Title: | Ts-310: Brown Book (WL) - Normalized transcription [Draft] [Currently not available:] |
Author: | Ludwig Wittgenstein |
Editor: | Edited by Organization: Wittgenstein Archives at the University of Bergen (WAB). Editors: Alois Pichler, WAB (text and facsimile) |
Funders & Partners: | Trinity College, Cambridge; Oxford University Press, Oxford; Uni Research, Bergen; University of Bergen, Bergen; L. Meltzers Høyskolefond, Bergen; COST Action A32, Brussels; eContent+ DISCOVERY, Luxembourg; ICT PSP DM2E, Brussels |
Transcription: | Odin Thorbjørnsen, Øystein Hide (transcription in MECS-WIT markup: 1997, 1999) |
Alois Pichler (2001-: coordination and editorial guidelines; amendments; conversion from MECS-WIT to XML-TEI; XML-TEI markup) | |
Claus Huitfeldt, Kjersti Bjørnestad Berg, Sindre Sørensen, MLCD project (2001: parser for conversion from MECS to XML) | |
Vemund Olstad, Øyvind L. Gjesdal (2002-: stylesheets) | |
Tone Merete Bruvik, Øyvind L. Gjesdal (2006-: XML-TEI validation) | |
Heinz Wilhelm Krüger, Deirdre C. P. Smith (2006-: amendments; XML-TEI markup) | |
Špela Vidmar (2013-14: proofreading) |
Rights: | Copyright holders: The Master and Fellows of Trinity College, Cambridge; University of Bergen, Bergen. Released under the Creative Commons General Public License Attribution, Non-Commercial, Share-Alike version 3 (CCPL BY-NC-SA). |
|
Suppose a man described a game of chess, without mentioning- the existence and operations of the pawns. His description- of the game as a natural phenomenon will be incomplete. On- the other hand we may say that he has completely described a- simpler game. In this sense we can say that Augustine's description of learning the language was correct for a simpler- language than ours. Imagine this language:– 1). Its function is the communication between a builder A &- his man B. B has to reach A building stones. There are cubes,- bricks, slabs, beams, columns. The language consists of the- words “cube”, “brick”, “slab”, “column”. A calls out one of- these words, upon which B brings a stone of a certain shape. - Let us imagine a society in which this is the only system of- language. The child learns this language from the grown-ups- by being trained to its use. I am using the word “trained”- in a way strictly analogous to that in which we talk of an animal being trained to do certain things. It is done by means of- example, reward, punishment, and such like. Part of this training is that we point to a building stone, direct the attention- of the child towards it, & pronounce a word. I will call- this procedure demonstrative teaching of words. In the actual
|
(Note: Objection: The word “brick” in language 1) has not- the meaning which it has in our language. – This is true if it- means that in our language there are usages of the word “brick!”- different from our usages of this word in language 1). But- don't we sometimes use the word “brick!” in just this way? Or- should we say that when we use it, it is an elliptical sentence,- a shorthand for “Bring me a brick”? Is it right to say that if- we say “brick!” we mean “Bring me a brick”? Why should I translate the expression “brick!” into the expression, “Bring me a- brick”? And if they are synonymous, why shouldn't I say: If- he says “brick!” he means “brick!” …? Or: Why shouldn't he- be able to mean just “brick!” if he is able to mean “Bring me- a brick”, unless you wish to assert that while he says aloud- “brick!” he as a matter of fact always says in his mind, to- himself, “Bring me a brick”? But what reason could we have to- assert this? Suppose someone asked: If a man gives the order,- “Bring me a brick”, must he mean it as four words, or can't he- mean it as one composite word synonymous with the one word- “brick!”? One is tempted to answer: He means all four words if- in his language he uses that sentence in contrast with other
The connection between these two ideas is that the- mental experiences which accompany the use of a sign undoubtedly are caused by our usage of the sign in a particular- system of language. William James speaks of specific feelings- accompanying the use of such words as “&”, “if”, “or”. And- there is no doubt that at least certain gestures are often connected with such words, as a collecting gesture with “and”, &- a dismissing gesture with “not”. And there obviously are- visual and muscular sensations connected with these gestures. - On the other hand it is clear enough that these sensations do- not accompany every use of the word “not”, and “&”. If in some- language the word “but” meant what “not” means in English, it- is clear that we should not compare the meanings of these two
2). Let us now look at an extension of language 1). The- builder's man knows by heart the series of words from one to- ten. On being given the order, “Five slabs!”, he goes to- where the slabs are kept, says the words from one to five,- takes up a plate for each word, & carries them to the builder. - Here both the parties use the language by speaking the words. - Learning the numerals by heart will be one of the essential- features of learning this language. The use of the numerals- will again be taught demonstratively. But now the same word,- e.g., “three”, will be taught either by pointing to slabs, or- to bricks, or to columns, etc.. And on the other hand, different- numerals, will be taught by pointing to groups of stones of the- same shape. |
(Remark: We stressed the importance of learning the series- of numerals by heart because there was no feature comparable to- this in the learning of language 1). And this shews us that by- introducing numerals we have introduced an entirely different
|
What have the demonstrative explanations of the numerals- in common with those of the words “slab”, “column”, etc. except- a gesture and pronouncing the words? The way such a gesture- is used in the two cases is different. This difference is- blurred if one says, “In one case we point to a shape, in the- other we point to a number”. The difference becomes obvious- and clear only when we contemplate a complete example (i.e.,- the example of a language completely worked out in detail).) - 3). Let us introduce a new instrument of communication, –- a proper name. This is given to a particular object (a particular building stone) by pointing to it and pronouncing the- name. If A calls the name, B brings the object. The demonstrative teaching of a proper name is different again from the - demonstrative teaching in the cases 1) & 2). |
(Remark: This difference does not lie, however, in the act- of pointing and pronouncing the word or in any mental act- (meaning)? accompanying it, but in the role which the demonstration (pointing & pronouncing) plays in the whole training and in- the use which is made of it in the practice of communication- by means of this language. One might think that the difference- could be described by saying that in the different cases we- point to different kinds of objects. But suppose I point with
4). On being ordered “This slab!”, B brings the plate to which- A points. On being ordered, “Plate, there!”, he carries a- plate to the place indicated. Is the word “there” taught demonstratively? Yes & no! When a person is trained in the use- of the word “there”, the teacher will in training him make the- pointing gesture and pronounce the word “there”. But should- we say that thereby he gives a place the name “there”? Remember that the pointing gesture in this case is part of the practice of communication itself. |
(Remark: It has been suggested that such words as “there”,
|
– “What does the word ‘exactness’ mean? Is it real-exactness if you are supposed to come to tea at 4.30 and come- when a good clock strikes 4.30? Or would it only be exactness- if you began to open the door at the moment the clock begins to- strike? But how is this moment to be defined and how is “beginning to open the door” to be defined? Would it be correct- to say, ‘It is difficult to say what real exactness is, for all- we know is only rough approximations’?”) 5). Question and answer: A asks, “How many plates?” B counts- them and answers with the numeral. |
Systems of communication as for instance 1), 2), 3), 4),- 5) we shall call “language-games”. They are more or less akin- to what in ordinary language we call games. Children are- taught their native language by means of such games, and here- they even have the entertaining character of games. We are not,
|
When the boy or grown-up learns what one might call- special technical languages, e.g., the use of charts and diagrams, descriptive geometry, chemical symbolism, etc., he learns- more language-games. (Remark: The picture we have of the language of the grown-up is that of a nebulous mass of language,- his mother tongue, surrounded by discreet and more or less- clear cut language games, the technical languages.) 6). Asking for the name: we introduce new forms of building- stones. B points to one of them & asks, “What is this?”; A- answers, “This is a …”. Later on A calls out this new word,- say “arch”, & B brings the stone. The words, “This is a …”- together with the pointing gesture we shall call ostensive- explanation or ostensive definition. In case 6) a generic- name was explained, in actual fact, the name of a shape. But- we can ask analogously for the proper name of a particular object, for the name of a colour, of a numbernumber || numeral, of a direction. |
(Remark: Our use of expressions like “names of numbers”,- “names of colours”, “names of materials”, “names of nations” may- spring from two different sources. a) One is that we might imagine the functions of proper names, numerals, words for colours,
7). B has a table in which written signs are placed opposite- to pictures of objects (say, a table, a chair, a tea-cup, etc.). - A writes one of the signs, B looks for it in the table, looks or- points with his finger from the written sign to the picture- opposite, & fetches the object which the picture represents. |
Let us now look at the different kinds of signs which- we have introduced. First let us distinguish between sentences- and words. A sentence I will call every complete sign in a- language-game, its constituent signs are words. (This is- merely a rough and general remark about the way I will use the- words “proposition” and “word”). A proposition may consist of- only one word. In 1) the signs “brick!”, “column!” are the- sentences. In 2) a sentence consists of two words. According
