex semantics at the beginning of the treatise On Interpretation…. The symbolic relation is constitutive of language, but it can also be expressed in the vocabulary of the semeion [sign], of logical inference, which allows a passage from sensible expressions to concepts…. But by the intermediary of the concept, indirectly, signs refer to the thing” (pp. 20-21).

Aristotle and Augustine each develop their own kind of indirect or mediated or “moderate” realism.

“The Aristotelian definition of the sign as a principle of inference is reprised by Peter of Spain…. Whereas Augustine only envisages signs as presenting sensible species, Bacon wants to account for the intelligibles evoked by Aristotle — the concepts. But he makes them representing signs” (pp. 22-23).

Here Boulnois does connect signs with species in Augustine’s case, but their relation is still not one of identity. Many of Augustine’s medieval readers would likely have interpolated a notion of species (e.g., a sensible species of smoke, for smoke) into their understanding of Augustine’s account. In this way we might say that a sensible species of smoke is a sign of fire (“is” of predication, not “is” of identity). But smoke as a sign of fire is not the same as the sensible species of the smoke.

“This reorganization rests on the concept of representation, already used by Peter of Spain: when a sign represents, it constitutes a term in a proposition, and recalls many intentional objects (the signifieds), or it ‘supposes for’ them. With the concept of representation, expressing a theory of supposition (or of reference), Peter of Spain gives himself the means to unify the general relation between sign and signified (signification in Augustine), and the conventional relation between the vocal sound and the thing named. Avoiding here the mediation of the concept, he brings together under a single vocable the natural relation of the concept to the thing and the conventional relation of the vocal sound to the concept. In reprising this vocabulary, Bacon integrates in the same term of representation the relation of the sensible sign to the thing signified and of the concept to the thing known. He takes sides at the same time against Boethius, in posing that the signified of the concept is the thing itself and not an intermediary concept. Thus while Boethius ordered semantics by noetics, the theory of representation puts them on the same plane” (p. 23).

Direct realism was actually a radical innovation, as Boulnois points out.

“Bacon thus can unify all the relations, natural and conventional, between vocal sounds, intellections, and things, under the general concept of the sign. Even though he recognizes that Aristotle concentrates in the treatise On Interpretation on conventional signs, vocal sounds, it is necessary to produce a universal theory of signs, including intellections, vocal sounds, and writing” (pp. 23-24).

One abstract theory of signs and things signified is used to cover both natural and linguistic cases.

“Starting from this Baconian innovation, it will be necessary to examine the challenges of this response to the great semantic controversy over the sign. If the concept is a sign and if the sign represents the thing itself, in what way do the great semantic questions play out based on this fundamental decision? From this foyer can be explained the natural character of the concept, the convention of the linguistic sign, and the importance of an imposition inscribed in a juridical and political order” (p. 24).

From this standpoint, concepts are assimilated to natural signs, whereas linguistic signs are arbitrary and depend on convention. Concepts on this view are individually self-contained. They are what they are independent of any articulation by us. It remains that they must be naturally or supernaturally given to us. The implicit notion of any concept in Aristotle, on the other hand, depends not only on its form, but also more generally on what is (or would be) well said by us, which is to say on its articulation in language, which must be understood against a background of other articulations in language.

Next in this series: Signification, Representation

Anaphora and Prosentences

This will conclude an examination of Brandom’s early programmatic work “Assertion and Conceptual Roles”. At one point he pithily comments that he is developing an account of saying that does not depend on a prior account of naming. Once again, at a broad level I think that is also something that Aristotle does. Saying viewed this way is more oriented toward valuation than toward representation.

I would suggest that naming is a kind of shorthand for a description or classification that is sufficient to pick something out from other things in the applicable context. What a name cannot be counted on to do is to unambiguously specify an essence or an adequate definition. The very first topic raised in Aristotle’s Categories — which was traditionally placed first in the order of instruction — is “things said in many ways”.

The young Brandom says, “Our strategy now is to use the conditionals we have constructed to develop precise representations of the conceptual contents sentences acquire in virtue of playing a material inferential role in some justificatory system. The most sophisticated use of the notion of a conceptual role has been made by Sellars, who in Science and Metaphysics and elsewhere develops a theory of meaning couched in terms of dot-quoted expressions, where such dot-quotation of an expression results in a term referring to the conceptual (inferential-justificatory) role of that expression” (p. 34).

Every concept worth its salt carries its justification with it. We don’t properly understand an expression if we are unable to justify its use. As Aristotle says, the mark of knowing something is the ability to explain why it is the case. I would maintain that there isn’t any knowing “never you mind how”. The latter is rather the mark of what Plato calls mere opinion.

“According to the present view, it is the defining task of a logic or logical construction that it make possible the explicit codification in a conceptual role of what is implicit in the inferential and justificatory employment of an expression…. [C]onceptual roles in Frege’s and Sellars’ sense can be expressed, using the conditionals of our formal logic not only as the means of expression of roles, but also as providing the model according to which we understand such roles.”

On this view, ordinary if-then reasoning turns out to be a kind of key to understanding meaning. But considerable care is required in working out the details. The conditional that codifies material inferences has different detailed behavior than the common one based on a truth table, and that is a good thing, because the truth table one has significant defects.

“The key to this line of thought is the observation that the only sentences whose roles we understand explicitly are the conditionals. We understand them because we constructed them, stipulating their introduction conditions, and deriving the consequences of such introduction (the validity of detachment)” (ibid).

If-then conditionals allow us to explicitly express the reasons and dependencies that implicitly guide judgment and thought.

“We propose to generalize this clear case, and conceive the mastery of the use of an expression which one must exhibit in order to properly be said to understand it (‘grasp’ its conceptual role) as consisting of two parts, knowing when one is entitled to apply the expression, and knowing what the appropriate consequences of such application are (what justifies using the expression, and what inferences one licenses by so doing). Applying the expression is thus assimilated to performing an inference from the circumstances of appropriate application of the expression to the consequences of its application” (ibid).

But “applying the expression” is just what assertion is. By these lights, every asserting is an inferring.

“On this model, suggested by the later Carnap’s use of partial reduction forms, the conceptual role of any expression is the pair of its circumstances of appropriate application and the consequences of such application, that is, of its (individually) sufficient conditions and of its (jointly) necessary conditions. The application of that expression is to be thought of as an inference from the former to the latter. Assertion thus becomes a limiting case of inference” (p. 35).

It is inference that grounds assertion, not the reverse. Only through inference can anyone understand the significance of an assertion.

“More must be said, however, about the ramifications of taking conditionals to be the models for the conceptual roles of basic sentences, insasmuch as our strategy has been to construct a conditional as stating explicitly (as a license) what is implicit in an inference from its antecedent to its consequent, and then to assimilate the content of basic statements to the model of these constructed conditional statements” (ibid).

“In general, one might think that it was incoherent or circular to define the contents of the categorical sentences of an idiom in terms of the contents of hypothetical sentences of that idiom…. Our construction avoids this worry, since we define conditionals in terms of the contents of basic sentences only in the sense in which those contents are implicit in the informal inferential practices which are the use of the basic sentences.” (pp. 35-36).

Kant already questioned the primitiveness of categorical judgments. My take is that they constitute a form of shorthand for what are really reasonings or interpretations.

“Nor is there anything peculiar about taking a sub-class of sentences as the paradigms to which all others are assimilated in a theory of meaning. Frege, for instance, treats all sentences as implicit identity statements (involving names of the True or the False)…. Thus Frege constructs a theory of meaning based on terms explicated with the logical device of identity, where we base our account on sentences explicated by means of the logical device of conditionals” (p. 36).

Brandom has a complex relation to Frege, championing some of his early work and questioning some of his later work.

“We attempt to give a direct account of saying and what is said which does not appeal to naming and what is named” (ibid).

“This is the essential difference between conceptual role semantics inspired by the sort of concerns articulated by the later Wittgenstein, and referential semantics inspired by Frege” (ibid).

“As Dummett points out, the later Frege broke from previous logicians in treating logic not as the study of inference, but of a special kind of truth…. This view seems to have been motivated by his presentation of logic as an axiomatic system, where some truths are stipulated and other truths are derived from them by a minimum of purely formal inferential principles. The philosophical critique in terms of linguistic practice of the distinction between meaning-constitutive stipulated truths and empirically discovered truths, together with Gentzen’s achievement of parity of formal power between proof-theoretic methods of studying consequence relations and the truth-oriented methods epitomized by matrix interpretations … require us to reassess the relations of explanatory priority between the notions of inference and truth” (p. 36).

Brandom makes a good case for seeing the early Frege as a proto-inferentialist concerned with the formalization of material inference. The later Frege propounded an original and rather strange notion of truth and truth-values as foundational. He held that truth is a (unique) object referred to by all true statements, rather than a property.

“One of Frege’s achievements is his formulation of the principle of semantic explanation, according to which the appropriateness of a form of inference is to be accounted for by showing that it never leads from true premises to conclusions which are not true. The usual way in which to exploit this principle is to begin with an account of truth (typically in representational or referential terms) and partition a space of abstractly possible inferences and forms of inference into those which are appropriate and those which are not appropriate according to the semantic principle, as Frege does in the Begriffschrift. Our approach in effect reverses this order of explanation, beginning analysis with a set of appropriate inferences and explaining semantic interpretants, including truth-values, in terms of them” (pp. 36-37).

