Convention, Novelty, and Truth in Language

We have been exploring the earliest publicly available work of the great contemporary philosopher Robert Brandom, his doctoral dissertation from 1976. He has been concerned to develop the philosophy of language along pragmatist lines, while working hard to point out that a pragmatist approach need not be construed as globally rejecting talk about objectivity, truth, and reality. The pragmatist approach is appealing as a sort of third way that avoids both subjectivist and objectivist excesses. This is the last chapter before his conclusion.

“[W]e saw how the notion of truth and the truth conditions of sentences could arise in a pragmatic investigation into the social practices which are the use of a language by a population. That is, we saw how an account of social practices (which are whatever the linguistic community takes them to be) can require us to consider the sentences uttered in those practices as making claims which are objectively true or false, regardless of what the community takes them to be” (Brandom, Practice and Object, p. 129).

He has argued earlier that understanding the meaning of compound sentences (in which one clause refers to and modifies another) implicitly does after all presuppose a technical concept of truth that goes beyond the warranted assertibility that Dewey recommends as a less pretentious replacement for truth-talk.

Both in ordinary life and in ordinary ethical discourse, warranted assertibility — justification in taking things to be such-and-such — is able to do the work commonly allotted to claims about truth that is what it is independent of us. But insofar as we engage in the meta-level discourse about discourse that is already implied by the understanding of compound sentences, it becomes necessary to introduce a distinction between how things are for us and how they are in themselves. This kind of situation can also be seen as motivation for Kant’s talk about “things in themselves”.

“[W]e will see how that sort of inquiry requires that a sophisticated grammar be attributed to the language being investigated, and in particular requires notions of syntactic deep-structure, meaning, and denotation or reference. We thus extend the method of the previous chapter to consider sub-sentential linguistic components, and see what it is about the practices associated with them in virtue of which it is appropriate to associate them with objective things or features” (pp. 129-130).

He will defend Chomsky’s notion of deep syntactic structure objectively existing in natural language against Quine’s instrumentalist critique.

Only by abstraction from things said do we come to consider individual words in isolation. In common with his later work and at odds with the standard compositional account of meaning in linguistics and analytic philosophy of language, in the understanding of meaning Brandom here gives explanatory priority to sentences over words, and to propositions over terms. This will be more explicitly thematized in his later work.

The compound sentences analyzed by Dummett that Brandom refers to as requiring an auxilary notion of truth beyond epistemic justifiability partake of the character of discourse about discourse, because some parts of them refer to and modify other parts.

He considers what it means to investigate the use of a natural language — what he will later call normative pragmatics. Investigating language use implicitly means investigating proprieties of use, along with their origin and legitimation. We may also collect ordinary empirical facts about the circumstances of concrete “takings” of propriety and legitimacy and their contraries, without prejudice as to whether or not those takings are ultimately to be endorsed by us.

Using the neutral language of “regularities”, he specifies a sort of minimalist, almost behaviorist framework for investigating language use that is designed to be acceptable to empiricists. In later work, he develops a detailed analogy between the deontic moral “necessity” of Kantian duty and a “subjunctively robust” modal necessity of events following events that is inspired by the work of analytic philosopher David Lewis on modality and possible worlds.

“We may divide these regularities of conduct into two basic kinds: Regularities concerning what noises are made, and regularities concerning the occasions on which they are made…. The phonetic descriptions are just supposed to be some rule which tells us what counts as an instance of what utterance-type…. Without attempting to say anything more specific about these regularities, we can express what a speaker, as we say, ‘knows’, when he knows how to use an utterance-type by associating with it a set of assertibility conditions” (p. 130).

“In terms of these notions, we can represent a language by a set of ordered pairs called sentences. The first element of each ordered pair is a phonetic description and the second element is a set of assertibility conditions…. A linguist who has such a representation of the sentences of some alien language ought to be able, subject to various practical constraints, to duplicate the competence of the natives, that is, to converse with them as they converse with each other” (p. 131).

Here he is applying a stipulative re-definition of the ordinary English word “sentence”. “Ordered” pair just means it is always possible, given a member of the pair, to say which member it is. The pair here consists of 1) the sequence of sounds by which a particular sentence is identified, and 2) the conditions under which it is appropriate to use that sentence.

“[A] theory of the use of a language just is some mechanism for generating a list of ordered pairs of phonetic descriptions and assertibility conditions which codifies the social practices which are speaking the language” (p. 132).

Every sentence in every natural language has the two above aspects — a recognizable series of sounds that identifies it, and conditions for its appropriate use.

“Speaking only about the first element of the ordered pairs which we have taken to specify a language, Quine takes the task of a theory of syntax to be the generation of the infinite set of phonetic descriptions. He then argues that if the aim of a theory of syntax is determined by this target description of speaker competence, then many different axiomatizations will generate the same set of phonetic descriptions, and hence be descriptively adequate. Insofar as a theory of syntax is a part of the project of generating the right set of sentences, then, we may choose between alternative theories only on the basis of convenience of their representation (pp. 132-133).”