8). If in a language-game similar to 1) A calls out an order:- “slab, column, brick!” which is obeyed by B by bringing a slab,- a column & a brick, we might here talk of three propositions,- or of one only. If on the other hand, 9). the order of words shews B the order in which to bring the- building stones, we shall say that A calls out a proposition- consisting of three words. If the command in this case took- the form, “Slab, then column, then brick!” we should say that- it consisted of four words (not of five). Amongst the words- we see groups of words with similar functions. We can easily- see a similarity in the use of the words “one”, “two”, “tree”,- etc. & again one in the use of “slab”, “column” & “brick”, etc., - & thus we distinguish parts of speech. In 8) all words of- the proposition belonged to the same part of speech. 10). The order in which B had to bring the stones in 9) could- have been indicated by the use of the ordinals thus: “Second,- column; first, slab; third, brick!”. Here we have a case in- which what was the function of the order of words in one language-game is the function of particular words in another. |
Reflections such as the preceding will show us the infinite variety of the functions of words in propositions, and it is- curious to compare what we see in our examples with the simple- & rigid rules which logicians give for the construction of propositions. If we group words together according to the similarity of their functions, thus distinguishing parts of speech,
11). Consider this variation of our language-game 2). Instead of calling out, “One slab!”, “One cube!”, etc., A just- calls “slab!”, “cube!”, etc., the use of the other numerals- being as described in 2). Suppose that a man accustomed to- this form (11)) of communication was introduced to the use of- the word “one” as described in 2). We can easily imagine that- he would refuse to classify “one” with the numerals “2”, “3”,- etc.. |
(Remark: Think of the reasons for and against classifying- “O” with the other cardinals. “Are black and white colours?” - In which cases would you be inclined to say so & which not? – - Words can in many ways be compared to chess men. Think of the- several ways of distinguishing different kind of pieces in the- game of chess (e.g., pawns & “officers”). Remember the phrase, “two or more”.) |
When we call these three preceding cases cases of comparing from memory, we feel that their description is in a sense- unsatisfactory, or incomplete. We are inclined to say that the- description has left out the essential feature of such a process & given us accessory features only. The essential feature- it seems would be what one might call a specific experience of- comparing & of recognizing. Now it is queer that on closely- looking at cases of comparing, it is very easy to see a great- number of activities and states of mind, all more or less characteristic
|
“But surely in case 14c) B acted entirely automatically. - If all that happened was really what was described there, he- did not know why he chose the bolt he did choose. He had no- reason for choosing it. If he chose the right one, he did it- as a machine might have done it”. Our first answer is that we- did not deny that B in case 14c) had what we should call a personal experience, for we did not say that he didn't see the materials from which he chose or that which he chose, nor that he- didn't have muscular and tactile sensations and such like while- he did it. Now what would such a reason which justified his- choice and made it non-automatic be like? (i.e. : What do we
|
If our case 14c) troubles you, you may be inclined to say:- “But why did he bring just this bolt of material? How has he
|
“But then B didn't really recognize the material as the- right one”. – You needn't reckon 14c) among the cases of recognizing, but if you have become aware of the fact that the processes which we call processes of recognition form a vast family- with overlapping similarities, you will probably feel not disinclined to include 14c) in this family, too. – “But doesn't B- in this case lack the criterion by which he can recognize the- material? In 14a), e.g., he had the memory image and he recognized the material he looked for by its agreement with the image”.- – But had he also a picture of this agreement before him, a- picture with which he could compare the agreement between the- pattern and the bolt to see whether it was the right one? And,- on the other hand, couldn't he have been given such a picture? - Suppose, e.g., that A wished B to remember that what was wanted- was a bolt exactly like the sample, not, as perhaps in other- cases, a material slightly darker than the pattern. Couldn't- A in this case have given to B an example of the agreement- required by giving him two pieces of the same colour (e.g.,
|
“But supposing B brings the bolt, as in 14c), & on comparing it with the pattern it turns out to be the wrong one?” – - But couldn't that have happened in all the other cases as well? - Suppose in 14a) the bolt which B brought back was found not to- match with the pattern. Wouldn't we in some such cases say- that his memory image had changed, in others that the pattern- or the material had changed, in others again that the light had- changed? It is not difficult to invent cases, imagine circumstances, in which each of these judgements would be made. – - “But isn't there after all an essential difference between the- cases 14a) & 14c)?”– Certainly! Just that pointed out in the- description of these cases. – |
In 1) B learnt to bring a building stone on hearing the- word “column!” called out. We could imagine what happened in- such a case to be this: In B's mind the word called out brought- up an image of a column, say; the training had, as we should- say, established this association. B takes up that building- stone which conforms to his image. – But was this necessarily- what happened? If the training could bring it about that the- idea or image – automatically – arose in B's mind, why shouldn't- it bring about B's actions without the intervention of an image?
|
Mental images of colours, shapes, sounds, etc. etc., which- play a role in communication by means of language we put in the- same category with patches of colour actually seen, sounds- heard. 18). The object of the training in the use of tables (as in- 7)) may be not only to teach the use of one particular table,- but it may be to enable the pupil to use or construct himself- tables with new coordinations of written signs & pictures. - Suppose the first table a person was trained to use contained- the four words “hammer”, “pincers”, “saw”, “chisel” & the- corresponding pictures. We might now add the picture of another object which the pupil had before him, say of a plane, &- correlate with it the word “plane”. We shall make the correlation between this new picture and word as similar as possible- to the correlations in the previous table. Thus we might add- the new word and picture on the same sheet, and place the new- word under the previous words and the new picture under the- previous pictures. The pupil will now be encouraged to make- use of the new picture and word without the special training- which we gave him when we taught him to use the first table.
19). The pupil could also be trained to give things names of- his own invention and to bring the objects when the names are- called. He is, e.g., presented with a table on which he finds- pictures of objects around him on one side and blank spaces on- the other, and he plays the game by writing signs of his own- invention opposite the pictures and reacting in the previous way- when these signs are used as orders. Or else, 20). the game may consist in B's constructing a table and- obeying orders given in terms of this table. When the use of- a table is taught, and the table consists, say, of two vertical- columns, the left hand one containing the names, the right hand- one the pictures, a name and a picture being correlated by- standing on a horizontal line, an important feature of the training may be that which makes the pupil slide his finger from left- to right, as it were the training to draw a series of horizontal lines, one below the other. Such training may help to make- the transition from the first table to the new item. |
Tables, ostensive definitions, & similar instruments I- shall call rules, in accordance with ordinary usage. The use- of a rule can be explained by a further rule.
|
We introduce into our language-games the endless series- of numerals. But how is this done? Obviously the analogy- between this process & that of introducing a series of twenty- numerals is not the same as that between introducing a series- of twenty numerals and introducing a series of ten numerals. - Suppose that our game was like 2) but played with the endless- series of numerals. The difference between it & 2) would not- be just that more numerals were used. That is to say, suppose- that as a matter of fact in playing the game we had actually- made use of, say, 155 numerals, the game we play would not be- that which could be described by saying that we played the game- 2), only with 155 instead of 10 numerals. But what does the- difference consist in? (The difference would seem to be almost
22). One game is played with a fixed number of such cards, say- 32. In the other game we are under certain circumstances- allowed to increase the number of cards to as many as we like,- by cutting pieces of paper and writing numbers on them. We- will call the first of these games bounded, the second unbounded. Suppose a hand of the second game was played & the number- of cards actually used was 32. What is the difference in this- case between playing a hand a) of the unbounded game & playing- a hand b) of the bounded game? |
The difference will not be that between a hand of a bounded game with 32 cards and a hand of a bounded game with a greater number of cards. The number of cards used was, we said,- the same. But there will be differences of another kind, e.g.,- the bounded game is played with a normal pack of cards, the- unbounded game with a large supply of blank cards & pencils.