The idea of this “principle of explanation” is that sound reasoning from true premises cannot yield a false conclusion. This is not a fact, but a definition that also has characteristics of a Kantian imperative. It is up to us to make it true.

He considers possible objections to the idea of treating hypothetical judgments as more originary than categorical judgments. This should not be taken to apply at the level of truths. In a similar vein, he also says that what our words mean does not determine what we believe.

“Just as it is implausible to take what is possible as determining what is actual, so it is implausible to take the totality of conditional truths as determining the totality of unconditional truths. Indeed, the possession by a formal system of this semantic property would be a strong reason to take its conditional as not a reasonable rendering of the English hypothetical construction ‘if … then’. Embarrassingly enough, the standard truth-functional (mis-named ‘material’) conditional which Frege employs has just this property, namely that if the truth-values of all of the conditionals of the language are settled, then the truth-values of all the sentences of the language are settled. This is proven in Appendix II” (p. 37).

This surprising proof really turns things around. I suppose this result is related to the concerns about “logical omniscience” in classical logic. It is not reasonable to suppose that if a human knows A, then she necessarily knows all the consequences of A. But this is independent of the question of whether we really know anything unconditionally (I tend to think not). There is a also question whether we are properly said to “know” abstract tautologies like A = A, without necessarily knowing what A is (I am inclined to use some other word than knowledge for these cases).

“Our genuine conditional, introduced as codifying a set of non-formal inferences, will not have this undesirable property…. We avoid that result by taking the principle that appropriate inference should never lead from true premises to conclusions which are not true as a necessary, but not sufficient condition for appropriateness of inference. The truth-functional conditional results from taking the principle to provide sufficient conditions as well” (ibid).

Again, this falls within the tradition of alternative, “better” definitions of implication.

“Taking Frege’s semantic explanatory principle as a necessary condition on an account of inferential relations settles that the primary semantic notion will be whatever it is that is preserved by appropriate inferences. Frege calls this ‘truth’, but abstractly there are other properties which could also play this role (e.g., justificatory responsibility) and there are good reasons to expect an adequate semantic theory to account as well for the preservation of ‘relevance’ of some kind by appropriate inferences. This primary semantic notion, however, pertains only to the use of a sentence as a free-standing assertive utterance. A full notion of sentential content must specify as well the role a sentence has as a component in other, compound, sentences, paradigmatically in conditionals. It cannot be determined a priori that these two roles coincide. If with Frege we take the first semantic property to be a truth-value either possessed or not by any sentence, then the assumption that the second or componential notion coincides with the first results in classic two-valued truth-functional logic” (p. 38).

It is noteworthy that even the later Frege’s concern in this context was with “whatever it is that is preserved by appropriate inferences”.

He has previously used the term “designatedness”, which names that “whatever it is that inference preserves” that plays a role in multi-valued logics broadly analogous to that played by truth in two-valued logics.

“[M]any-valued semantics requires the assignment to each sentence of two different sorts of semantic interpretant: a designatedness value indicating possession or lack by a sentence used as a free-standing utterance of the property which appropriate inference must preserve, and a multivalue codifying the contribution the sentence makes to the designatedness value of compound sentences containing it, according to the principle … Two sentences have the same multivalue if and only if they are intersubstitutable salva designatedness value in every sort of compound sentence” (p. 39).

He relates the current development to technical work on the algebraic interpretation of logics.

“A matrix is characteristic for a logic if it verifies just the theorems of that logic. Lindenbaum showed that every logic has a characteristic matrix, namely the one gotten by taking the set of multivalues to be classes of inferentially equivalent sentences, and the designated multivalues to be the theorems of the logic in question” (ibid).

“We are now in a position to notice that a repertoire, together with the partial ordering induced on the sentences of a repertoire by the conditionals contained in its formally expanded consequence extension constitute such a Lindenbaum matrix” (ibid).

The conditional as Brandom has defined it provably meets Frege’s criterion of inference preservation. Brandom has extended algebraic logic to include patterns of material inference.

“Theorem 1 above shows that modus ponens preserves designatedness, that is membership in the extended repertoire. Or, to put the same point another way, that result shows that our constructed conditional satisfies Frege’s semantic explanatory principle when membership in a repertoire is taken as the prime semantic notion, and social practice determines an antecedent class of appropriate material inferences. The formally extended repertoire thus is, in a precise sense, the characteristic semantic matrix not for a logic or a set of formal inferences, but for a set of material inferences” (p. 40).

“There are three specific points which should be made concerning this interpretation. First, what is captured by semantic matrices is taken to be a matter of formal inferences first, and logical truths verified by the matrix only second, although this is not how such matrices are usually thought of. Second, we generalize the notion of a characteristic matrix for a set of formal inferences to apply to material inferences as well. Finally, notice that in addition to the structure of material inference codified in each repertoire-matrix we can in fact identify a logic with regard to the whole idiom, insofar as some complicated conditionals will appear in all repertoires. We have not constructed a characteristic matrix for this logic by ordering the sentences of the language according to repertoire-designated conditionals. In some ways it is accordingly more appropriate to say that each repertoire expresses a single matrix valuation characteristic of a set of material inferences, and that the whole idiom comprising all admissible repertoires is characteristic of the formal or logical inferences involving the conditional we used to make explicit the materially appropriate inferences” (ibid).

“In this way, then, we can exploit Frege’s semantic explanatory principle and the truth-oriented matrix semantics it inspired as theoretical auxiliaries useful in the formal analysis of a socially specified set of appropriate inferences” (ibid).

“Seeing logic in the way I have been recommending, however, as a formal tool for the explicit expression of inferential roles, obviates the need for appealing to prior notions of truth or truth-value. We have interpreted Frege’s truth-values as they figure in his semantic principle first as the designatedness values of multivalued logic, and then moving from concern with the codification of formal inference to concern with the codification of material inference, interpreted as expressing membership in a repertoire. Recalling the social practical origins of these repertoires, it would be appropriate to call the two circumstances of membership and non-membership in a particular repertoire assertibility values with respect to that repertoire. We have given a much more precise sense to this term than semantic theorists who advocate the primacy of assertibility over truth typically manage to do, however” (pp. 40-41).

“We represent the matrix valuation on the language induced by a formally expanded repertoire by associating with each sentence its repertoire-relative conceptual role, consisting of inferential circumstances and consequences of assertion. It is clear that this is an adequate representation in that this set of roles, together with the repertoire generating them, determines the partial order of the language by the conditional which is the Lindenbaum matrix. These conceptual roles are thus taken as multivalues, with repertoire membership identified as designatedness with respect to the semantic principle. The multivalues must, of course, determine compounding behavior according to our motivation…. It is … a criterion of adequacy of this representation that sentences with the same conceptual role, that is, multivalue, should be intersubstitutable in conditionals preserving both designatedness values and multivalues” (p. 41).

So far he has focused on a notion of the conditional that is a primitive “arrow” rather than something defined by a truth table. He briefly considers how to define other connectives that work off of the designatedness that plays a truth-like role in multi-valued logics, but again affirms the special importance of conditionals.

” ‘Truth-functional’ connectives can now be introduced using designatedness values as the extensions of sentences…. We would like to be able to semantically interpret all forms of sentence compounding by means of functions taking conceptual roles, or sets of them, into conceptual roles, as we can do for conditionals…. Our use of the conditional as both the model of and a tool for the expression of conceptual roles embodies the belief that the contribution a sentence makes to the roles of conditional it is a component in suffices to determine its role in other compounds” (p. 42).

He quotes Frege saying that the kernel of the problem of judgment splits into that of truth and that of what he calls “a thought”, which refers to some declarative content. Given Frege’s unitary view of “truth”, this thought-content identified with saying and conceptual roles has to be responsible for all differentiation.

“By a thought, Frege makes clear, is intended what is referred to in English by that-p clauses. We have identified these judged contents as conceptual roles. In what follows, we try to exhibit a representative variety of uses of such that-p clauses in terms of conceptual roles” (p. 43).

Finally we come to prosentences.

“Our starting point is the prosentential theory of truth of Grover, Camp, and Belnap. That account can best be sketched as the product of three different lines of thought: i) the redundancy theory of Ramsey and others, which says that the conceptual content of ‘it is true that-p‘ is always just the same as that of p…. ii) an account of truth in terms of infinite conjunctions and disjunctions…. [T]he best succinct statement of this view is in Putnam’s Meaning and the Moral Sciences…. ‘If we had a meta-language with infinite conjunctions and infinite disjunctions (countable infinite) we wouldn’t need “true”!…. [F]or example, we could say … “He said ‘P1‘ & P1” (ibid).

“iii) Finally, and this is what is distinctive to the view under discussion, it is observed that pronouns serve two sorts of purposes. In their lazy use, … they may simply be replaced by their antecedents (salva conceptual role). In their quantificational use, as in ‘Each positive number is such that if it is even, adding it to 1 yields an odd number’, the semantic role of the pronoun is determined by a set of admissible substituends (in turn determined by the pronomial antecedent)” (p. 44).