This is an example of Quine’s instrumentalism that was mentioned earlier. Syntactic constructs in a natural language like English are identifiable by their mapping to distinct series of sounds. I haven’t spent enough time on Quine directly to say much more at this point, but to identify syntax with the phonetics used to pick out syntactic distinctions seems reductionst. Before criticizing it, he elaborates on Quine’s view.

“Representing the conversational capacities as ordered pairs of phonetic descriptions and assertibility conditions, we will see a good translation as associating with each phonetic description in one language a phonetic description in the other which is paired with the same assertibility conditions…. In this way a translation function would enable one to converse in a foreign language. If the goals of translation are regarded as determined in this way by pairs of phonetic descriptions and assertibility conditions, then convenience of representation and arbitrary choice will enter here as much as on the syntactic side” (p. 133).

“Denotational relations are presumably correlations between phonetically distinguishable elements … which appear in the phonetic descriptions of many sentences, and some element which regularly appears in the assertibility conditions of those sentences. A theory of denotation would consist of a relatively small list of such correlations, together with a set of structural rules which would permit the derivation of the full set of ordered pairs which are the sentences of the language, by combination of the various elements…. If one such axiomatization or recipe is possible, many are” (p. 134).

“More generally, given any scheme, we can substitute as the denotation of any phonetically specified expression anything systematically related to it, …and adjust the rest of the scheme to get the same assertibility conditions” (pp. 135-136).

“The point is that we may think of a language as being an abstract object consisting of a set of social practices…. If one now considers the various theoretical notions which have been thought to be crucial to the specification of a language by those who are not primarily concerned with social practices — the syntactic and semantic structure of its sentences, their meaning and the denotation of expressions occurring in them — one finds these notions playing drastically reduced roles” (p. 136).

“It is our purpose in this chapter to show how to circumvent … conventionalism while retaining the pragmatic point of view which renders language as comprised of social practices” (p. 137).

Classic 20th century analytic philosophy has a very thin notion of language use, effectively identifying it with empirically existing conventions. In contrast to this, Brandom sees in Noam Chomsky’s linguistics a crucial recognition of the ubiquity of linguistic novelty. He quotes Hilary Putnam’s critique of conventionalism:

“We see now why conventionalism is not usually recognized as essentialism. It is not usually recognized as essentialism because it is negative essentialism. Essentialism is usually criticized because the essentialist intuits too much. He claims to see that too many properties are part of a concept. The negative essentialist, the conventionalist, intuits not that a great many strong properties are part of a concept, but that only a few could be part of a concept” (ibid).

In contemporary usage, “essentialism” is a bad thing that consists in taking putatively unproblematic essences of things for granted. In contrast, Plato and Aristotle’s preoccupation with questions of what we translate as “essence” reflects a significant problematization.

Brandom now turns to a careful criticism of Quine.

“Quine’s arguments as we have reconstructed them seek to show that, for a particular specification …, the role of a translation function (or of syntactic deep structure, or of denotational scheme) can be played equally well by a number of different notions” (p. 138).

“Such sound conventionalist arguments cannot be refuted. They can be shown not to impugn the usefulness or objectivity of the notions they apply to. To do this one simply has to come up with some other project, with respect to which the various versions of, e.g., translation, do not play equally well the role that notion is invoked to play” (pp.138-139).

“The question I want to consider is, roughly, where the assertibility conditions and phonetic descriptions come from. In virtue of what does a sentence have the assertibility conditions and phonetic description that it does?” (p. 140).

Questions about conventional use are questions of empirical fact. Brandom’s “in virtue of what” question is on the other hand properly philosophical, in a sense that Plato and Aristotle would recognize.

We come to Brandom’s defense of Chomsky against Quine.

“Chomsky has argued on statistical grounds that most sentences used by adult native speakers have never been heard or used by that speaker before, and indeed that the majority of these have never been uttered by anyone in the history of the language. This is a striking empirical observation of far-reaching theoretical significance. Let us consider the sentences of English which have never yet been used. Not just any phonetic description is the phonetic description of some sentence of this set…. But a native speaker can not only discriminate between the phonetic descriptions which are on this list and conform to them in his own utterances, he has exactly the same acquaintance with the assertibility conditions of such a sentence that he does with the assertibility conditions of some familiar sentence like ‘Please pass the salt’. That is, a native speaker can discriminate between occasions on which it might be appropriately used and those on which it would be inappropriate. Granting, as we must, that there is a community of dispositions concerning these novel sentences which is sufficient to determine a social practice regarding their use, a notion of correct or incorrect utterance, surely this fact is remarkable. Why should the community agree as much about how to use sentences no one has ever heard before as about how to use common ones?” (pp. 140-141).

“For human beings, training in the use of the relatively few sentences we have actually been exposed to determines how we will use (or would use) the vast majority of sentences which we have not been exposed to” (p. 142).