|
“But isn't it correct to say that hands of the two different games belong to two different systems?” Certainly. - Only the facts which we are referring to by saying that they- belong to different systems are much more complex than we might- expect them to be. |
Let us now compare language-games of which we should say
23). Like 2) A orders B to bring him a number of building- stones. The numerals are the signs “1”, “2”, etc.- … “9”, each written on a card. A has a set of these cards- and gives B the order by shewing him one of the set & calling- out one of the words, “slab”, “column”, etc. 24). Like 23), only there is no set of indexed cards. The- series of numerals 1 …9 is learned by heart. The numerals- are called out in the orders, & the child learns them by word- of mouth. 25). An abacus is used. A sets the abacus, gives it to B, -B goes with it to where the slabs lie, etc.. 26). B is to count the slabs in a heap. He does it with an- abacus, the abacus has twenty beads. There are never more than- 20 plates in a heap. B sets the abacus for the heap in question & shews A the abacus thus set. 27). Like 26). The abacus has 20 small beads & one large- one. If the heap contains more than 20 plates, the large bead- is moved. (So the large bead in some way corresponds to the- word “many”). 28). Like 26). If the heap contains n plates, n being more- than 20 but less than 40, B moves n-20 beads, shews A the abacus- thus set, & claps his hand once. 29). A & B use the numerals of the decimal system (written or- spoken) up to 20. The child learning this language learns these
30). A certain tribe has a language of the kind 2). The- numerals used are those of our decimal system. No one numeral- used can be observed to play the predominant role of the last- numeral in some of the above games (27), 28)). (One is tempted- to continue this sentence by saying, “although there is of- course a highest numeral actually used”). The children of the- tribe learn the numerals in this way: They are taught the signs- from 1 to 20 as in 2) and to count rows of beads of no more- than 20 on being ordered, “Count these”. When in counting the- pupil arrives at the numeral 20, one makes a gesture suggestive- of “Go on”, upon which the child says (in most cases at any- rate) “21”. Analogously, the children are made to count to 22- & to higher numbers, no particular number playing in these exercises the predominant role of a last one. The last stage of- the training is that the child is ordered to count a group of - objects, well above 20, without the suggestive gesture being- used to help the child over the numeral 20. If a child does- not respond to the suggestive gesture, it is separated from the- others and treated as a lunatic. 31). Another tribe. Its language is like that in 30). The- highest numeral observed in use is 159. In the life of this- tribe the numeral 159 plays a peculiar role. Supposing I said,- “They treat this number as their highest”, – but what does this- mean? Could we answer: “They just say that it is the highest”? -– They say certain words, but how do we know what they mean by- them? A criterion for what they mean would be the occasions
|
(Remarks: 23) is limited in an obvious way by the set of- cards. 24): Note analogy and lack of analogy between the limited supply of cards in 23) & of words in our memory in 24). - Observe that the limitation in 26) on the one hand lies in the- tool (the abacus of 20 beads) & its usage in our game, on the- other hand (in a totally different way) in the fact that in the- actual practice of playing the game no more than 20 objects are- ever to be counted. In 27) that latter kind of limitation was- absent, but the large bead rather stressed the limitation of our- means. Is 28) a limited or an unlimited game? The practice- we have described gives the limit 40. We are inclined to say- this game “has it in it” to be continued indefinitely, but remember
|
We might say roughly that the unlimited cases are characterized by this: that they are not played with a definite supply- of numerals, but instead with a system for constructing numerals (indefinitely). When we say that someone has been supplied- with a system for constructing numerals, we generally think of- either of three things: a) of giving him a training similar to- that described in 30), which, experience teaches us, will make- him pass tests of the kind mentioned there; b) of creating a- disposition in the same man's mind, or brain, to react in that- way; c) of supplying him with a general rule for the construction- of numerals. |
What do we call a rule? Consider this example: 33). B moves about according to rules which A gives him. B- is supplied with the following table: A gives an order made up of the letters in the table, say:- “aacaddd”. B looks up the arrow corresponding to each letter- of the order and moves accordingly; in our example thus: The table 33) we should call a rule (or else “the expression of- a rule”. Why I give these synonymous expressions will appear- later.) We shan't be inclined to call the sentence “aacaddd”- itself a rule. It is of course the description of the way B- has to take. On the other hand, such a description would under- certain circumstances be called a rule, e.g., in the following- case:
|
In this case I think we should say that “cada” is the- rule for drawing the design. Roughly speaking, it characterizes what we call a rule to be applied repeatedly, in an indefinite number of instances. Cf., e.g., the following case with- 34): 35). A game played with pieces of various shapes on a chess- board. The way each piece is allowed to move is laid down by- a rule. Thus the rule for a particular piece is “ac”, for- another piece “acaa”, & so on. The first piece then can make- a move like this: , the second, like this: . Both- a formula like “ac” or a diagram like that corresponding to- such a formula might here be called a rule. 36). Suppose that after playing the game 33) several times as- described above, it was played with this variation: that B no- longer looked at the table, but reading A's order the letters- call up the images of the arrows (by association), & B acts - according to these imagined arrows. 37). After playing it like this for several times, B moves- about according to the written order as he would have done had- he looked up or imagined the arrows, but actually without any- such picture intervening. Imagine even this variation: 38). B in being trained to follow a written order, is shewn- the table of 33) once, upon which he obeys A's orders without- further intervention of the table in the same way in which B in
|
In each of these cases, we might say that the table 33)- is a rule of the game. But in each one this rule plays a different role. In 33) the table is an instrument used in what- we should call the practice of the game. It is replaced in- 36) by the working of association. In 37) even this shadow of- the table has dropped out of the practice of the game, and in- 38) the table is admittedly an instrument for the training of B- only. |
But imagine this further case: 39). A certain system of communication is used by a tribe. - I will describe it by saying that it is similar to our game 38)- except that no table is used in the training. The training- might have consisted in several times leading the pupil by the- hand along the path one wanted him to go. But we could also- imagine a case: 40). where even this training is not necessary, where, as we- should say, the look of the letters abcd naturally produced an- urge to move in the way described. This cause at first sight- looks puzzling. We seem to be assuming a most unusual working- of the mind. Or we may askwe may ask || perhaps we ask, “How on earth is he to know which- way to move if the letter a is shewn him”? But isn't B's- reaction in this case the very reaction described in 37) & 38),- & in fact our usual reaction when for instance we hear and obey- an order? For, the fact that the training in 38) & 39) preceded the carrying out of the order does not change the process of- carrying out. In other words the “curious mental mechanism”- assumed in 40) is no other than that which we assumed to be
|
How does one explain to a man how he should carry out the- order, “Go this way!” (pointing with an arrow the way he should- go)? Couldn't this mean going the direction which we should -call the opposite of that of the arrow? Isn't every explanation of how he should follow the arrow in the position of another- arrow? What would you say to this explanation: A man says,- “If I point this way (pointing with his right hand) I mean you- to go like this” (pointing with his left hand the same way)?- This just shews you the extremes between which the uses of signs- vary. |
Let us return to 39). Someone visits the tribe and observes the use of the signs in their language. He describes- the language by saying that its sentences consist of the letters- abcd used according to the table: (of 33)). We see that the- expression, “A game is played according to the rule so-and-so”- is used not only in the variety of cases exemplified by 36), 37),- & 38), but even in cases where the rule is neither an instrument- of the training nor of the practice of the game, but stands in- the relation to it in which our table stands to the practice of- our game 39). One might in this case call the table a natural
|
Note that in the game 33) I distinguished sharply between- the order to be carried out and the rule employed. In 34) on- the other hand, we called the sentence “cada” a rule, & it was- the order. Imagine also this variation: 41). The game is similar to 33), but the pupil is not just- trained to use a single table; but the training aims at making- the pupil use any table correlating letters with arrows. Now- by this I mean no more than that the training is of a peculiar- kind, roughly speaking one analogous to that described in 30). - I will refer to a training more or less similar to that in 30)- as a “general training”. General trainings form a family- whose members differ greatly from one another. The kind of- thing I'm thinking of now mainly consists: a) of a training- in a limited range of actions, b) of giving the pupil a lead to- extend this range, & c) of random exercises and tests. After- the general training the order is now to consist in giving him- a sign of this kind: He carries out the order by moving thus: . Here I- suppose we should say the table, the rule, is part of the order. |