“Thus ‘Everything he said is true’ is construed as a quantificational prosentence, which picks up from its anaphoric antecedent a set of admissible substituends (things that he said), and is semantically equivalent to their conjunction” (ibid).

“The authors of the prosentential theory are concerned that ‘is true’ be taken to be a fragment of a prosentence, not a predicate which characterizes sentence-nominalization…. The authors are worried that if the first part of a sentence of the form ‘X is true’ is taken to be a referring sentential nominalization that, first, ‘is true’ will inevitably be taken to be a predicate, and second, the anaphoric prosentential reference of the whole sentence will be passed over in favor of the view that the nominalization does all the referring that gets done, and would vitiate the view” (p. 45).

“In fact this is a situation in which we can have our cake and eat it too. We consider ‘X is true’ as composed of a sentence nominalization X which refers to sentences, and a prosentence-forming operator ‘is true’.” (ibid).

“Our construction of conceptual roles in terms of conditionals of course presents natural criteria of adequacy for translation functions between repertoires contained in a single idiom, or which are members of different idioms” (p. 51).

“We show now how those semantic facts about the idiom can be expressed explicitly as the content of claims made within that idiom. We use the logical vocabulary of conditionals and repertoire attributions we have already constructed to define a further bit of expressive machinery, that-clauses, which will thus have a logical function in making explicit semantic features implicit in the idiom” (p. 53).

“[T]he account of conceptual roles is novel in being entirely non-representational. In the formal idiom we develop, it is not a necessary feature of a saying that-p that the sentence involved represent some state of affairs. Of course sentences used to say things may also be representations, and this fact might be crucial for the understanding of the use of language in empirical inquiry. But our model is broader, and we may hope that it can find application in the explication of other forms of discourse (e.g., literary and political discourse) where the representational paradigm is less apt than it perhaps is for scientific idioms” (p. 55).

“Perhaps the most important feature of our account is the crucial place given to logic, as providing the formal means by which an idiom can come to express explicitly crucial semantic facts which are implicit in the system of justificatory practices which are the use of a language. We argued that the function thus assigned to logic as a formal auxiliary in a theory of meaning is that which Frege originally envisioned and pursued. Our own development looked at he codification of inferential practices in conditionals in some detail, and somewhat less closely at the codification of repertoires in prosentences containing ‘is true’ and in propositional attitudes, and at the codification of roles in ‘that’-clauses. The basic claim here is that logic must not be restricted to the analysis of the meanings sentences acquire in virtue of the formal inferences they are subject to, as is the usual procedure). Logic should not be viewed as an autonomous discipline in this way, but as a tool for the analysis of material inference, and for making explicit the roles played by sentences in systems of material inferential practice. Using logical devices so interpreted, we were able to specify not only what role a performance needs to play in a system of social practices in order to be a saying (asserting, professing, claiming, etc.) that-p, but also to show what it is about that system of practices in virtue of which the content of such a saying can be that someone else has said (asserted, etc.) something. Indeed the only sort of ‘aboutness’ we ever employ is the reference of one bit of discourse to another (anaphoric reference if performance or sentence tokens are at issue, and mediated by conceptual roles otherwise)” (pp. 55-56).

When Aristotle discusses saying something about something, implicitly that second something is also something said. This phrase refers to that phrase. The kind of reference that is most relevant in all this is what I think of as constitutive cross-reference, or as Brandom calls it, back-reference or anaphora. Less adequately, it has been called “self” reference, but if we examine this closely, it does not involve a unitary self or a pure undifferentiated reflexivity, but rather parts referring to other parts.

Conceptual content emerges out of a sea of cross-reference. A constitutive molecular cross-reference of Fregean declarative “thoughts” or “content” or Aristotelian “sayings” precedes sedimentation into molar subjects and objects.

Epilogue to this series: Anaphora and Reason Relations

What Meaning Is

Brandom has characterized the focus of his interests as the theory of meaning. Recent additions to his website include a fascinating 1980 typescript “Assertion and Conceptual Roles”. This early piece has a programmatic character. It goes even further than the 1976 dissertation in anticipating the leading ideas of his major works. (I will omit the also interesting mathematical-logical formalization that he experiments with here, but steers away from in Making It Explicit and A Spirit of Trust.)

While Brandom is resolutely modern in his identifications, this sort of investigation was pioneered by Aristotle. Meaning and truth are approached in terms of a kind of normative “saying” that is up to us. But the paradigmatic kind of saying is what Aristotle calls “saying something about something”, so it is not entirely up to us. Finally, the paradigmatic use of language is dialogical, imbued with a Socratic ethic of dialogue and free-spirited inquiry. And what we most fundamentally are is dialogical talking animals.

As Brandom puts it in the first sentence, “The paradigmatic linguistic activity is saying that-p, in the sense of asserting, claiming, or stating that-p for some declarative sentence p” (p. 1).

Today “declarative” is also an important if ill-defined concept in the theory of programming languages, where its use has a close relation to the logical use that is given ethical significance here. In that context, it is often glossed as focusing on the what not the how (or the end and not the means), although that is a simplification.

The deep issue underneath both these disparate cases is something like the meaning of meaning. In what follows, I think Brandom makes some real progress in clarifying what is at stake. It has both ethical and formal dimensions.

“Frege shows in the Begriffschrift that the ways in which sentences can occur as significant constituents of other sentences require us to distinguish the content of such an assertion (what is asserted) and the force of the assertion (the asserting of that content). For when a sentence appears as the antecedent of a conditional, it must have something, let us call it the ‘content’, in common with its occurrence as a free-standing assertion, or there would be no justification for detaching the consequent of the conditional when one is prepared to assert its antecedent. On the other hand, the asserting of the conditional does not include the asserting of the antecedent, since the asserter of the conditional might well take the former to be true and the latter to be false. It is a criterion of adequacy for any account of either of these features of declarative discourse that it be compatible with some correct account of the other” (ibid).

I had not realized that the Fregean distinction of Sinn (sense or force) and Bedeutung (reference) arose in this context of reference relations between parts of compound sentences. It seems likely that this point attributed to Frege was a source for Michael Dummet’s work on compound sentences in which one part refers to another, which Brandom had made significant use of a few years earlier, in the dissertation. Dummet was a leading Frege scholar.

It strikes me also that in a formal context, this inter-reference between components of compound sentences could serve as an inductively definable and thus paradox-free version of “self” reference. In a more discursive, less formal context, it recalls Kantian-Hegelian “reflection” and other interesting weakenings of strict identity like Hegel’s “speculative” identity or Ricoeur’s “narrative” identity. Instead of a formally strict and thus empty global self-reference, it is a matter of specifiable internal cross-reference.

Further below, Brandom will explicitly connect this with the theme of anaphora or internal back-reference that he later develops at length in Making It Explicit as a way in which identities are constituted out of difference. In the current text he will also relate it to the “prosentential” theory of truth. Prosentences like “that is true” are the sentential analogue of pronouns — they refer to sentences that express definite propositions in the same way that pronouns refer to nouns. Brandom is saying that concrete meaning involves both Fregean sense and Fregean reference.

“Exclusive attention to the practice of asserting precludes understanding the conceptual significance which such linguistic performances express and enable, while the complementary exclusion must cut off semantic theory from its only empirical subject matter, talking as something people do” (ibid).

Standard bottom-up compositional approaches to semantics focus exclusively on the “content”, and not on the related doing.

“[I]t might be tempting to think that such a theory offers special resources for a theory of asserting as representing, classifying, or identifying. It is important to realize that the same considerations which disclose the distinction of force and content expose such advantages as spurious” (ibid).

“There is no reason to suppose that the semantic representability of all sentences in terms of, say, set-membership statements or identity statements, reflects or is reflected in the explanatory priority of various kinds of linguistic performances” (p. 2).

“It then turns out that giving a rich enough description of the social practices involved in assertion allows us to exhibit semantic contents as complex formal features of performances and compound dispositions to perform according to those practices. In other words, I want to show that it is possible to turn exactly on its head the standard order of explanation canvassed above” (p. 3).

“To specify a social practice is to specify the response which is the constitutive recognition of the appropriateness of performances with respect to that practice…. But in the case of discursive practices, the constitutive responses will in general themselves be performances which are appropriate (in virtue of the responses the community is disposed to make to them) according to some other social practice. The appropriateness of any particular performance will then depend on the appropriateness of a whole set of other performances with similar dependences. Each social practice will definitionally depend upon a set of others” (p. 4).

This notion of practice is thus inherently normative or value-oriented. Brandom compares his holistic view of practices with Quine’s holistic view of the “web of belief”.

“Definitional chains specifying the extension of one practice in terms of its intension, and that intension in terms of another extension, and so on, may loop back on one another. We will say that any system of social practices which does so … is a holistic system…. Such a system of practices cannot be attributed to a community piecemeal, or in an hierarchic fashion, but only all at once.”

The key point about such a holistic system is that there are mutual dependencies between parts or participants.