“The question ‘In virtue of what is there a correct usage for a sentence no one has ever used before’ is distinct from, but not independent of the question ‘How do individual members of the linguistic community come to acquire dispositions which conform to the standard of correct usage for novel sentences?’ The questions are distinct because no individual’s dispositions, however acquired, establish a standard of correct usage. The questions are not independent since using a sentence is a social practice…. The question of how such agreement is achieved, its source and circumstance, is clearly related to the question of how individuals come to behave in ultimately agreeable ways…. The explanation of projection by populations must ultimately rest on facts about individual projective capacities…, although that explanation need not resemble the explanation of any such individual capacity” (pp. 143-144).

He clarifies what he means by projection.

“I want to argue that a theory of grammar is properly a part of the attempt to explain and predict the projective capacities of language-using populations. A theory of syntactic structure, of meaning, and of denotation and truth are to provide a framework for accounting for the empirical fact that the practices of a population which are the use of [a] relatively small number of sentences of a natural language determines, for that population, the use of a potentially infinite remainder they have never been exposed to” (p. 144).

“The notion of ‘grammar’ which I am addressing here is that of an interpreted categorial-transformational grammar. Such a grammar is an account of the generation of surface sentences of a language … from an underlying set of deep structures” (p. 144).

This is grammar in a Chomskyan rationalist, antibehaviorist sense.

“The projective capacities which are to be explained are obviously not entailed by the practices and dispositions codified in a set of those phonetic descriptions and assertibility conditions…. An account of projection is thus an explanation of how people, being the sorts or organisms that we are, can engage in the complex social practices we do engage in. It is just this sort of inquiry which we considered … as the sort of inquiry within which the objects involved in a practice become important” (p. 145).

This puts new light on how individual words and phrases come to mean what they do.

“Consideration of projective facts of this sort can lead us, further, to attribute structural classes of sub-sentential components to some speaker” (ibid).

“We are interested in seeing how, by looking at facts about the acquisition of vocabulary and compounding forms by a subject, we can in principle explain his open-ended competence to use novel utterances, by exhibiting that competence as the product of projective capacities associated with classes of sub-sentential components” (p. 147).

“Projective classes for an individual were pictured as attributed on the basis of two sorts of acquisition, roughly the acquisition of some projective form, and the acquisition of vocabulary” (pp. 147-148).

“Indeed, it is only in terms of such projective dispositions that we can explain the notion of correctness for novel utterances. We can only explain how there should be such an agreement in terms of shared structural classes induced by familiar expressions, which determine the projection to novel utterances” (p. 148).

Linguistic structure is a theoretical object of just the kind whose status is a matter of dispute between the realists and the instrumentalists.

“This picture of linguistic structure as postulated to account for a speaker’s ability to use novel utterances correctly, on the basis of facts about the acquisition of capacities to project sub-sentential expressions, leads immediately to a change in the criteria of adequacy we impose upon translation functions, and accordingly to a change in the notion of the ‘meaning’ of a sentence which is preserved by translation” (p. 150).

From an empiricist point of view, questions about norms are questions of fact about what is usually the case. Empirical norms are “norms” in a non-normative, statistical sense of “normal” that has nothing to do with what should be the case, except accidentally. The projection of grammar to novel cases on the other hand is possible because grammar has a properly normative sense of “right” usage that is independent of whatever we conclude are the facts about statistically “usual” usage.

“[I]f translation is really to transform the capacity to speak one language into the capacity to speak another, it must transform an individual’s capacity to project novel sentences…. In order to learn to speak the new language, to form novel sentences and use them appropriately, an individual must have a translation-scheme which does more than match assertibility conditions. It must generate the matched assertibility conditions of an infinite number of sentences on the basis of a familiarity with the elements out of which they are constructed, as exhibited in fairly small samples” (p. 150).

Speaking is not merely the utterance of sounds, and it is not just an imitation of other speaking. Concrete meanings presuppose learned notions of rightness or goodness of fit that are furthermore always in principle disputable. This also requires a non-behaviorist account of learning.

“Our account of this fact must show how what the subject learned to do before enables him to use this expression in just this way now, even though he has never been exposed to a correct use of it” (p. 151).

“Projection is not just a matter of using novel utterances, but also of using familiar ones under novel circumstances” (ibid).

“We can conclude that competence involved, not just in using … a free-standing utterance, but in projecting it as a genuine component of compound utterances, cannot be expressed merely by assertibility conditions, but requires some additional element” (p. 153).

“We should notice that the argument we have just considered is formally analogous to two arguments we have seen before. In the first place, it is just the same style of argument which we employed … in order to show that truth conditions were required to account for the contribution by component sentences to the assertibility conditions of compound sentences containing them…. All we have done here is to extend the earlier argument to sub-sentential compounding, an extension made possible by the more detailed consideration of why compounding is important. Second, this argument … is analogous to the ‘syntactic’ arguments of Chomsky…. In each case similar surface forms (phonetic descriptions and assertibility conditions respectively) are assigned different deep structures on the basis of their different projective roles…. So it is clear that these expressions would have to be associated with something besides assertibility conditions in our theory of their projection anyway” (pp. 154-155).

“Our explanation of the fact that there are correct phonetic descriptions and assertibility conditions for sentences no one has ever used before will be that the use of those sentences is determined by the grammar, … and that any individual’s learning to use the language is his learning to conform to the regularities of projection codified in that grammar” (p. 156).