Note, we are not saying “what a rule is” but just giving- different applications of the word “rule”; & we certainly do- this by giving applications of the words “expression of a rule”. |
Note also that in 41) there is no clear case against calling
|
Let us now consider these two games: 42). A gives orders to B: they are written signs consisting of- dots and dashes and B executes them by doing a figure in dancing with a particular step. Thus the order “-.” is to be carried out by taking a step and a hop alternately; the - order “..---” by alternately taking two hops and three steps,- etc. The training in this game is “general” in the sense- explained in 41); and I should like to say, “the orders given- don't move in a limited range. They comprise combinations of- any number of dots and dashes”. – But what does it mean to say- that the orders don't move in a limited range? Isn't this- nonsense? Whatever orders are given in the practice of the- game constitute the limited range. – Well, what I meant to say- by “the orders don't move in a limited range” was that neither- in the teaching of the game nor in the practice of it a limitation of the range plays a “predominant” role (see 30)) or, as- we might say, the range of the game (it is superfluous to say
43). The orders and their execution as in 42); but only- these three signs are used: “-.”, “-..”, “.--”. We say that- in 42) B in executing the order is guided by the sign given to- him. But if we ask ourselves whether the three signs in 43)- guide B in executing the orders, it seems that we can say both- yes and no according to the way we look at the execution of the- orders. |
If we try to decide whether B in 43) is guided by the- signs or not, we are inclined to give such answers as the following: a) B is guided if he doesn't just look at an order, say- “.--” as a whole and then act, but if he reads it “word by- word” (the words used in our language being “.” “-”) and acts- according to the words he has read. |
We could make these cases clearer if we imagine that the- “reading word by word” consisted in pointing to each word of- the sentence in turn with one's finger as opposed to pointing- at the whole sentence at once, say by pointing to the beginning- of the sentence. And the “acting according to the words” we- shall for the sake of simplicity imagine to consist in acting- (stepping or hopping) after each word of the sentence in turn. -– b) B is guided if he goes through a conscious process which- makes a connection between the pointing to a word and the act- of hopping and stepping. Such a connection could be imagined- in many different ways. E.g., B has a table in which a dash
|
All these explanations seem in a peculiar way unsatisfactory, and it is the limitation of our game which makes- them unsatisfactory. This is expressed by the explanation that- B is guided by the particular combination of words in one of- our three sentences if he could also have carried out orders- consisting in other combinations of dots and dashes. And if- we say this, it seems to us that the “ability” to carry out- other orders is a particular state of the person carrying out- the orders of 42). And at the same time we can't in this case- find anything which we should call such a state. |
Let us see what role the words “can” or “to be able to”- play in our language. Consider these examples: 44). Imagine that for some purpose or other people use a kind- of instrument or tool; this consists of a board with a slot in- it guiding the movement of a peg. The man using the tool- slides the peg along the slot. There are such boards with- straight slots, circular slots, elliptic slots, etc. The language of the people using this instrument has expressions for
45). Imagine a people in whose language there is no such form- of sentence as “the book is in the drawer” or “water is in the- glass”, but wherever we should use these forms they say, “The- book can be taken out of the drawer”, “The water can be taken- out of the glass”. 46). An activity of the men of a certain tribe is to test- sticks as to their hardness. They do it by trying to bend the- sticks with their hands. In their language they have expressions of the form, “This stick can be bent easily” or “This stick- can be bent with difficulty”. They use these expressions as- we use “This stick is soft” or “This stick is hard”. I mean to- say that they don't use the expression, “This stick can be bent- easily” as we should use the sentence “I am bending the stick- with ease”. Rather they use their expression in a way which- would make us say that they are describing a state of the- stick. I.e., they use such sentences as, “This hut is built- of sticks that can be bent easily”. (Think of the way in which- we form adjectives out of verbs by means of the ending “-able”,- e.g., “deformable”.) |
Now we might say that in the last three cases the sentences
|
When on the other hand, we talk of the state of a stick- in 46), observe that to this “state” there does not correspond- a particular sense experience which lasts while the state lasts. - Instead of that, the defining criterion for something being in- this state consists in certain tests. |
We may say that a car travels 20 miles an hour even if it- only travels for half an hour. We can explain our form of- expression by saying that the car travels with a speed which- enables it to make 20 miles an hour. And here also we are inclined to talk of the velocity of the car as of a state of its- motion. I think we should not use this expression if we had- no other “experiences of motion” than those of a body being in a- particular place at a certain time and in another place at another time; if, e.g., our experiences of motion were of the- kind which we have when we see the hour hand of the clock has- moved from one point of the dial to the other. 47). A tribe has in its language commands for the execution of- certain actions of men in warfare, something like “Shoot!”,
48). The men of a tribe are subjected to a kind of medical- examination before going into war. The examiner puts the men- through a set of standardised tests. He lets them lift certain- weights, swing their arms, skip, etc. The examiner then gives- his verdict in the form “So-and-so can throw a spear” or “can- throw a boomerang” or “is fit to pursue the enemy”, etc. There- are no special expressions in the language of this tribe for- the activities performed in the tests; but these are referred- to only as the tests for certain activities in warfare. |
It is an important remark concerning this example and- others which we give that one may object to the description- which we give of the language of a tribe, that in the specimens- we give of their language we let them speak English, thereby- already presupposing the whole background of the English language, that is, our usual meanings of the words. Thus if I- say that in a certain language there is no special verb for- “skipping”, but that this language uses instead the form “making
|
49). Imagine a tribe in whose
language there is an expression- corresponding to our “He
has done so-and-so” and another expression
corresponding to our “He can do so-and-so”,
this latter
|
By the way, have the two phrases, “He has done so-&-so”- and “He can do so-&-so” the same meaning in this language or- have they different meanings? If you think about it, something
|
Before we go on with our consideration of the use of “the- expression of possibility”, let us get clearer about that department of our language in which things are said about past &- future, that is, about the use of sentences containing such- expressions as “yesterday”, “a year ago”, “in five minutes”,- “before I did this”, etc. Consider this example: 50). Imagine how a child might be trained in the practice of- “narration of past events”. He was first trained in asking for- certain things (as it were, in giving orders. See 1).) Part- of this training was the exercise of “naming the things”. He- has thus learnt to name (& ask for) a dozen of his toys. Say- now that he has played with three of them (e.g., a ball, a stick,- and a rattle), then they are taken away from him, and now the- grown-up says such a phrase as, “He's had a ball, a stick, and- a rattle”. On a similar occasion he stops short in the enumeration
51). Another example of a primitive kind of narration of past- events: we live in a landscape with characteristic natural- landmarks against the horizon. It is therefore easy to remember the place at which the sun rises at a particular season,- or the place above which it stands when at its highest point,- or the place at which it sets. We have some characteristic- pictures of the sun in different positions in our landscape. - Let us call this series of pictures the sun series. We have- also some characteristic pictures of the activities of a child,- lying in bed, getting up, dressing, lunching, etc. This set
52). A variation of 51). There is a big clock in the nursery, for simplicity's sake imagine it with an hour hand only. - The story of the child's day is narrated as above, but there is- no sun series; instead we write one of the digitsdigits || numbers of the dial- against each life picture. |
53). Note that there would
have been a similar game in which- also, as we might say, time was
involved, that of just laying- out a series of life pictures.
We might play this game with- the help of words which would correspond
to our “before” and-
“after”.
In this sense we may say that 53) involves the ideas- of before and
after, but not the idea of a measurement of time. -
I needn't say that an easy step would lead us from the
narrations- in 51), 52), & 53) to narrations in
words.