“It follows that in systems containing essentially holistic practices, the norms of conduct which are codified in such practices are not reducible to facts about objective performances. The appropriateness or inappropriateness of any particular performance with respect to such a practice cannot ultimately be expressed in terms of communal dispositions to respond with objectively characterizable sanctions and rewards…. The norms themselves are entirely constituted by the practices of socially recognizing performances as according or not according with them” (p. 5).

“Facts about objective performances” have a monological character. In technical contexts this can be of great value. But ethical and general life contexts have an inherently dialogical or mutual character.

“A community ought to be thought of as socially synthesized by mutual recognition of its members, since a plausible sufficient condition of A‘s being a member of some community is that the other members of that community take him to be such…. This simple Hegelian model of the synthesis of social entities by mutual recognition of individuals has the advantage that it preserves the basic distinction between the individual’s contribution to his membership in a group and the contribution of the other members” (p. 6, emphasis added).

Here we have the first appearance of the great theme of mutual recognition in Brandom’s work. Brandom has dug deeply into this particular aspect of Hegel, making very substantial contributions of his own. In ethics, mutual recognition has roots in Aristotelian philia (friendship or love) and the so-called golden rule (do and do not do to others as you would have them do and not do to you). Brandom sees that Hegel treats mutual recognition not only as an ethical ideal but also as a fundamental explanatory principle.

“The crucial point is that the reflexive recognition (as social self-recognition) be an achievement requiring the symmetry of being recognized in a particular respect by those whom I recognize in that respect, and presupposing that my recognitions will be transitive…. A community is then any set P which is closed under transitive recognition…. [N]o one member is omniscient or infallible about such membership…, nor is it required that everyone recognize everyone else in the community” (p. 7).

The symmetry of recognizing and being recognized leads to the idea that authority and responsibility ought to be symmetrically balanced. This has tremendous implications.

“Asserting that-p is, among other things, to explicitly authorize certain inferences…. Saying this much does not yet say what the constitutive recognition of this authorizing consists in…. Our account of the authorizing of inferences will draw upon the second major feature of the social role of assertion” (ibid).

The idea of understanding acts of assertion principally in terms of an inferential constitution of meaning is transformative. Others have suggested or implied something like this, but Brandom expresses it with more clarity and thoroughness than anyone.

Reasoning is not a merely technical activity. The constitution of meaning has fundamental ethical significance.

“This second feature is noted by Searle when he says that an assertion (among other things) ‘counts as an undertaking to the effect that p represents an actual state of affairs’. Leaving aside the representationalist expansion of the content ascribed, we can see in the use of the term ‘undertaking’ the recognition of a dimension of responsibility in assertion, coordinate with the previously indicated dimension of authority. In asserting that-p one is committing oneself in some sense to the claim that-p. What sort of responsibility is involved? The leading idea of the present account is that it is justificatory responsibility which one undertakes by an assertion. Justification and assertion will be exhibited as essentially holistic social practices belonging to the same system of practices, internally related to one another. So the recognitive response-type which is the intension of the social practice of assertion must include recognition of the assertor as responsible for justifying his assertoric performance under suitable circumstances…. Authority in this sense consists in the social recognition of a practice as authorizing others” (pp. 9-10).

“What is essential is that the relation between the intensions and the extensions of a family of social practices underwrite a relation of what we may call (extending the usual sense) anaphoric reference between various performances. The term ‘anaphoric’ is used to indicate that this ‘referential’ relation is internal to a system of social practices, where one performance refers to another as one word refers to another in A: ‘Pynchon wrote the book’ B: ‘But has he tried to read it?’, where the pronouns anaphorically refer to the antecedent terms ‘Pynchon’ and ‘the book’. No relation between discursive and non-discursive items is supposed. A prime use of this expressive resource of anaphoric reference to typed utterings is exhibited just below, as a feature of demands for justification” (p. 12).

In Making It Explicit, Brandom uses linguistic anaphora to explain the constitution of objects as objects. Here he gives it an even broader role. Anaphora or back-referencing is the birth of substance, solidity, and modality in meaning. Again the ethical dimension comes to the fore. Assertion as lived concerns neither naked Parmenidean being nor pure objective facts.

“The key to our attempt to offer sufficient conditions for assertion by specifying a class of systems of social practices is the relation of justification which a set of assertions can have to another assertion…. Both the dimension of authority and the dimension of responsibility will be explicated in terms of the recognition of justification. Each of the different types of assertion which play a role in the systems we will examine, free-standing assertions, assertions which are the results of inferences authorized by other assertions, and assertions which are part of the justification which another asserting made its asserter responsible for, each of these types of assertion incurs a justificatory responsibility itself and authorizes further inferences. The relevant responsibility is to produce (what would be recognized as) an appropriate justification, if one is demanded…. The utterance of a conventional request for justification addressed to a foregoing assertion is to be always appropriate, and not itself in need of justification. The cognitive significance of the linguistic practices we describe stems from this universal appropriateness of demands for further justification (as Sellars takes the ‘rational’ structure of scientific practice to consist in its being a ‘self-correcting enterprise which can put any claim in jeopardy, though not all at once’…. An utterance in the conventional style of assertions (utterances which undertake justificatory responsibilities and issue inference licenses whose contents vary as the content of the assertion vary) will constitutively be recognized as possessing that authority only so long as the conditional responsibility to justify if queried has not been shirked…. No more for this distinction than elsewhere in the social practice story need we appeal to intentions or beliefs of performers” (pp. 12-13).

As I’ve mentioned a number of times, other variants of this ethics of dialogue or dialogical ethics have been developed by Plato, Gadamer, and Habermas.

“For just as inference passes the authority of assertion one way along the anaphoric chain, it also passes the justificatory responsibility incurred the other way along that chain” (p. 14).

“The extended responsibility induced by the presentation of a justification is defeasible by the performance of a counter-justification, comprising further assertions…. The categories of justificatory and counter-justificatory performances are not disjoint” (p. 17).

“Each of these conditions codifies some aspect of our ordinary practices of giving and asking for reasons” (p. 18).

“[A] set of basic and extended repertoires related by an accessibility relation will be called a conceptual idiom…. It is in terms of these still rather particularized structures that we will define assertional contents or conceptual roles” (pp. 18-19).

Next in this series: Conditionals and Conceptual Roles

Truth and Assertibility

Here we consider the second to last chapter of Brandom’s 1976 dissertation, which has proven to be quite an interesting document. On the one hand, he contrasts Dewey’s pragmatist notion of “warranted assertibility” with standard representationalist theories of truth. On the other, he argues that a thorough account of assertibility conditions entails an account of truth conditions, and that a thorough account of truth conditions entails an account of assertibility conditions. This chapter uses some formal logical machinery and a running series of examples, both of which I will downplay.

The very idea of examining the conditions that make something true is already quite sophisticated. One could almost forget its representationalist and foundationalist origins, because here we seem to be dealing with something more like reasons why. Truth conditions border on the territory of subjunctive robustness that Brandom develops in his later work. Truth in this sense is not just a static property that sentences abstractly and in a binary way have or do not have.

“The dominant tradition in contemporary philosophy of language, influenced by Frege, Russell, Wittgenstein of the Tractatus, Tarski, and Carnap, takes truth to be the basic concept in terms of which a theory of meaning, and hence a theory of language, is to be developed. According to this view, the essential feature of language is its capacity to represent the way things are. Understanding this function in detail is a matter of describing the conditions under which particular sentences truly represent the way things are. Formal semantics, the study of the truth conditions of sentences of various sorts of discourse, is the natural expression of this point of view.”

“On the other hand, there is a pragmatic approach to language shared by Dewey and the later Wittgenstein which attributes little or no importance to the notion of truth. According to this view, language, the medium of cognition, is best thought of as a set of social practices. In order to understand how language works, we must attend to the uses to which its sentences are put and the circumstances in which they are used. Dewey claimed that everything useful which could be said about language with the notion of truth could also be said with a more general and methodologically unproblematic notion of justified utterance or ‘warranted assertibility’ ” (p. 101).

The truth to which little or no importance is attributed is truth as representational correspondence. Even representational correspondence still has its uses though, as we will see from his remarks about Russell further below. But first he elaborates on Dewey’s concept.

“We want to associate with each sentence of the language the set of conditions under which it is appropriately uttered, or, as Dewey puts it, ‘warrantedly assertible’. We want, in other words, to associate with each sentence of the language some set, call it the assertibility conditions of the sentence such that our theory of the language gives us a uniform away of generating the regularities of usage a speaker must conform to for a given sentence, given only the ‘assertibility conditions’ assigned to that sentence” (p. 103).

“Now it is clear that no regularity of appropriate utterance which a speaker learns to conform to and which is reconstructed by a hypothetical theory of assertibility conditions for a language can amount to requiring that all utterances be true. To require that each speaker report the presence of a deer when and only when a deer is present would make infallibility a prerequisite for learning the language. The most that can be codified in the conditions of appropriate utterance of such reports is that one report deer when and only when there are what pass in the community as good reasons for believing a deer to be present” (p. 104).