“We have found that explaining the actual, empirical generation of the sentences of the language, shown by the sorts of projection of one corpus of utterances onto another which actually occur, requires that structural elements underlying phonetic structure be assigned to parallel structural elements underlying the assertibility conditions…. Just as the structure underlying the phonetic descriptions is plausibly identified as syntactic structure, so the corresponding structure underlying assertibility conditions is plausibly identified with semantic structure” (ibid).

“The same argument which gave us objective truth conditions … may thus be extended, within the context of our more detailed account of the empirical project which produces a grammar, to yield a parallel account of the function and origin of objective denotations” (p. 158).

“The case of the brown rabbit with a white foot shows that the denotations associated with the expressions ‘rabbit’ and ‘undetached rabbit-part’ must determine in some way the boundaries which white patches must exhibit in order to be grounds for reporting white rabbits or white undetached rabbit-parts” (ibid).

“But the boundaries which determine what objects or objective features are denoted by the expressions are not apparent boundaries…. Explaining the different patterns of projection of the elements of these pairs requires an objective difference in boundaries around white patches” (p. 159).

“It is important to realize that our grammar does not just seek to account for individual linguistic competence. It seeks to account for the shared projective practices in virtue of which there is a distinction between correct and incorrect uses of sentences no one has ever used before…. The grammar must account for the correct and incorrect potential uses of even quite complicated sentences which the ordinary man would never use” (ibid).

“[D]enotational schemes are part of an empirical explanation of certain social practices. Such explanations must cohere with the empirical explanations we are prepared to offer for other sorts of human conduct…. It is a prime virtue of the account we have offered of the question to which a grammar would be an answer that it shows us we can pick the objects in terms of which we explain projective practices in the same way we pick the objects in terms of which we explain color vision, indigestion, and quasars” (p. 162).

Here he is appealing to empirical explanation, and to something like the positivist notion of the unity of science. I am inclined to go to the opposite extreme, and to argue that genuine explanation is never merely empirical. There are empirical things, and we do want to explain them. There also is an empirical field of experience, but it too belongs to what is to be explained. In themselves empirical things do not explain anything. I think, though, that coherence does not apply only to explanation. There is also an implicit coherence on the level of what is to be explained. That is the sounder basis of the ideal of the unity of science.

In later work he explicitly criticizes empiricism in the philosophy of science, but he continues to be interested in empirical things, as evinced by many of his examples and by the theme of “semantic descent” in A Spirit of Trust.

Pragmatics of Inquiry

The third chapter of Brandom’s 1976 dissertation addresses a dispute in 20th-century philosophy of science between “realism” and “instrumentalism”. He aims to overcome this dichotomy with the help of concepts developed by John Dewey (1859-1952). Besides its intrinsic interest, the discussion sheds additional light on several terms that are prominent in Brandom’s later work.

“Within the structure of classical (positivist) philosophy of science there was a genuine and easily formulable issue between realists and instrumentalists concerning the nature of scientific theories. Both parties agreed that statements reporting observations are either true or false, and that the terms used in true observational statements refer to actual objects and properties. The realist claimed that theoretical statements are also true or false, and that if true their terms refer to actual objects and properties. The instrumentalist regarded theoretical statements as convenient codifications of inferential practices concerning observational statements. Theoretical statements are rather to be read as expressing rules for complicated practices of material inference. The origin of this suggestion for reading putative propositions as rules for inferential practices lies in the fact that in a formal logical system one can in general replace any premise such as ‘n is an A‘ with material inferential rules of the form ‘From “All As are Bs” infer “n is a B” ‘ ” (Brandom, “Practice and Object”, p. 71).

Here Brandom already makes use of Sellars’ notion of material inference, which is the foundation of the “inferentialism” that will be propounded in his first big book Making It Explicit (1994). Within the current chapter, he approaches realism and instrumentalism in an even-handed manner, but his references to this discussion elsewhere in this work are slanted in the direction of criticizing instrumentalism. Given that his later inferentialism advocates something closely related to what he criticizes here, it is clear that his thinking on this matter has evolved.

In the current context, “realism” refers not to a direct or naive realism (the idea that we directly interact with objectively real things, which are more or less as we take them to be), but to a commitment to the reality of theoretical objects. Alongside this he implicitly portrays both parties to the dispute as holding to a kind of empiricism that he does not criticize here, but does criticize in his later works.

“Beginning with Pierce, the primary motivation for wanting to eliminate commitment to theoretical objects has been a desire to accommodate the sort of open-ended conceptual change which has characterized scientific inquiry from the beginning…. Appreciation of this sort of conceptual change has taken the form of a regulative principle to the effect that there are to be no claims taken as ‘fixed points’ settled once and for all…. This is referred to by Pierce and Popper as ‘fallibilism’, and by Quine as the ‘revisability in principle’ of our beliefs and the concepts they are couched in” (pp. 71-72).

I hold in addition that this “revisability in principle” applies not only to scientific concepts and theories, but also to the concepts and beliefs that we apply in ordinary life and in any kind of dialogue.