Possibly someone
54). If we give a person the order, “Say a number, any one- which comes into your mind”, he can generally comply with it- at once. Suppose it were found that the numbers thus said- on request increased – with every normal person – as the day- went on; a man starts out with some small number every morning- and reaches the highest number before falling asleep at night. - Consider what could tempt one to call the reactions described- “a means of measuring time” or even to say that they are the- real milestones in the passage of time, the sun clocks, etc.
|
Let us now consider further language-games into which- temporal expressions enter. 55). This arises out of 1). If an order like “Slab!”,- “Column!”, etc. is called out, B is trained to carry it out- immediately. We now introduce a clock into this game, an order- is given, and we train the child not to carry it out until the- hand of our clock reaches a point indicated before with the- finger. (This might, e.g., be done in this way: You first- trained the child to carry out the order immediately. You- then give the order, but hold the child back, releasing it only- when the hand of the clock has reached the point of the dial to- which we point with our fingers.) |
We could at this stage introduce such a word as “now”. - We have two kinds of orders in this game, the orders used in- 1), and orders consisting of these together with a gesture indicating a point of the clock dial. In order to make the distinction between these two kinds more explicit, we may affix a- particular sign to the orders of the first kind and e.g., say:- “slab, now!”. |
It would be easy now to describe language-games in such- expressions as “in five minutes”, “half an hour ago”. - 56). Let us now have the case of a description of the future,- a forecast. One might, e.g., awaken the tension of expectation- in a child by keeping his attention for a considerable time- on some traffic lights changing their colour periodically. We- also have a red, a green, and a yellow disc before us and alternately
|
Looking at these language-games, we don't come across- the ideas of the past, the future, and the present in their- problematic and almost mysterious aspect. What this aspect is- and how it comes about that it appears can be most characteristically exemplified if we look at the question, “Where does the- present go when it becomes past, and where is the past?” –- under what circumstances has this question an allurement for- us? For under certain circumstances it hasn't, and we should- wave it away as nonsense. |
It is clear that this question most easily arises if we- are preoccupied with cases in which there are things flowing by- us, – as logs of wood float down a river. In such a case we- can say the logs which have passed us are all down towards the- left and the logs which will pass us are all up towards the- right. We then use this situation as a simile for all happening in time and even embody the simile in our language, as when- we say that “the present event passes by” (a log passes by),- “the future event is to come” (a log is to come). We talk- about the flow of events; but also about the flow of time –- the river on which the logs travel. |
Here is one of the most fertile sources of philosophic- puzzlement: We talk of the future event of something coming- into my room, and also of the future coming of this event. |
We say, “Something will happen”, and also, “Something
|
Thus it can come about that we aren't able to rid ourselves- of the implications of our symbolism, which seems to admit of- a question like, “where does the flame of a candle go to when- it's blown out?”, “Where does the light go to?”, “Where does the- past go to?”. We have become obsessed with our symbolism. - We may say that we are led into puzzlement by an analogy which- irresistibly drags us on.– And this also happens when the- meaning of the word “now” appears to us in a mysterious light. - In our example 55) it appears that the function of “now” is in- no way comparable to the function of an expression like “five- o'clock”, “midday”, “the time when the sun sets”, etc. This- latter group of expressions I might call “specifications“specifications || “determinations of- times”. But our ordinary language uses the word “now” and- determinations of time in similar contexts. Thus we say “The- sun sets now”.“The- sun sets now”. || “The- sun sets at six o' clock”. We are inclined to say that both- “now” and “six o'clock” “refer to points of time”. This use- of words produces a puzzlement which one might express in the- question, “What is the ‘now’? – for it is a moment of time and- yet it can't be said to be either the ‘moment at which I speak’- or the ‘moment at which the clock strikes’ etc., etc.”– Our- answer is: The function of the word “now” is entirely different- from that of a specification of time.– This can easily be- seen if we look at the role this word really plays in our usage- of language, but it is obscured when instead of looking at the- whole language-game, we only look at the contexts, the phrases
|
One has been tempted to say that “now” is the name of an- instant of time, and this, of course, would be like saying that- “here” is the name of a place, “this” the name of a thing, and- “I” the name of a man. (One could of course also have said- “a year ago” was the name of a time, “over there” the name of a- place, and “you” the name of a person.) But nothing is more- unlike than the use of the word “this” and the use of a proper- name, – I mean the games played with these words, not the phrases- in which they are used. For we do say, “This is short” and- “Jack is short”; but remember that “This is short” without the- pointing gesture and without the thing we are pointing to would- be meaningless. – What can be compared with a name is not the- word “this” but, if you like, the symbol consisting of this- word, the gesture, and the sample. We might say: Nothing is- more characteristic of a proper name A than that we can use it- in such a phrase as, “This is A”; & it makes no sense to say,- “This is this” or “Now is now” or “Here is here”. |
The idea of a proposition saying something about what will- happen in the future is even more liable to puzzle us than the- idea of a proposition about the past. For comparing future -events with past events, one may almost be inclined to say that
58). In a certain tribe contests are held in running, putting- the weight, etc. and the spectators stake moneymoney || possessions on the competitors. The pictures of all the competitors are placed in a- row, and what I called the spectators' staking property on one- of the competitors consists in laying this property (pieces of- gold) under one of the pictures. If a man has placed his gold- under the picture of the winner in the competition he gets back- his stake doubled. Otherwise he loses his stake. Such a- custom we should undoubtedly call betting, even if we observed- it in a society whose language held no scheme for stating “degrees of probability”, “chances” and the like. I assume that- the behaviour of the spectators expresses great keenness and- excitement before and after the resultresult || outcome of the bet is known. I- further imagine that on examining the placing of the- bets I can understand “why” they were thus placed. I mean:- In a competition between two wrestlers, mostly the bigger man is- the favorite; or if the smaller, I find that he has shown greater
|
The tribe may, on the other hand, have a language which- comprises “giving reasons”. Now this game of giving the reason- why one acts in a particular way does not involve finding the- causes of one's actions (by frequent observations of the conditions under which they arise). Let us imagine this: 59). If a man of our tribe has lost his bet and upon this is- chaffed or scolded, he points out, possibly exaggerating, certain features of the man on whom he has laid his bet. One can- imagine a discussion of pros and cons going on in this way: two- people pointing out alternately certain features of the two- competitors whose chances, as we should say, they are discussing;- A pointing with a gesture to the great height of the one, B in- answer to this shrugging his shoulders and pointing to the size- of the other's biceps, and so on. I could easily add more- details which would make us say that A and B are giving reasons- for laying a bet on one person rather than on the other. |
Now one might saysay || suggest that giving reasons in this way for
60). Imagine in a similar way conjectures being made as to- whether a certain load of gunpowder will be sufficient to- blast a certain rock, and the conjecture to be expressed in a- phrase of the form, “This quantity of gunpowder can blast this- rock”. 61). Compare with 60) the case in which the expression, “I- shall be able to lift this weight”, is used as an abbreviation- for the conjecture, “My hand holding this weight will rise if- I go through the process (experience) of ‘making an effort to- lift it’”. In the last two cases the word “can” characterized- what we should call the expression of a conjecture. (Of course
|
Now it is true that I have deliberately made up the cases- 46) to 49) so as to make a conjecture of this kind seem reasonable. But I have also deliberately made them up so as not to- contain a conjecture. We can, if we like, make the hypothesis- that the tribe would never use such a form of expression as- that used in 49), etc. if experience had not shown them that …- etc. But this is an assumption which, though possibly correct,- is in no way presupposed in the games 46) to 49) as I have actually described them. 62). Let the game be this: A writes down a row of numbers. - B watches him and tries to find a system in the sequence of- these numbers. When he has done so he says: “Now I can go on”. - This example is particularly instructive because “being able to
63). Or, no formula came into B's mind. After looking at- the growing row of numbers A waswas || is writing, possibly with a feeling- of tension and with hazy ideas floating in his mind, he said to- himself the words, “He's squaring and always adding one more”;- then he made up the next number of the sequence and found it- to agree with the numbers A then wrote down. – 64). Or the row A wrote down was 2, 4, 6, 8. B looks at it,- and says, “Of course I can go on”, and continues the series of- even numbers. Or he says nothing, and just goes on. Perhaps- when looking at the row 2, 4, 6, 8 which A had written down,- he had some sensation, or sensations, often accompanying such- words as, “That's easy!” A sensation of this kind is for instance, the experience of a slight, quick intake of breath,- what one might call a slight start. |
Now, should we say that the proposition, “B can continue- the series”, means that one of the occurrences just described- takes place? Isn't it clear that the statement, “B can continue …”
|