The important thing here from an ethical point of view is not vacuous “certainty” about presumed facts, but the goodness of reasons for believing this or that.

“The suggestion I will develop as to the proper role of truth in explaining language-use is that of Michael Dummett….’Epistemic justifiability’ is a part of what we have called the ‘assertibility conditions’ of an utterance…. What we want to know is indeed how a notion of truth can be ‘born out of’ the less specific mode of commendation which is assertibility. And Dummett’s suggestion is that it is sentential compounding that enforces such a distinction.”

Dummett offers philosophical arguments for the superiority of constructive or “intuitionist” logic over classical logic. Constructive logic does not accept any assertion as primitive. It requires assertions to be justified by concrete evidence, rather than derived from axioms or assumed truths. It thus identifies what is true with what is provable, and at the same time it constrains what qualifies as proof.

The sentential compounding that Dummett emphasizes is a syntactic way of characterizing the idea of logical self-reference. One clause of a compound sentence modifies and refers to another clause or clauses in the same sentence. This is how richer meanings are built up. The suggestion is that truth arises out of this elemental process of refining meanings and increasing their “robustness” by tying them to other meanings.

“The primary sort of compound sentence Dummett has in mind seems to be the conditional” (p. 106).

The if-then form of conditionals is one way of expressing the fundamental notion of logical consequence, or how something follows from something else. Logic is less about distinguishing the true from the false than it is about discerning what follows from what.

“We may take the suggestion, then, to be that truth is ‘born out of’ assertibility as an auxiliary notion introduced to explain the assertibility conditions of some kinds of compound sentences” (p. 107).

“The ideal case would be one in which each compounding operator were assertibility-explicable…. Thus Dummett, giving him his premises, would have shown that English is not uniformly assertibility-explicable…. ” (pp. 110-111). “There are, of course, languages which are assertibility explicable. Intuitionistic mathematics is formulated in such a way that the assertibility conditions of compounds depends only upon the assertibility conditions of the components” (p.111n).

No natural language is purely constructive. Next we come to Brandom’s point about the interdependence of truth conditions and assertibility conditions.

“In the context of the machinery just developed, one thing which we might take Dummett to be saying is that truth is to be defined functionally, as the auxiliary … which explicates a certain class of compounding devices, among which is the conditional. In order to generate in a uniform way the assertibility conditions of compound sentences we need to look not only at the assertibility conditions of the embedded sentences, but also at the truth conditions of those embedded sentences. Put slightly differently, there is a class of compounding devices which are not uniformly assertibility-explicable, and such that they are truth-inducing, in that whatever does explicate them is a truth-concept…. I will try to show that there is a class of compounding devices which ought to be taken to be Truth Inducing Sentential Contexts…. I will try, in other word, to exhibit truth as an auxiliary notion introduced in order to account for the assertibility conditions of certain kinds of compound sentences” (p. 112).

“For if (speaker) meaning is, plausibly, whatever it is that the speaker must be said to ‘know’ when he can use that sentence properly, then that meaning includes on our account not just the assertibility conditions of the sentence, but also the contribution the sentence makes to the assertibility conditions of compound sentences containing it. Identity of assertibility conditions is thus a necessary but not sufficient condition for identity of meaning. Indeed, in any language containing [truth inducing sentential contexts], truth conditions, as well as assertibility conditions, are part of the meaning of each sentence which can appear embedded in a [truth inducing sentential context]” (p. 113).

“According to our formal analysis, then, … English is not assertibility-explicable. So some auxiliary notion must be introduced to generate the assertibility conditions of compound sentences. Dummett’s suggestion, as we have reformulated it, is that there is a class of compounding devices in English such that the auxiliary notion we need to introduce to explicate them (in our technical sense) is truth. What set of compounding devices ought we to take as [truth inducing sentential contexts] in English, then? Presumably the conditional is one” (p. 114).

Truth viewed in this way can be thought of as a kind of identity property that emerges out of the details of how things follow from other things.

In a note he quotes Quine, Roots of Reference (1970), “Two-valued logic is a theoretical development that is learned, like any other theory, in indirect ways upon which we can only speculate”, and adds, “The present chapter presents just such a detailed speculation” (ibid).

“The present suggestion is that we take truth as the auxiliary notion introduced … to explicate a certain class of compounds…. This is as yet only the form of a definition, for all we know so far of the class of compounds which would need to be specified is that it contains the devices used in our examples. Assuming that we had some independent characterization of the desired class of compounding devices, then, we could define the truth concept of any particular theory of a language to be that notion which in that theory explicates the hypothesized class. Some theories would be better than others in accounting for language-use, for all of the mundane reasons applicable anywhere else in science — ease of coupling with other theories, power, elegance, intuitive acceptability, exhibition of general principles, and so on. A fortiori, then, some truth-concepts would be better than others, for the language in question. We seek a definition of what it is to be a truth-concept (what role a notion must play in a theory of a language to be functioning as the truth-concept of the language according to that theory) which will allow us to be somewhat precise about the point of truth-theories before the entire details of the ‘best’ theory of any language are known. It is a striking fact that, as Dummett led us to see, we have pretty good intuitions concerning the role of truth in explicating the assertibility conditions of compounds even though we know nothing about such crucial details as what sort of thing the elements of sets of assertibility conditions are best taken to be, and even though we can exhibit no single concrete example of a sentence for which we can write down assertibility conditions” (pp. 116-117).

“Representationalists like Russel, arguing for a language-transcendent notion of truth, have claimed against truth-as-assertibility theorists like Dewey that the very notion of truth lies in the contrast it enables and enforces between how things are and how they are thought to be, believed to be, or desired to be by any person or group of people. If you have this distinction, you have a notion of truth; fail to make this distinction and you are simply talking about something else…. [W]e have seized on just that distinction which according to the representationalists generates the notion of truth. For on our account it is precisely the explication of compounds which systematically discriminate between the content of an utterance (how it says things are) and any state of the utterer (belief, desire, or what have you) which may be associated with it which requires the notion of truth as an auxiliary notion” (pp. 121-122).

My late father, who wrote his dissertation on Pierce, attributed to Pierce an aphorism to the effect that “the mark of reality is the sheriff’s hand on your shoulder”. In other words, reality can be distinguished as whatever constrains us in some way. In an earlier chapter, Brandom in passing situates Pierce as dealing with a recognizably Cartesian problem of how we can know an “external” reality that is what it is independent of us. My own distaste for Descartes notwithstanding, this does seem like an important point.

“In languages with sentential compounding devices, the speaker-meaning of a sentence (what the speaker must ‘know’ in order to be able to use the sentence) must be taken to consist not just of the assertibility conditions of that sentence, but also the contribution that a sentence makes to the assertibility conditions of sentences of which it is a component” (p. 122).

“Semantics as such never considers the final step of generating assertibility conditions given the truth conditions of components. For some sorts of compounding device — the conditional, negation, tensing, modal operators, and some others — it happens to be possible to generate the truth conditions of their components in relatively simple ways, as formal semantics has shown us. For other sorts of compounds, notoriously for analogues of ‘Waldo believes that…’ it appears that not only the truth conditions of components are needed, but also the assertibility conditions. If so, then the theory of truth conditions will not be able to insulate itself as a self-contained part ” (p. 123).

The point about belief here has to do with the need to distinguish something other than mere appearance. If I say I believe something, it has to be possible to ask whether I am justified or not in believing it, and that is different from simply asking what it was that I said I believed.

“In conclusion I would like to say something about the notion of truth that results from this way of looking at things. According to the usual understanding, the notion of truth is generated initially by the consideration of sentences in their categorical uses. According to this almost universally held view, a sentence like ‘Snow is white’, is either true or not true as a free-standing utterance. The employment of the notion of truth (in the form of truth conditions) in compounds of which the sentence is a part, e.g., conditionals, is a secondary, derivative matter. On the view which I have been urging in this chapter, however, it is the hypothetical use of sentences to which the notion of truth is primarily applicable, and its application to sentences in their categorical use is derivative. For according to our account, a free-standing utterance is truth-criticizable only in virtue of the possibility of taking it as the antecedent of a conditional” (pp. 125-126).

This is a fundamental point that in his later work Brandom attributes to Kant. Simple “categorical” judgments are always derivative. It is hypothetical judgments — that something follows from something else — that are more originary.

“Thus truth is primarily a predicate applicable to sentences used hypothetically, as antecedents of conditionals and similar constructions” (p. 126).

That is to say that rather than being an inexplicable property of categorical assertions, truth has do primarily with what is or is not a good inference.

“Thus the notion of truth is appropriately applied to free-standing, categorical utterances just insofar as they are involved in a social discourse in which conclusions may be based upon them according to inferential practices codified in conditionals with those sentences as antecedents” (p. 128).

“In order to see how the formal notion of truth invoked by the technical linguistic discipline we have considered is connected to the ordinary use of the truth predicate within the language, … one must consider the relations of the hypothetical use of a sentence as an antecedent of a conditional to the apparently categorical use of that sentence which is implicitly conditionalized by its utterance in the social context of argument, with inferential schemes parallel to conditionals” (ibid).