“The realists argue that theoretical statements do not simply license certain inferential moves concerning observation statements, they also explain the efficacy and account for the legitimacy of those practices…. Appreciation of the need for some explanation of the sort the realists seek takes the form of a regulative principle for theories of inquiry which Quine calls ‘naturalized epistemology’. It is just the requirement that we be able to exhibit scientific inquiries as natural processes susceptible of ordinary empirical investigation and explanation” (p. 73).

The terms “empirical” and “naturalized” can also have broader meanings than they generally do in modern science. For example, I’ve had a lifelong interest in why people believe the things that they do. In this context it is hard to see any kind of dichotomy between justification and explanation. I approach both in terms of “reasons why”. The explanation at issue here, though, is more narrowly causal in a modern sense. (I take both naturalism and “empirical” inquiry in broader, more relaxed senses — empirical as meaning grounded in ordinary experience, and naturalism simply as not appealing to the supernatural as an unexplained explainer.)

“The classical theory/observation distinction simply repeats the Kantian picture of knowledge as the product of a faculty of receptivity (intuition, observation, the passive appropriation of the ‘given’) and a faculty of spontaneity (understanding, theory, the interpretation of the ‘given’)” (pp. 74-75).

More to the point, the common theory/observation distinction in early 20th-century philosophy of science reflects a common dogmatic attachment to empiricism. But at this early point, Brandom still seems to follow Rorty’s negative view of Kant, and he avoids directly criticizing empiricism. But since Kant emphasizes the interdependence of intuition and understanding and says we never find one of these without the other in any real case, it hardly seems fair to treat this as a rigid dualism. In later works, Brandom treats Kant much more sympathetically, and does directly criticize empiricism.

“It is important to realize that the original dispute proceeded as a disagreement about the nature of theories in which the objects immediately given in observation were taken as the measure against which ‘theoretical objects’ were to be laid…. The notion of a theory-neutral, interpretation-free observation language was attacked by Wittgenstein in the Investigations and by Sellars among others, and had fallen into disrepute in the philosophy of science by the 1960s” (p. 75).

That is once again to say that a kind of dogmatic empiricism reigned almost undisputed in early 20th-century philosophy of science. Within analytic philosophy, this commitment to empiricism only began to be questioned in the 1950s, with the work of late Wittgenstein, Sellars, and Quine.

“[T]he current [1976] situation may be put as follows. In the light of many recent criticisms, philosophers of science have denied that there are sharp differences of kind between objects of observation and objects of theory. Contemporary instrumentalists ([such as] Quine, Feyerabend, and Kuhn) may be thought of as taking this work as … showing that [observation] is more like theory as classically conceived than we had previously thought. So observation is to join theory as a matter of holistically criticizable practices. Realists (such as Putnam, Field, and Boyd) have taken the demise of [the observation/theory distinction] as illuminating our notion of theory, letting us see that theoretical objects are as real, causally efficacious, and independent of our knowledge of them as the classical observable objects” (pp. 76-77).

Each of these latter views seems to make a good point.

“It is not clear, however, … that the new positions are incompatible…. I believe that this is precisely the virtue of Dewey’s theory of inquiry” (p. 78). “Dewey’s idiosyncratic and often obscure account of the mechanics of inquiry … exhibits the realist/instrumentalist dispute as a confusion based on insufficient appreciation of the consequences of abandoning the theory/observation distinction” (p. 70).

He goes on to discuss a number of passages from Dewey. Dewey’s “inquiry into inquiry” is grounded in a specialized notion of situation.

Dewey says “The situation as such is not and cannot be stated or made explicit… It is present throughout [inquiry] as that of which whatever is explicitly stated or propounded is a distinction” (p. 79).

Certainly we never have unqualified “mastery” of our practical or epistemic circumstances, but this doctrine of inherently ineffable “situations” goes further than is needed to make that point. What Dewey says here resembles existentialist claims that existence is ineffable in principle. I was unaware that there was such a dimension to his thought. To my knowledge, none of Brandom’s later works builds on this Deweyan theory of situations. But the way Brandom relates this dubious notion to the making of distinctions puts it in a maximally positive light.

Brandom comments “To ‘know’ something, rather than simply ‘having’ the situation is a matter of repeatables ‘instituted’ within an unrepeatable situation. It is this process which we must investigate to understand the nature of inquiry…. What is excluded by the unrepeatable, non-cognitive nature of situations is only that in a given inquiry I should come to know, rather than simply have, the situation which is the context of that very inquiry. I may investigate other inquiries and their contexts, and this is what one must do to produce a theory of inquiry” (p. 80).

The positive idea that universals arise out of our practices that institute “repeatables” is provocative. No human inquiry partakes of perfect reflexivity, but inquiry is possible nonethless.

“From this external point of view situations are sub-types of the natural occurrences which Dewey calls various ‘histories’ or ‘affairs’. These are the basic elements for which our collective name is ‘nature’ ” (ibid).

He quotes Dewey: “[N]ature is an affair of affairs” (ibid).