On the other hand we should under certain circumstances- be ready to substitute “B knows the formula”, “B has said the- formula” for “B can continue the series”. As when we ask a- doctor, “Can the patient walk?”, we shall sometimes be ready to- substitute for this, “Is his leg healed?” – “Can he speak?”- under certain circumstances means, “Is his throat all right?”,- under others (e.g. if he is a small child) it means, “Has he- learned to speak?” – To the question, “Can the patient walk?”,- the doctor's answer may be, “His leg is all right”. – We use- the phrase, “He can walk, as far as the state of his leg is concerned”, especially when we wish to oppose this condition for- his walking to some other condition, say the state of his spine. - Here we must beware of thinking that there is in the nature of- the case something which we might call aa || the complete set of conditions, e.g. for his walking; so that the patient, as it were,- must walkmust walk || can't help walking if all these conditions are fulfilled. |
We can say: The expression, “B can continue the series”,- is used under different circumstances to make different distinctions. Thus it may distinguish a) between the case when a man- knows the formula and the case when he doesn't; or b) between- the case when a man knows the formula and hasn't forgotten how- to write the numerals of the decimal system, and the case when- he knows the formula and has forgotten how to write the numerals;- or c) (as perhaps in 64)) between the case when a man is feeling
|
The question whether “He can continue …” means the same- as “He knows the formula” can be answered in several different- ways: We can say, “They don't mean the same, i.e., they are not- in general used as synonyms as, e.g., the phrases, ‘I am well’- and ‘I am in good health’”; or we may say, “Under certain circumstances” ‘He can continue …’ means he knows the formula”. - Imagine the case of a language (somewhat analogous to 49)) in- which two forms of expression, two different sentences, are- used to say that a person's legs are in working order. The one- form of expression is exclusively used under circumstances- when preparations are going on for an expedition, a walking- tour, or the like; the other is used in cases when there is no- question of such preparations. We shall here be doubtful- whether to say the two sentences have the same meaning or different meanings. In any case the true state of affairs can- only be seen when we look into the detail of the usage of our- expressions. – And it is clear that if in our present case we- should decide on sayingon saying || to say that the two expressions have different- meanings, we shall certainly not be able to say that the difference is that the fact which makes the second sentence true- is a different one from the fact which makes the first sentence- true. |
We are justified in saying that the sentence, “He can
|
Let us ask the following question: Suppose that, on one- ground or another, B has said, “I can continue the series”, but- on being asked to continue it he had shown himself unable to do- so, – should we say that this proved that his statement, that- he could continue, was wrong, or should we say that he was able- to continue when he said he was? Would B himself say, “I see- I was wrong”, or “What I said was true, I could do it then but- I can't now”? – There are cases in which he would correctly say- the one and cases in which he would correctly say the other. - Suppose a) when he said he could continue he saw the formula- before his mind, but when he was asked to continue he found he- had forgotten it; – or, b) when he said he could continue he- had said to himself the next five terms of the series, but now- finds that they don't come into his mind; – or c) before, he- had continued the series calculating five more places, now he- still remembers these five numbers but has forgotten how he had- calculated them; – or d) he says, “Then I felt I could continue,- now I can't”; – or e), “When I said I could lift the weight my- arm didn't hurt, now it does”; etc. |
On the other hand we say, “I thought I could lift this- weight, but I see I can't”, “I thought I could say this piece
|
These illustrations of thethe || our use of the word “can” should- be supplemented by illustrations showing the variety of uses- we make of the terms “forgetting” and “trying”, for these uses- are closely connected with those of the word “can”. ConsiderConsider || Contemplate- these cases: a) Before, B had said to himself the formula, now,- “He finds a complete blank there”. b) Before, he had said to- himself the formula, now, for a moment he isn't sure “whether- it was 2ⁿ or 3ⁿ”. c) He has forgotten a name and it is “on- the tip of his tongue”. Or d), he is not certain whether he- has ever known the name or has forgotten it. |
Now look at the way in which we use the word “trying”:- a) A man is trying to open a door by pulling as hard as he can. - b) He is trying to open the door of a safe by trying to find- the combination. c) He is trying to find the combination by- trying to remember it, or d) by turning the knobs and listening- with a stethoscope. Consider the various processes we call- “trying to remember”. Compare e) trying to move your finger- against a resistance (e.g. when someone is holding it), and f)- when you have intertwined the fingers of both hands in a particular way and feel “You don't know what to do in order to make- a particular finger move”. |
(Consider also the class of cases in which we say, “I can- do so-and-so but I won't”: “I could if I tried” – e.g. lift- 100 pounds; “I could if I wished” – e.g. say the alphabet.) |
One might perhaps suggest that the only case in which it- is correct to say, without restriction, that I can do a certain
65). But if we look at a language-game in which the phrase- “I can …” is used in this way (e.g., a game in which doing a- thing is taken as the only justification for saying that one is- able to do it), we see that there is not the metaphysical difference between this game and one in which other justifications- are accepted for saying “I can do so-and-so”. A game of the- kind 65), by the way, shows us the real use of the phrase, “If- something happens it certainly can happen”; an almost useless- phrase in our language. It sounds as though it had some very- clear and deep meaning, but like most of the general philosophical propositions it is meaningless except in very special cases. 66). Make this clear to yourself by imagining a language- (similar to 49)) which has two expressions for such sentences- as, “I am lifting a fifty pound weight”; one expression is used- whenever the action is performed as a test (say, before an- athletic competition), the other expression is used when the- action is not performed as a test. |
We see that a vast net of family likenesses connects the- cases in which the expressions of possibility, “can”, “to be- able to”, etc. are used. Certain characteristic features, we- may say, appear in these cases in different combinations: there- is, e.g., the element of conjecture (that something will behave
|
There are, on the other hand, various reasons which incline us to look at the fact of something being possible,- someone being able to do something, etc., as the fact that he- or it is in a particularparticular || peculiar state. Roughly speaking, this comes- to saying that “A is in the state of being able to do something”- is the form of representation we are most strongly tempted to- adopt, or, as one could also put it, we are strongly inclined- to use the metaphor of something being in a peculiar state for- saying that something can behave in a particular way. And- this way of representation, or this metaphor, is embodied in- the expressions, “He is capable of …”, “He is able to multiply- large numbers in his head”, “He can play chess”: in these- sentences the verb is used in the present tense, suggesting that- the phrases are descriptions of states which exist at the moment- when we speak. |
The same tendency shows itself in our calling the ability- of solving a mathematical problem, the ability to enjoy a piece- of music, etc., certain states of the mind; we don't mean by- this expression “conscious mental phenomena”. Rather, a state- of the mind in this sense is the state of a hypothetical mechanism, a mind model meant to explain the conscious mental phenomena. (Such things as unconscious or subconscious mental- states are features of the mind model.) In this way also we
|
Now looking back to our discussion of 43), we see that- it was no finalfinal || real explanation of B's being guided by the signs- when we said that B was guided if he could also have carried- out orders consisting in other combinations of dots and dashes- than those of 43). In fact, when we considered the question- whether B in 43) was guided by the signs, we were all the time- inclined to say some such thing as that we could only decide- this question with certainty if we could look into the actual- mechanism connecting seeing the signs with acting according to- them. For we have a definite picture of what in a mechanism- we should call certain parts being guided by others. In fact,- the mechanism which immediately suggests itself when we wish to- show what in such a case as 43) we should call “being guided by- the signs” is a mechanism of the type of a pianola. Here, in- the working of the pianola we have a clear case of certain actions,
|
It is clear that although we might use the ideas of such- mechanisms as similes for describing the way in which B acts in- the games 42) and 43), no such mechanisms are actually involved- in these games. We shall have to say that the use which we
|
Let us study the use of the expression, “to be guided”,- by studying the use of the word “reading”. By “reading” I- here mean the activity of translating script into sounds, also- of writing according to dictation or of copying in writing a- page of print, and such like; reading in this sense does not- involve any such thing as understanding what you read. The use- of the word “reading” is, of course, extremely familiar to us- in the circumstances of our ordinary life (it would be extremely- difficult to describe these circumstances even roughly). A- person, say an Englishman, has as a child gone through one of- the normal ways of training in school or at home, he has learned- to read his language, later on he reads books, newspapers, letters, etc. What happens when he reads the newspaper? – His- eyes glide along the printed words, he pronounces them aloud or- to himself, but he pronounces certain words just taking their- pattern in as a whole, other words which he pronounces after- having seen their first few letters only, others again he reads- out letter by letter. We should also say that he had read a- sentence if while letting his eyes glide along it he had said- nothing aloud or to himself, but on being asked afterwards what- he had read he was able to reproduce the sentence verbatim or- in slightly different words. He may also act as what we might- call a mere reading machine, I mean, paying no attention to
|
67). Imagine that human
beings or animals were used as reading machines, assume that in order
to become reading machines- they need a particular training.