This is another important point. The fact that the surface grammar of an assertion is simple and categorical does not require that what is meant by it is categorical. When a superficially categorical assertion is cited in support of some other assertion, that pragmatic context makes it effectively a conditional.

Next in this series: Convention, Novelty, and Truth in Language

Cogitation, Intention

“Besides access to the five senses and the common sense, the cogitative faculty in effect has a power proper to it, to know ‘non-sensible intentions‘. John of Jandun adopts a formula of Avicenna, which he read in Albert [the Great]. These non-sensible intentions are non-sensible properties of the things we sense. These are ‘properties’ of individuals, precisely those of things, and not general notions…. All that particularizes a thing and places me in a situation before it is not limited to what the external senses passively apprehend…. That which is sensed does not exhaust the properties [of the thing], and it is the charge of a faculty like the cogitative to know what the senses do not know” (Brenet, Transferts du sujet, p. 245, my translation throughout).

“Common” sense in Aristotle has to do with coordination of the five particular external senses, and especially with identification of objects and properties that affect more than one sense. His brief mention of internal “sense” was elaborated in the Arabic and Latin traditions to include imagination, memory, and cogitation or estimation. Brenet finds major differences between the accounts of Averroes and the 14th century philosopher John of Jandun, who was supposed by 19th and 20th century scholars to be an uninteresting, uncreative dogmatist who only repeated Averroes.

“Where nonsensible and non-sensed intentions are concerned, memory preserves the reflexive perceptions of the acts of sensation. In effect, I see and I know that I see, I touch and I know that I touch, etc.; that which I touch, I sense; that which I see, I sense; but that I see or that I touch, is not sensible…. A particular sense does not know its own operation, it makes no return upon itself” (p. 270).

This is a somewhat delicate point. It seems that in the course of its work of combining percepts from different particular senses, the common sense can be said to have perception of perceptions, i.e., a kind of second-order perception, that accounts for the reflexive element in experience.

Claims about reflexivity in experience are often overstated, in part because they are expressed as top-down generalities, and because they are used as what Brandom would call an “unexplained explainer”. I prefer Kant and Hegel’s more bottom-up ways of speaking about “reflection”.

Aristotle says in particular that we do not have direct perception of self. Self can only be a “mediate” concept, approached indirectly through the perception of accidents.

“It is the cogitative that ‘tells’ us that Socrates is a father, or a caring father…. The Parisian master holds that the cogitative is the principal of the powers of internal sense, insofar as it knows the non-sensible forms…. Memory retains the intentions known by the cogitative, and for that reason it is called the ‘treasury of intentions'” (p. 246).

On this account, the imagination-based “cogitative faculty” is thus responsible for all of what is commonly called our empirical “knowledge”. The role of “intellect” is only to extract universals from the intermediate abstractions of individuals that cogitation produces.

As background, Brenet develops at length the views of Albert the Great and Averroes on the so-called common and internal senses. On this subject, he says that Albert owes more to Avicenna than to Averroes, and John of Jandun owes more to Albert than to Averroes.

“[John] is close to Albert: the senses do not passively receive the non-sensible intentions” (p. 249).

What are here called nonsensible intentions only exist as constructions or inferences resulting from a kind of activity of the perceiver and knower that is concerned with individuals. In an Aristotelian context, knowledge of individuals is a matter of practical judgment, which is also the kind of judgment used in ethical deliberation. In effect all empirical knowledge is of this kind. Furthermore, our apprehensions of essence are reflectively derived in this same way — ultimately inferred from a consideration of accidents — rather than being simply receptive of “what is”.

“Intentions are accidental percepts. In a first sense, a sensible is called ‘by accident’ if it is not known by a particular sense…. A common sensible, for example size, is not directly suffered by a sense (sight), but it is necessary that we sense it in sensation proper: thus there is no color without a colored surface…. Things go otherwise with intention. On the one hand, the substantial individual Socrates does not as such affect a particular sense, since the only things effectively sensed are the sensible accidents; on the other hand, his relation to what we sense of him is totally contingent…. Here is a first reason for the characterization of the intention … as sensed by accident: it is not suffered, but added fortuitously to what we sense — we judge fortuitously, on the basis of that which we sense. But there is a second: we say of a sensible that it is ‘by accident’, not because it is not known by the senses, if the senses are incapable of knowing it, but if it absolutely speaking escapes from sense as sense” (pp. 249-250).

I would not say that this kind of intention is “totally contingent”, which would imply that it has no objective basis whatsoever. Even “fortuitous” sounds a little strong to me. But the main point here is that these “intentions” are neither axiomatic nor somehow simply given to us.

“The question of the object of the cogitative is decisive for the noetic reading of John of Jandun. It is this faculty that spiritually dominates all the individual powers of the human, and founds her intellectuality. The proper object of this virtue is the intention, which John thinks on the model of the ‘non-sensible properties’ ” (p. 250).

“Otherwise said, I know by my cogitative what it is that makes a human what she is” (p. 252). “The ‘substantial difference’ of the individual or her ‘individual intention’, [John] writes, does not in fact designate her substantial form, but a non-sensed property that follows from her individual substance” (p. 253, emphasis added).

“This all leads John of Jandun to assert that the phantasia of Aristotle — the ymaginatio of Averroes — is made explicit [s’explicite] in the cogitative. And if we want to translate the full sense of the major proposition of the Philosopher, … ‘The intellect does not think without the phantasm of the cogitative‘: the actus phantasiandi in reality is the actualis cogitatio, we do not think without ‘cogitating’ ‘” (p. 254, emphasis in original).

In this way of speaking, imagination in the narrower sense gives us the apparent wholes of experience. Cogitation works upon the details of an imagined whole, allowing us to more clearly re-identify and re-cognize the whole by bringing its characteristic accidents into focus.

“This is again to say that the intelligible species, which proceeds from my phantasms, has nothing eternal about it, is not perpetually subjected in the intellect…. In itself, once again, the intelligible species does not exist. It only persists when the phantasms that cause it persist” (p. 255).

John of Jandun is among those medieval authors who contest the idea that intelligible species come to us directly in any simple way. They are not pre-formed. For him they are our constructs.

“He insists that the intention, which causes the universal, is imagined…. The phantasm, in general again, directly engenders the universal, without the mediation of the agent intellect” (p. 257).

It seems that John wants the eliciting of intentions to be entirely immanent to imagination in the broader sense. Here we are not far from the self-contained cogito of Descartes. “The” cogito is a reification of the immanent activity of the cogitative.

“What is the act of the cogitative? We must not reduce it to the distinction of non-sensed intentions. The cogitative knows all the individual material forms…. The cogitative integrally knows the singular, and each of its phantasms comes back to one of the determinations of the ‘thing’.” (p. 258-259).

In other words, the cogitative subsumes all empirical “knowledge”.

“The imagination receives a sensible form from the common sense; the cogitative knows that same form, but in another mode, for sure always individual, but less sensible: subtilized” (p. 260, emphasis in original).

“Each thought depends systematically on two phantasms: the imaginative and the memorative” (p. 262).

Without imagination, we would have no sense of anything being “present” to us. Without memory, nothing would have coherent connection. These are neither guaranteed to be true nor merely subjective. Here we are in a space in between what is merely subjective, and what is supposed to be objective and unconditionally true.

“What is the ‘passive’ or passible intellect? The Long Commentary [of Averroes] says it is ‘the imaginative faculty'” (p. 265).

In Averroes, the passive or passible “intellect” is a third thing, distinct from both the “agent” and the “material” intellect, and human thought involves all three. According to Brenet, John of Jandun wants to explain human intellect entirely in terms of the immanent imaginative faculty. John rather forcibly reads this view into Averroes, who would have rejected it as one-sided.

“Ymaginatio in Averroes has a specific sense and a generic sense. The first properly concerns the faculty that receives sensible forms from the senses, one of the faculties of internal sense. The second on the other hand has a much larger extension, and stands for the ensemble of these faculties, as well as their combination” (ibid).

“It is not upon the image in a strict sense — that is to say, upon the block of percepts that the imagination holds in reserve — that the agent intellect operates to extract the intelligible, but upon the product of a first denuding, upon that which the cogitative extracts from the image…. Thought does not just obtain a partial supplement of information, or an ultimate incitation; it requires as its condition that [the cogitative] refine the otherwise uninterpretable data of sensation or of the imaginative” (p. 266).

There is no such thing as “raw sense data”. Modern discussions of Aristotelian abstraction have often presupposed an unproblematic binary distinction between what is abstracted and what is not, just as discussions of Kant have often made too much of a dualism between understanding and intuition. This is a delicate point, because we equally want to avoid obliterating the distinction, and to avoid reifying the distinction into a dualism. It is an instance of the old Platonic problem of the One and the Many, where (I would maintain) all the interest is in the in-between parts.

“The cogitative com-poses the intention of the imagined form with its individual…. Remembering consists in bringing back (to present consciousness) an intention of the past…. But again the representation of an intention is not a memory…. [I]t is necessary to search… to recompose the imagined form with its individual…. The ‘object’ of reminiscence is not stored as such, either in memory or in imagination” (p. 267).

This need to search and re-compose again expresses the active aspect of all interpretation.