Then he goes on: “Situations are a class of affairs which contain sentient organisms. These are the most complicated and interesting affairs in nature, for it is within them that cognition occurs. The model of this sort of affair is the transaction between an organism and its environment in which ‘integration is more fundamental than is the distinction designated by interaction of organism and environment’. The environment here is not just that bit of the physical world which happens to surround the organism. It is that part of the surrounding world with which the organism interacts to live. So from the outside, situations are just congeries of objects ‘falling within boundaries’ determined in some way by the inquirer, and considered as unique, datable occurrences.”

I guess this predates the sentience/sapience distinction that Brandom dwells on in Making It Explicit.

“But if situations are thus unrepeatable constellations of objects, how are the repeatables crucial to cognitive inquiry, as Dewey says, ‘instituted’ within them?” (p. 81).

That is indeed the question.

He quotes Dewey again: “A starting point for further discussion is found in the fact that verbal expressions which designate activities are not marked by the distinction between ‘singular’ (proper) names and ‘common’ names which is required in the case of nouns. For what is designated by a verb is a way of changing and/or acting. A way, manner, mode of change and activity is constant or uniform. It persists through the singular deed done or the change taking place is unique” (ibid).

Adverbial ways of being and ways of acting are far more interesting than mere attributions of undifferentiated existence or action. The association of these adverbial “ways” with a formal characteristic of verbs that is agnostic to the distinction between particulars and universals is unfamiliar and intriguing.

Brandom notes, “Practices, modes of activity involving the objects making up the situation, are to be the basis for repeatability in inquiry” (p. 82)

Now he says it more categorically. Universals become instituted through commonalities in practice, rather than through putative resemblances in perceptual experience. No universal is simply passively acquired.

He quotes Dewey again: “We are brought to the conclusion that it is modes of response which are the ground of generality of logical form, not existential immediate qualities of what is responded to…. ‘Similarity’ is the product of assimilating different things with respect to their functional value in inference and reasoning” (p. 82).

This resembles Brandom’s later critique of assumptions about resemblance.

Brandom comments, “Dewey wants to be able to present a ‘naturalized epistemology’, a theory of inquiry which will account for the practices of an inquirer in the ordinary empirical way, in terms of a set of objects existing antecedent to any activity of the inquirer, and which causally condition his behavior in explicable ways. One of the terms by means of which Dewey formulates the results of his ‘inquiry into inquiry’ is thus the situation. The situation of any particular inquiry we choose to investigate may well contain objects unknown to the inquirer who ‘has’ the situation…. With this introduction to the notion of a situation, we are prepared to approach Dewey’s notion of inquiry” (pp. 83-84).

The way he uses “empirical” here seems to straddle the boundary between empirical science on the one hand, and ordinary experience and natural language use on the other.

“[Dewey’s] official definition of inquiry is: ‘the controlled or directed transformation of an indeterminate situation into one that is so determinate in its constituent distinctions and relations as to convert the elements of the original situation into a unified whole.’ Dewey later decided that this was ill-put, and his considered view is that ‘the original indeterminate situation and the eventual resolved one are precisely initial and terminal stages of one and the same existential situation’. We will see that the ‘transformation’ which is inquiry according to Dewey is a transformation of practices of reporting, inferring, eating, etc. Dewey’s talk of ‘existentially transforming’ situations by inquiring will seem less paradoxical if we recall that the paradigm of a situation from the external point of view is an organism in its environment” (pp. 84-85).

Inquiry is something existentially transforming that occurs within a broadly natural context.

“By insisting on the role of pre-cognitive situations in inquiry, Dewey enforces the constraint of practices and changes of practice by causal relations of pre-existing objects which make those practices possible” (p. 85).

Here Brandom aims to show that Dewey addresses the concerns of the realists.

An interesting sentence in one of his quotations from Dewey is that “The attitude, when made explicit, is an idea or conceptual meaning” (p. 87). The phrase “making explicit” appears here at several important junctures in this discussion of Dewey. The title of Making It Explicit may reflect a Deweyan inspiration. This also sheds light on Brandom’s later talk about the attitude-dependence of normative statuses. The attitudes in question are not purely or shallowly subjective. They are practical stances in situations, subject to concrete give-and-take in the situations, and therefore to objective constraints that go into making the situation what it is.

Young Brandom explains, “A situation is indeterminate insofar as it is uncertain what to do in it, what past situation to assimilate it to…. An inquirer enters any situation with a repertoire of practices differentially elicitable by features of that situation…. The situation is determinate or resolved insofar as a concordant set of practices is unambiguously elicited by the situation. Inquiry is the process of producing such settled situations by applying high-order practices of criticism and refinement of initially conflicting claims made in accord with established practices whether inferential or non-inferential” (ibid).

The notion of a differentiating elicitation does occur in his later work.

“For Dewey, as for Pierce, inquiry is a matter of refining one’s practices toward an ideal in which no situation would elicit discordant or ambiguous activity in accord with those practices. Every time a problematic situation does arise, a re-assessment of the practices involved is required, an adjustment and refinement of that set of practices until concord is reached in the concrete situation” (p. 89).