The man who trains them says- of some of them that they already can
read, of others that they- can't.
Take a case of one who has so far not responded to the-
training.
If you put before him a printed word he will sometimes make sounds,
and every now and then it happens “accidentally”
that these sounds more or less agree withagree with || correspond to the
printed word. -
A third person hears the pupilpupil || creature under training
uttering the right- sound on looking at the word
“table”.
The third person says,- “He reads”, but the
teacher answers, “No, he doesn't, it is mere-
accident”.
But supposing now that the pupil on being shown- other words and
sentences goes on reading them correctly.
After- a time the teacher says, “Now he can
read”. –
But what about- the first word “table”?
Should the teacher say, “I was wrong;- he read that,
too”, or should he say, “No, he only
started- reading later”?
When did he really begin to read, or: Which- was the first
word, or the first letter, which he read?
It- is clear that this question here makes no sense unless I give- an
“artificial” explanation such as:
“The first word which he- reads = the first word of the
first hundred consecutive words- he reads correctly”.
–
Suppose on the other hand that we used- the word
“reading” to distinguish between the case when a
particular conscious process of spelling out the words takes place-
in a person's mind from the case in which this does not
happen:
|
In the case 67), by calling certain creatures “reading- machines” we meant only that they react in a particular way to- seeing printed signs. No connection between seeing and reacting, no internal mechanism enters into this case. It would be- absurd if the trainer had answered to the question whether he- read the word “table” or not, “Perhaps he read it”, for there- is no doubt in this case about what he actually did. The- change which took place was one which we might call a change in- the general behaviour of the pupil, and we have in this case- not given a meaning to the expression, “The first word in the- new era”. (Compare with this the following case: In our figure a row of dots with large intervals succeeds a row- of dots with small intervals. Which is the last dot in the- first sequence and which the first dot in the second? Imagine- our dots were holes in the revolving disc of a siren. Then we- should hear a tone of low pitch following a tone of high pitch- (or vice versa). Ask yourself: At which moment does the tone- of low pitch begin and the other end?) |
There is a great temptation on the other hand to regard- the conscious mental act as the only real criterion distinguishing reading from not reading. For we are inclined to say,- “Surely a man always knows whether he is reading or pretending- to read”, or “Surely a man always knows when he is really reading”. If A tries to make B believe that he is able to read- Cyrillic script, cheating him by learning a Russian sentence- by heart and then saying it while looking at the printed- sentence, we may certainly say that A knows that he is pretending and that he is not reading in this case is characterized by- a particular personal experience, namely, that of saying the- sentence by heart. Also, if A makes a slip in saying it by- heart, this experience will be different from that which a person has who makes a slip in reading. 68). But supposing now that a man who could read fluently and- who was made to read sentences which he had never read before- read these sentences, but all the time with the peculiar feeling of knowing the sequence of words by heart. Should we in- this case say that he was not reading, i.e., should we regard- his personal experience as the criterion distinguishing between- reading and not reading? 69). Or imagine this case: A man under the influence of a- certain drug is shown a group of five signs, not letters of an- existing alphabet; and looking at them with all the outward signs- and personal experiences of spelling out a word, pronounces the- word “ABOVE”. (This sort of thing happens in dreams. After- waking up we then say, “It seemed to me that I was reading these
|
Note also that there is a continuous series of intermediary cases between the case when a person knows by heart what is- in print before him and the case in which he spells out the- letters of every word without any such help as guessing from- the context, knowing by heart, and such like. |
Do this: Say by heart the series of cardinals from one to- twelve, – Now look at the dial of your watch and read this- sequence of numbers. Ask yourself what in this case you called- reading, that is, what did you do to make it reading? |
Let us try this explanation: A person reads if he derives- the copy which he is producing from the model which he is copying. (I will use the word “model” to mean that which he is- reading off, e.g., the printed sentences which he is reading or- copying in writing, or such signs as “--..-” in 42) and 43)- which he is “reading” by his movements, or the scores which a- pianist plays off, etc. The word “copy” I use for the sentence- spoken or written from the printed one, for the movements made
|
But, let us see, what made us say that he derived the- spoken words from the printed by means of the rule of the alphabet? Isn't all we know that we told him that this letter was- pronounced this way, that letter that way, etc., and that he- afterwards read out words in the Cyrillic script? What suggests itself to us as an answer is that he must have shown- somehow that he did actually make the transition from the printed- to the spoken words by means of the rule of the alphabet which- we had given him. And what we mean by his showing this will- certainly get clearer if we alter our example and 70). assume that he reads off a text by transcribing it, say,- from block letters into cursive script. For in this case we- can assume the rule of the alphabet to have been given in the- form of a table which shows the block alphabet and the cursive- alphabet in parallel columns. Then the deriving the copy from- the text we should imagine this way: The person who copies looks
|
71). But what if, doing all
this, he then transcribed an “A”- into a
“b”, a “B” into a
“c”, and so on?
Should we not call- this “reading”
“deriving” too?
We might in this case describe- his procedure by saying that he
used the table as we should- have used it had we not looked straight from
left to right like- this: but like this:
though he actually when
looking- up the table passed with his eyes or finger
horizontally from- left to right. –
But let us suppose now
72). that going through the normal processes of “looking up”, he- transcribed an “A” into an “n”, a “B” into an “x”, in short,- acted, as we might say, according to a scheme of arrows which- showed no simple regularity. Couldn't we call this “deriving”- too? – But suppose that 73). he didn't stick to this way of transcribing. In fact he- changed it, but according to a simple rule: After having transcribed “A” into “n”, he transcribed the next “A” into “o”, and- the next “A” into “p”, and so on. But where is the sharp line- between this procedure and that of producing a transcription- without any system at all? Now you might object to this by- saying, “In the case 71), you obviously assumed that he understood the table differently; he didn't understand it in the- normal way”. But what do we call “understanding the table in
|
It was not the function of our examples to show us the- essence of “deriving”, “reading”, and so forth through a veil of- inessential features; theythey || the examples were not descriptions of an outside- letting us guess at an inside which for some reason or other- could not be shown in its nakedness. We are tempted to think- that our examples are indirect means for producing a certain- image or idea in a person's mind, – that they hint at something- which they cannot show. This would be so in some such case as- this: Suppose I wish to produce in someone a mental image of the- inside of a particular 18th century room which he is prevented- from entering. I therefore adopt this method: I show him the- house from the outside, pointing out the windows of the room in- question, I further lead him into other rooms of the same period.– |
Our method is purely descriptive; the descriptions we give- are not hints of explanations.
|
((Interval. Vacation after Michaelmas
Term.))
|
Do we have a feeling of familiarity whenever we look at- familiar
objects?
Or do we have it usually?
|
When do we actually have it?
|
It helps us to ask: What do we contrast the feeling of-
familiarity with?
|
One thing we contrast it with is surprise.
|
One could say: “Unfamiliarity is much more of an
experience- than familiarity”.
|
We say: A shows B a series of objects.
B is to tell A- whether the object is familiar to him or
not.
a) The question- may be, “Does B
know what the objects are?” or b)
“Does he recognize the particular
object?”
1). Take the case that B is shown a series of apparatus, –- a balance, a thermometer, a spectroscope, etc. 2). B is shown a pencil, a pen, an inkpot, and a pebble. Or: 3). Besides familiar objects he is shown an object of which he- says, “That looks as though it served some purpose, but I don't- know what purpose”. |
What happens when B recognizes a pencila pencil || something as
a pencil?
|
Suppose A had shown him an object looking like a stick. -
B handles this object, suddenly it comes apart, one of the- parts
being a cap, the other a pencil.
B says, “Oh, this is a- pencil”.
He has recognized the object as a pencil.