“The cogitative re-composes what has been decomposed. It restores an integrity. It is the idol of the sensed thing that it tries to retrieve, and this idol does not in any way exist intact. The ‘object’ of reminiscence is not stored as such, either in memory or in imagination. It is not the memory of an image that we seek, not the memory of an intention, but indeed the memory of a thing, by the reconstitution of the best experience of it, the richest and most faithful to the singularities of sensation” (pp. 267-268).

Next in this series: Turn to a Subject

Intangible Truth

Hegel wants to teach us to put aside the prejudice that a truth must be something “tangible” or discrete in itself, and thus capable of being viewed in isolation, in the way that a Platonic form is commonly supposed to be. He says that ordinary logic already gives us a clue to an alternate view of truth. Indeed, Plato’s own literary depictions of Socratic inquiry and dialogue already suggest a deeper notion of essence and truth than is promoted by standard accounts of Platonic forms.

“The Platonic idea is nothing else than the universal, or, more precisely, it is the concept of the subject matter; it is only in the concept that something has actuality, and to the extent that it is different from its concept, it ceases to be actual and is a nullity; the side of tangibility and of sensuous self-externality belongs to this null side. — But on the other side one can appeal to the representations typical of ordinary logic; for it is assumed that in definitions, for example, the determinations are not just of the knowing subject but are rather determinations of the subject matter, such that constitute its innermost essential nature. Or in an inference drawn from given determinations to others, the assumption is that the inferred is not something external to the subject matter and alien to it, but that it belongs to it instead, that to the thought there corresponds being” (Science of Logic, di Giovanni trans., introduction, p. 30).

There is a glimmer of a deeper truth even in the naive belief that ordinary logic can tell us about how the world really is (not of course how the world is, full stop, just some important things “about” how it is). What we infer by a good inference is at least as real as whatever is intuitively present to us. Neither of these is an infallible source of knowledge. Hegel’s main point, though, is that being immediately present to us is not a criterion of deeper truth.

He continues, “Everywhere presupposed by the use of the forms of the concept, of judgment, inference, definition, division, etc., is that they are not mere forms of self-conscious thinking but also of objective understanding” (ibid).

This leads to a criticism of Kant, which implies that Kant’s famous critique of dogmatism remains incomplete.

“Critical philosophy… gave to the logical determinations an essentially subjective significance out of fear of the object…. But the liberation from the opposition of consciousness that science must be able to presuppose elevates the determination of thought above this anxious, incomplete standpoint” (ibid).

The “opposition of consciousness” Hegel speaks of is its division into subject and object. For Kant, this distinction is interwoven with what Kant takes to be an uncrossable gap between knowledge on the side of the subject, and being on the side of the object. Hegel argues that we can avoid the dogmatism Kant means to criticize, without positing an uncrossable gap between knowledge and being. For him, the works of Aristotle are decisive proof of this.

Kant seeks to ensure the avoidance of dogmatism by treating logical determinations exclusively as attitudes actively taken up by a thinking being. Hegel points out that this leads inevitably to the unknowability of the Kantian thing-in-itself. In Kant, these are two sides of one coin. Thus cut off from logical determination, the thing-in-itself can only be unknowable, just as Kant says it is. According to Hegel’s analysis yet to come, meaning is grounded in judgments of determination, and so to be cut off from determination is to be devoid of meaning.

In criticizing Kant on this score, Hegel speaks of a Kantian “fear of the object”. Elsewhere he specifies that what is wrong with the Kantian thing-in-itself has nothing to do with its resemblance to a kind of essence, but rather with the putative self-containedness of that essence, and with the fact that for Kant the true essence is unknowable as a matter of principle.

Leibniz had earlier concluded that in order for the world to be intelligible in terms of self-contained essences or monads, each monad had to include within itself a microcosmic mirror of the entire universe and all the other monads, each of which also includes all the others, and so on to infinity. For Leibniz, things in the world are really only related to one another indirectly, via their individual immediate relations to God. God is ultimately the entire source of the world’s coherence.

At the very beginning of his career, Kant had argued against Leibniz that interactions and inter-relations between things are real and not just an appearance. The world therefore has a kind of objective coherence in its own right. This is a stance that Aristotle clearly would endorse.

Hegel strongly agrees with Kant on this, but thinks that Kant did not take his critique of Leibniz far enough. (I don’t mean to identify Kant’s critique of dogmatism with his earlier critique of Leibniz, only to suggest that there is a connection between the two.) Hegel in effect argues that no essence is ever really self-contained, and that once we also drop the Leibnizian notion that essences are each supposed to be self-contained in splendid Hermetic isolation, there is nothing left in Kant’s philosophy that would require them to be unknowable as a matter of principle.

Dogmatism for Hegel refers — as it also implicitly would for Plato and Aristotle — to any claim that we somehow know the things we believe to be true, when in reality the basis of our belief is potentially refutable. Dogmatism is claiming the necessity characteristic of knowledge for conclusions that Aristotle would at best call merely probable.

(For Aristotle, “necessary” is just a name for whatever always follows from certain premises; “probable” is the corresponding name for what follows most of the time. Whether or not something always follows is a disputable question. New information might require that we re-classify what previously seemed to be a necessary conclusion as a merely probable one. I would add that what therefore seemed to be knowledge — because it seemed to follow necessarily — may turn out to be only a relatively well-founded belief. Individual humans do have genuine knowledge, but no individual knower can legitimately certify herself as a knower in any specific case.)

(Beyond this, even the historic mutual recognition of any individual concrete community can also turn out to be seriously wrong on particular matters. Widespread and longstanding social acceptance does not guarantee that certain things that are believed to be known are not just shared prejudice. Just consider the history of inferences from race, sex, religion, etc., to characteristics claimed to hold for all or most individuals subject to those classifications.)

(This does not mean we should indiscriminately throw out all claims that are based on social acceptance. That would result in paralyzing skepticism. To avoid dogmatism, we just have to be open in a Socratic way to honestly, fairly examining the basis of our beliefs about what meaning follows from what other meaning, in light of new perspectives. For what it’s worth, I say that once exposed to the light, prejudice against people based on shallow classification of their “kinds” can only be perpetuated through — among other things — an implicit repudiation of fairness and intellectual honesty in these cases.)

(Hegel the man was not immune to the various social prejudices of his time and place. According to his own philosophy, we would not expect him to have been. Outside the context of his main philosophical works, he is recorded to have made a few utterly terrible prejudiced remarks, and a number of other bad ones. In cases like this, we should give heed to the philosopher’s carefully developed philosophical views, and blame the time and place for the philosopher’s spontaneous expression of other particular views that seem out of synch with these. Every empirical community’s views are subject to adjudication in light of the ethical ideal of the truly universal community of all talking animals. The core of Hegel’s philosophy provides unprecedented resources for this.)

Kant’s own response to the issue of dogmatism is to maintain that strictly speaking, certainty and necessity apply only to appearances, which he does understand in a relational manner, but not to the things-in-themselves, which — following Leibniz — he still regards as self-contained and therefore non-relational.

Kant and Hegel seem to share the view that the very nature of necessity is such that it applies to things only insofar as they are involved in relations, and is only expressible in terms of relations. Where they differ is that Hegel sees not only appearances but also reality itself fundamentally in terms of relations.

For Hegel, there is no self-contained “thing in itself”, because the world is made up of what things are “in and for themselves”. Hegel introduces the notion of what something (relationally) is “for itself”, in the context of a reflective concept, and precisely as an alternative to the still-Leibnizian self-containedness of the Kantian “in itself”. What things really are “for themselves” turns out to undo the assumption of their essences’ self-containedness.

What We Saw

In passing in the last post I argued that “because I saw it” is not a reason, but a mere reiteration of an assertion. I claimed that we ought always to be able to say something more about why we believe what we do, and suggested that in the current example, this would typically take the form of more detailed claims about what we saw. (See What and Why.)

Previously, I argued against John McDowell’s claim that the space of reasons includes cases in which empirical claims may be non-inferentially justified by reference to other empirical observations. In the current analogy, what McDowell counts as justification in such cases amounts to saying “because I saw something else”. In effect, it is an appeal to another completely indeterminate “seeing”.

By contrast, when we make more detailed claims about what we saw, even though these supplementary claims are not themselves inferences, because they analyze the initial “what”, they may provide the basis for subsequent inference to the original “what”. The axis of justification shifts from other immediate observations to articulated claims about the original observation.

Because the justification now appeals to articulated content rather than to other seeings that are as completely indeterminate as the first, it can now be inferential. Such inferential justification is weaker than deductive proof; unlike a mathematical proof, for instance, it is potentially refutable. But now we have truly entered the space of rational dialogue.

In the situation of “he saw X, she saw Y“, no dialogue is possible. “He saw, she saw” is just as vacuous as “he said, she said”. In both these latter cases, one mere assertion is merely counterposed to another mere assertion, and we can say categorically that no insight could ever be gained from the exchange.

By contrast, as soon as the discussion shifts from a contest of assertions to the articulation of content, something can potentially be learned from it, whether or not we end up endorsing what is said.