Brandom’s later works express this repeated re-assessment in terms of the ongoing re-constitution of Kantian unities of apperception. Pierce and Dewey apparently put too much stock in a sort of universal movement toward consensus.

“It is important to this picture of inquiry that the inquirer and the habits which determine his practices are part of the situation. This means that altering one’s practices is a way of transforming one situation into another” (pp. 89-90).

“The essential feature of language is that ‘it compels one individual to take the standpoint of other individuals and to see and inquire from a standpoint that is not strictly personal but is common to them as participants or “parties” in some conjoint undertaking’ ” (p. 90).

Language in part presupposes and in part constitutes intersubjectivity. (Intersubjectivity is not something added onto individual subjectivity, but rather a precondition for its possibility. We could not be talking animals at all without others to talk with.)

“Common sense inquiries and scientific inquiries are alike, in that the same general description as ‘controlled transformation of problematic situations into resolved ones’ applies to both. They are different in that the practices of scientific inquiry are developed, inculcated, and criticized in social institutions unparalleled in the extra-scientific community” (p. 91).

I would say that any serious inquiry is an instance of what Habermas calls communicative action, and involves many considerations that do not apply to action in general.

“By looking thus from the outside at an inquirer and his situation in terms of the best scientific theory we have of them, we can also in principle describe conceptual change in an ordinary empirical way” (p. 93). “By describing their practices with respect to the objects which our best theories tell us make up their situations, we provide the framework for an ordinary empirical investigation of inquiry and conceptual change in terms of the physiological and sociological basis of their practices…. According to Dewey, the activity of the physiologist and sociologist investigating the basis in relation of objects for the practices of various groups of inquirers is itself to be thought of as a set of practices which occur within some non-cognitive situation (had but not known) and transformed as inquiry progresses. Inquiry into inquiry shares with all other inquiries the utilization and adaptation of practices forged in previous inquiries, and hence the revisability-in-principle of all these practices and the claims made in accordance with them” (p. 94).

This seems to treat natural-scientific explanation rather than discursive inquiry into meaning as the paradigm for explanation in general. As evinced by the work of Habermas, revisability in principle is an attribute of discursive or dialogical inquiry in general.

“It should be clear at this point that the realist’s claims and the instrumentalist’s claims as they appear in Dewey’s view of inquiry are completely compatible. Objects and practices occupy correlative functional roles in describing inquiry. Conceptual change is indeed viewed as a change of practice, but neither the practices nor the change is viewed as inexplicable” (pp. 95-96).

This is the main point that young Brandom wants to make here. Issues with classical pragmatist sources notwithstanding, I think he is basically successful.

“On the contrary, any practice or change of practice may in principle be explained by appealing to the objects reported, inferred about, or manipulated in any of the practices which are not then in question. This does not mean that there is any practice which cannot be explained or changed, and which is somehow a basis for the rest. We simply cannot change or explain all of our practices at once” (p. 96).

Any particular belief or concept we may have is subject to revision. But we doubt one thing in light of other things that are provisionally held constant. In real life no one doubts everything at any given time.

“There is a certain sort of circularity here, but it is the familiar non-vicious circularity of any self-regulating enterprise, a formal characteristic acknowledged by contemporary philosophy of science as applying to empirical inquiries, capsulized most vividly in Neurath’s famous figure of a ship making repairs at sea” (ibid).

This idea of practical mutual dependence among the elements of inquiry makes foundationalism untenable.

“The difficulty with the instrumentalists is that, having noticed the problems resulting from an ontology of objects, they sought to put epistemology on a firm footing by substituting an ontology of practices, claiming that objects were derivative entities, ultimately reducible to practices which, as we say, involve them…. Dewey teaches us that the problem is with the notion of ontology itself. Once we have become naturalistic, accepting a thoroughgoing fallibilism means eschewing the notion of a categorization of the kinds of things there are which is outside of and prior to any empirical investigation. Objects and practices are mutually dependent functional notions. We cannot account for the changing roles objects play in our conceptual economy without appealing to practices as well, and we cannot individuate practices without reference to objects” (p. 96n).

Objects are derivative entities, and there is a problem with ontology itself, whether it be taken merely as an a priori enumeration of kinds of things, or as something supposedly more fundamental.

“The problem which faced the realists, as we have argued, is allowing for fallibilism in their account of scientific activity. On the face of it, the explanation which the realist wants to be able to offer of the success of current practices, in terms of the actual existence and causal efficacy of the objects purportedly referred to in the theory will not explain why previous views which we have good empirical reason to believe false worked as well as they did. Nor is it obvious how believing in all those unreal objects enabled us to reach our present privileged position of believing in real ones (i.e., the ones which ‘really’ enable us to engage in the practices we do). Finally, fallibilism dictates that we be willing to accept the possibility of revisions in our current view as radical as those which have occurred in the past” (p. 97).

Here there is a clear parallel to the entry conditions for dialogue developed by Gadamer and Habermas. These apply not only to scientific discourse, but to discourse in general.

“According to Dewey’s view, each time our scientific view of things changes sufficiently, we will have to rewrite our account of the history of inquiry in terms of the sorts of objects which we have new practices of making claims about. But this fact no more impugns the project of explaining how previous practices worked as well as they did, than it impugns any other empirical project which may have to be rethought in view of the results of subsequent inquiry” (p. 98).