An empirical observation may still provide a useful heuristic basis for belief about the world. Additional observations may add to the heuristic “weight” of that basis. But contrary to McDowell, I would not count that heuristic basis as part of the space of reasons. I call something a “reason” if and only if it provides a basis for some reasoning, which is to say some inference or inferences. To call something a non-inferential “reason” makes no sense.

And contrary to both McDowell and Brandom, I do not recognize the existence of non-inferential “knowledge” at all. Every observational report is just a claiming about appearance, and no mere claiming about appearance should count as knowledge.

What we have in the putative case of “observational knowledge” is observational belief. An observational belief may turn out to be well-founded, but any such well-foundedness depends on factors that go beyond the brute fact of the existence of observations.

We can have dialogue about claims about other claims. We cannot have true dialogue about claims about raw appearances — or indeed, properly speaking, about first-order claims at all.

This, I think, is part of the upshot of Hegel’s “logic of being”. Any first-order claim “A is B” considered in isolation fares no better than Parmenides’ saying of Being. It is logically vacuous, just because it is isolated. Isolation would mean, for instance, that we have no definition for A or B.

(The way I am using “first order” here for claims is different from the way it is used in predicate logic. In standard mathematical logic, what I am calling an “isolated first-order claim” corresponds to a proposition, rather than any construct in predicate logic. According to Frege, a proposition can only mean either “true” or “false”, so we have a similar lack of information.)

In Aristotelian terms, the claim then reduces to a mere saying, which is actually charitable, because for Aristotle, in the absence of meanings for A and B, we would have failed to express a proposition at all. Mere saying in this sense actually fails to properly say anything at all. If we don’t know what A and B are, “A is B” is the logical equivalent of arbitrary noise.

Conversely, when we do take a first-order claim as meaningful — as we indeed do all the time — we must always already have some higher-order perspective on it that makes it meaningful. All meaningful saying is saying something at a higher-order level.

Nature, Ends, Normativity

From an Aristotelian point of view, the works of nature result from an ordering of ends. In modern terms, nature for Aristotle is not “value free”, and I take this to be a good thing. But from a strict Kantian point of view, we are the bearers of value, and the attribution of ends to nature independent of us is only a kind of beneficial heuristic projection. But if we radicalize the Kantian primacy of practical reason in the way that Brandom sees Hegel as doing, then all our theoretical accounts of nature, including those commonly regarded as value-free — and everything else we think, feel, and do — ultimately have a dependency on our inquiries into value and normativity.

From a Kantian point of view, our only access to objective nature is through our rational, discursive understanding. The very objectivity we attribute to nature depends on the objectivity of our understanding of it. Objectivity itself is a normative attitude. I think Kant and Aristotle ultimately agree in recognizing that we don’t have direct access to how things are in themselves, and that how things are in themselves is always a matter of discursive inference, in which the last word is never said.

Hegel emphasizes that the objectivity of understanding we achieve in this way is not a private possession, but something larger than us in which we participate. (See also Teleology After Kant.)

McDowell on the Space of Reasons

John McDowell’s paper “Sellars and the Space of Reasons” (2018) provides a useful discussion of this concept. Unlike Brandom, who aims to complete Sellars’ break with empiricism, McDowell ultimately wants to defend “a non-traditional empiricism, uncontaminated by the Myth of the Given” (p. 1).

McDowell begins by quoting Sellars: “in characterizing an episode or a state as that of knowing, we are not giving an empirical description of that episode or state; we are placing it in the logical space of reasons, of justifying and being able to justify what one says” (ibid; emphasis added).

For Sellars, to speak of states of knowing is to talk about “epistemic facts”. A bit later, McDowell says that Sellars’ epistemic facts also include judgments and uses of concepts that might not be considered knowledge. Not only beliefs but also desires end up as a kind of epistemic facts. McDowell uses this to argue that the space of reasons is a version of the concept of knowledge as justified true belief. I want to resist this last claim.

McDowell points out that knowledge for Sellars has a normative character. Sellars also regards the foundationalist claim that epistemic facts can be explained entirely in terms of non-epistemic facts (physiology of perception and so on) as of a piece with the naturalistic fallacy in ethics.

McDowell cites Donald Davidson’s contrast between space-of-reasons intelligibility and the kind of regularity-based intelligibility that applies to a discipline like physics, but does not want to assume there is a single model for all non-space-of-reasons intelligibility.

He notes that Sellars contrasts placing something in the space of reasons with empirical description, but wants to weaken that distinction, allowing epistemic facts to be grounded in experience, and to be themselves subject to empirical description. “Epistemic facts are facts too” (p. 5). I prefer going the other direction, and saying empirical descriptions are judgments too.

The space of reasons is only occupied by speakers. Sellars is quoted saying, “all awareness of sorts, resemblances, facts, etc., in short all awareness of abstract entities — indeed, all awareness even of particulars — is a linguistic affair” (p. 7, emphasis in original). “And when Sellars connects being appropriately positioned in the space of reasons with being able to justify what one says, that is not just a matter of singling out a particularly striking instance of having a justified belief, as if that idea could apply equally well to beings that cannot give linguistic expression to what they know” (ibid).

“‘Inner’ episodes with conceptual content are to be understood on the model of overt performances in which people, for instance, say that things are thus and so” (p. 8). “What Sellars proposes is that the concept of, for instance, perceptual awareness that things are thus and so should be understood on the model of the concept of, for instance, saying that things are thus and so” (p. 10). All good so far.

To be in the space of reasons, “the subject would need to be able to step back from the fact that it is inclined in a certain direction by the circumstance. It would need to be able to raise the question whether it should be so inclined” (pp. 10-11, emphasis in original). But McDowell says — and I agree — that this is without prejudice as to whether there is still a kind of kinship between taking reasons as reasons, on the one hand, and the purposeful behaviors of animals, on the other.

McDowell acknowledges that the idea that epistemic facts can only be justified by other epistemic facts is easy to apply to inferential knowledge, but rather harder to apply to the “observational knowledge” that he claims should also be included in the space of reasons. For McDowell, observational knowledge is subject to a kind of justification by other facts.

McDowell and Brandom both recognize something called “observational knowledge”, but Brandom thinks that it necessarily involves appeal to claimed non-epistemic facts, whereas McDowell wants to broaden the concept of epistemic facts enough to be able to say that observational knowledge can be justified by appealing only to epistemic facts. I would prefer to say, observational judgments are subject to a kind of tentative justification by other judgments.

McDowell says that acquiring knowledge noninferentially is also an exercise of conceptual capacities. This clearly implies a noninferential conception of the conceptual, and seems to me to presuppose a representationalist one instead. This has huge consequences.

He says that the space of reasons must include noninferential relations of justification, which work by appeal to additional facts rather by inference. But where did those facts come from? In light of Kant, I would say that we rational animals never have direct access to facts that just are what they are. Rather, if we are being careful, we should recognize that we can only consider claims and judgments of fact, which may be relatively well-founded or not. But appeal to claims of fact for justification is just passing the buck. Claims of any sort always require justification of their own.

As an example, McDowell discusses claims to know that something is green in color. As non-inferential justification in this context, he says one might say that “This is a good light for telling the colours of things by looking” (p. 18). That is fine as a criterion for relatively well-founded belief, but that is all it is.

A bit later, he adds, “I can tell a green thing when I see one, at least in a good light, viewed head-on, and so forth. A serviceable gloss on that remark is to say that if I claim, in suitable circumstances, that something is green, then it is” (p. 19).

This is to explicitly endorse self-certification of one’s authority. It is therefore ultimately to allow the claim, it’s true because I said so. I think it was a rejection on principle of this kind of self-certification that led Plato to sharply distinguish knowledge from belief.

As Aristotle pointed out in discussing the relation between what he respectively called “demonstration” and “dialectic”, we can apply the same kinds of inference both to things we take as true and to things we are examining hypothetically. We can make only hypothetical inferences (if A, then B) from claims or judgments of A; we can only legitimately make categorical inferences (A, therefore B) from full-fledged knowledge of A — which, to be such, must at minimum not beg the question or pass the buck of justification.

The great majority of our real-world reasoning is ultimately hypothetical rather than categorical, even though we routinely act as if it were categorical. One of Kant’s great contributions was to point out that — contrary to scholastic and early modern tradition — hypothetical judgement is a much better model of judgment in general than categorical judgment is. The general form of judgment is conditional, and not absolute.

I think it’s fine to include beliefs, opinions, and judgments in the space of reasons as McDowell wants to do, provided we recognize their ultimately hypothetical and tentative character. But once we recognize the hypothetical and tentative character of beliefs, I think it follows that all relations within the space of reasons can be construed as inferential.

I don’t think contemporary science has much to do with so-called observational knowledge of the “it is green” variety, either. Rather, it has to do partly with applications of mathematics, and partly with well-controlled experiments, in which the detailed conditions of the controls are far more decisive than the observational component. The prejudice that simple categorical judgments like “it is green” have anything to do with science is a holdover from old foundationalist theories of sense data.

I would also contend that all putative non-space-of-reasons intelligibility ultimately depends on space-of-reasons intelligibility. (See also What We Saw.)