Naive views of the history of scientific progress as a linear accumulation toward presumed present truth cannot be sustained. When one view supersedes another in any context, it is not a simple matter of truth versus error. For example, geocentric astronomy had an important practical use in navigation that was not negated by the greater “truth” of heliocentric astronomy.

“As long as knowledge is thought of on the Kantian model, as the product of the collaboration of a faculty of receptivity and a faculty of spontaneity (and the observation/theory distinction is a straightforward version of this model, it will seem that there is a philosophical task of explaining the relations of these faculties. (Even Quine falls into this view in the very midst of a recommendation of a Deweyan naturalism about knowledge.) On this picture, philosophers are to tell us how theory relates to evidence, concept to intuition, in every possible cognition. This project stands outside of and prior to any empirical investigation. Dewey, having wrestled free of the picture generating the classical epistemological project, is able to present inquiry into inquiry as an ordinary empirical matter…. Thus Dewey’s naturalized account of inquiry can retain a distinction between inferential and noninferential practices, and between repeatable and non-repeatable elements. These categories are now meant to have only the same force that any empirical classification has, however. They can be discarded when an empirically better idea comes along. Once we give up the receptivity/spontaneity distinction, and with it the project of a philosophical discipline called ‘epistemology’ which is to relate the operations of the two faculties, we lose also the means to formulate a dispute between realism and instrumentalism concerning which faculty is to be given pride of place” (pp. 98-100).

As I noted earlier, in later works Brandom never blames Kant for the bad idea that there is such a thing as pure observation without any interpretation. That is an empiricist prejudice that ought in fact to be regarded as decisively refuted by Kant. Broadly construed, “naturalism about knowledge” is a good thing, provided it does not lead us back to empiricism.

Next in this series: Truth and Assertibility

Instrumentalism?

In the last post I gave positive mention to an “instrumentalist rather than realist view of scientific explanation”. I think an instrumental view of science is the natural one from an engineering point of view, which the philosophy of science ought to take very seriously. I actually work as an engineer in my day job, and have a bit of engineering education. Though these days I privately think of myself mainly as a moral philosopher, I truly enjoy engineering for its practical orientation. Engineers learn that the real world doesn’t always conform to theoretical simplifications, and they have to make what are actually value judgments all the time.

Curiously, it seems to me that in spite of our culture’s obsession with technology and all the stereotypes about nutty scientists, engineering as a discipline doesn’t have nearly as much social prestige as science. For the reasons just mentioned, I think engineering deserves the higher status, as the actually more comprehensive concern. Modern science is first and foremost a tool used in engineering. But in our culture’s mythology of science, there is a popular prejudice that engineers — unlike real scientists — just make rote applications of formulae developed by scientists. Meanwhile science students — if I may be forgiven a broad-brush picture — all too often seem to get the message that the latest Science is Truth, and everything else is irrelevant. This can unfortunately make them arrogant and dogmatic in later life. I think engineers on the whole are more attuned to the provisional status of assumptions.

On the historiographical side, I think the over-propagandized scientific revolution was actually more of an engineering revolution. The design of experiments can be considered a kind of engineering, as can the development and use of therapeutic techniques in medicine. The very practical, experiment-oriented work of Francis Bacon (1561-1626) in its broad parameters at least is a much better model for science in the modern sense than the new mechanist/voluntarist dualist world view promoted by Descartes, or even the empiricism of Locke. In terms of the long time-scale of human development, engineering long predates science, and I think that generally speaking, historical causality flows that way, with engineering driving science rather than following it.

These varied considerations seem to me to jointly favor an “instrumentalist” view in the philosophy of science. This is another example of the mediated or “long detour” type of approach to knowledge that seems most sound to me.

In analytic philosophy in recent decades, there has been a big debate about realism versus anti-realism. Implicitly, this mainly applies to the philosophy of science, but in many circles there are still prejudices that theory of knowledge comes first in philosophy, and that science is the most important kind of knowledge. This can make it seem as if realist or anti-realist positions in the philosophy of science must be applied across the board at a sort of ontological level, but I want to argue against that.

I think that ethical reason and interpretation come before the theory of knowledge in the overall order of explanation relevant to human life, and that normative practical judgment actually grounds what we think of as exact knowledge. From an ethical standpoint, it is vitally important to recognize there is a “push-back” of reality we need to respect and take into account, so I want to argue for a kind of realism. The true home for a respect for realism, I want to say, should be ethics and not the philosophy of science. We can meet all the ethical needs related to concern for objectivity in a way that is entirely compatible with an instrumentalist and “anti-realist” philosophy of science. Meanwhile, a more modest view of science — as a valuable tool rather than a source of ultimate truth — can help heal the false rift between science and values that permeates our culture. Further, if science is a tool and we also say that higher forms of faith are expressed not in propositions but in action and attitude (as I would respectfully suggest), then in the world of what should be, there is no possibility of conflict from either side. (See also Kinds of Reason.)