4). We could say, “B always knew what a pencil looked like;- he could e.g., have drawn one on being asked to. He didn't- know that the object he was given contained a pencil which he
|
Compare with this case 5). 5). B is shewn a word written on a piece of paper held upside- down. He does not recognize the word. The paper is gradually- turned round until B says, “Now I see what it is. It is ‘pencil’”. |
We might say, “He always knew what the word ‘pencil’- looked like. He did not know that the word he was shewn- would when turned round look like ‘pencil’”. |
In both cases 4) and 5) you might say something was hidden. But note the different application of “hidden”. 6). Compare with this: You read a letter and can't read one- of its words. You guess what it must be from the context,- and now can read it. You recognize this scratch as an e, the- second as an a, the third as a t. This is different from the- case where the word “eat” was covered by a blotch of ink, and- you only guessed that the word “eat” must have been in this- place. 7). Compare: You see a word and can't read it. Someone- alters it slightly by adding a dash, lengthening a stroke, or- suchlike. Now you can read it. Compare this alteration- with the turning in 5), and note that there is a sense in- which while the word was turned round you saw that it was not- altered. I.e., there is a case in which you say, “I looked- at the word while it was turned, and I know that it is the same- now as it was when I didn't recognize it”. 8). Suppose the game between A and B just consisted in this,
|
Then, when he recognized the pencil, what did he recognize- it as? 9). Suppose even that he had said to himself, “Oh, this is a- pencil”, could you compare this case with 4) or 5)? In these- cases one might have said, “He recognized this as that” (pointing, e.g., for “this” to the covered up pencil and for “that”- to an ordinary pencil, and similarly in 5)). |
In 8) the pencil underwent no change and the words, “Oh,- this is a pencil” did not refer to a paradigm, the similarity- of which with the pencil shewn B had recognized. |
Asked, “What is a pencil?”, B would not have pointed to- another object as the paradigm or sample, but could straight- away have pointed to the pencil shewn to him. |
“But when he said, ‘Oh, this is a pencil’, how did he know- that it was if he didn't recognize it as something?” – This- really comes to saying, “How did he recognize ‘pencil’ as the - name of this sort of thing?” Well, how did he recognize it? - He just reacted in this particular way by saying this word. 10). Suppose someone shews you colours and asks you to name
|
Of course there is the case in which a general explanation- was given to B, say, “We shall call ‘pencil’ anything that one- can easily write with on a wax tablet”. Then A shews B amongst- other objects a small pointed object, and B says, “Oh, this is- a pencil”, after having thought, “One could write with this- quite easily”. In this case, we may say, a derivation takes- place. In 8), 9), 10) there is no derivation. In 4) we- might say that B derived that the object shewn to him was a- pencil by means of a paradigm, or else no such derivation might- have taken place. |
Now should we say that B on seeing the pencil after seeing- instruments which he didn't know had a feeling of familiarity? - Let us imagine what really might have happened. He saw a pencil, smiled, felt relieved, and the name of the object which he- saw came into his mind or mouth. |
Now isn't the feeling of relief just that which characterizes the experience of passing from unfamiliar to familiar- things? |
We say we experience tension and relaxation, relief, strain- and rest in cases as different as these: a man holds a weight- with outstretched arm; his arm, his whole body is in a state of- tension. We let him put down the weight, the tension relaxes. - A man runs, then rests. He thinks hard about the solution of- a problem in Euclid, then finds it, and relaxes. He tries to- remember a name, and relaxes on finding it.
|
What if we asked, “What do all these cases have in common that makes us say that they are cases of strain and relaxation?” |
What makes us use the expression, “seeking in our memory”,- when we try to remember a word? |
Let us ask the question, “What is the similarity between- looking for a word in your memory and looking for my friend in- the park?” What would be the answer to such a question? |
One kind of answer certainly would consist in describing a- series of intermediate cases. One might say that the case- which looking in your memory for something is most similar to- is not that of looking for my friend in the park, but, say, that- of looking up the spelling of a word in the dictionary. And- one might go on interpolating cases. Another way of pointing- out the similarity would be to say, e.g., “In both these cases- at first we can't write down the word and then we can”. This- is what we call pointing out a common feature. |
Now it is important to note that we needn't be aware of- such similarities thus pointed out when we are prompted to use- the words “seeking”, “looking for”, etc. in the case of trying- to remember. |
One might be inclined to say, “Surely a similarity must- strike us, or we shouldn't be { inclinedinclined || driven || moved to use the same word”. – - Compare this statement with that: “A similarity between these- cases must strike us in order that we should be inclined to use- the same picture to represent both”. This says that some act- must precede the act of using this picture. But why shouldn't
|
We say: “This picture (or this phrase) suggests itself to- us irresistibly”. Well, isn't this an experience? |
We are treating here of cases in which, as one might roughly- put it, the grammar of a word seems to suggest the “necessity”- of a certain intermediary stepstep || stage, although in fact the word is- used in cases in which there is no such intermediary step. - Thus we are inclined to say, “A man must understand an order- before he obeys it”, “He must know where his pain is before he- can point to it”, “He must know the tune before he can sing it”,- & such like.) |
Let us ask the question: Suppose I had explained to someone- the word “red” (or the meaning of the word “red”) by having- pointed to various red objects and given the ostensive explanation. – What does it mean to say, “Now if he has understood- the meaning, he will bring me a red object if I ask him to”? - This seems to say: If he has really got hold of what is in common betweenbetween || to all the objects I have shewn him, he will be in the- position to follow my order. But what is it that is in common- to these objects? |
Could you tell me what is in common between a light red and- a dark red? Compare with this the following case: I shew you- two pictures of two different landscapes. In both pictures,- amongst many other objects, there is the picture of a bush,- and it is exactly alike in both. I ask you, “Point to what
|
Now consider this explanation: I give someone two boxes- containing various things, and say, “The object which both these- boxes have in common is called a toasting fork”. The person I- give this explanation to has to sort out the objects in the two- boxes until he finds the one they have in common, and thereby- we may say, he arrives at the ostensive explanation. Or, this- explanation: “In these two pictures you see patches of many- colours; the one colour which you find in both is called ‘mauve’”.-– In this case it makes a clear sense to say, “If he has seen- (or found) what is in common between these two pictures, he can- now bring me a mauve object.” |
There is this casecase || game: I say to someone, “I shall explain to- you the word ‘w’ by shewing you various objects. What's in- common to them all is what ‘w’ means.” I first shew him two- books, and he asks himself, “Does ‘w’ mean ‘book’?” I then- point to a brick, and he says to himself, “Perhaps ‘w’ means- ‘parallelepiped’”. Finally I point to glowing coal, and he- says to himself, “Oh, it's ‘red’ he means, for all these objects- had something red about them.” It would be interesting to consider another form of this game where the person has at each- stage to draw or paint what he thinks I mean. The interest of- this version lies in this, that in some cases it would be quite- obvious what he has got to draw, say, when he sees that all the- objects I have shewn him so far bear a certain trademark (; he'd- draw the trademark). – What, on the other hand, should he paint- if he recognizes that there is something red on each object?
|
If, pointing to patches of various shades of red, you asked- a man, “What have these in common that makes you call them- red?”, he'd be inclined to answer, “Don't you see?” And this- of course would not be pointing out a common element. |
There are cases where experience teaches us that a person- is not able to carry out an order, say, of the form, “Bring me- x” if he did not see what was in common between the various- objects to which I pointed as an explanation of “x”. And- “seeing what they have in common” in some cases consisted in- pointing to it, in letting one's glance rest on a coloured patch- after a process of scrutiny and comparing, in saying to oneself,- “Oh, it's red he means,” and perhaps at the same time glancing- at all the red patches on the various objects, and so on. -– There are cases, on the other hand, in which no process takes- place comparable with this intermediary “seeing what's in common”,- and where we still use this phrase, though this time we ought- to say, “If after shewing him these things he brings me another- red object, then I shall say that he has seen the common feature- of the objects I shewed him.” Carrying out the order is now- the criterion for his having understood. |
((Having now made a start, Wittgenstein resumes formal- dictation.)) |
“Why do you call ‘strain’ all these different experiences?” – - “Because they have some element in common.” – “What is it
|
Then why did you say the experiences had something in common? Didn't this expression just compare the present case- with those cases in which we primarily say that two experiences- have something in common? (Thus we might say that some experiences of joy and of fear have the feeling of heart beat in- common.) But when you said that the two experiences of strain- had something in common, these were only different words for- saying that they were similar: It was then no explanation to- say that the similarity consisted in the occurrence of a common- element. |
Also, shall we say that you had a feeling of similarity- when you compared the two experiences, and that this made you- use the same word for both? If you say you have a feeling of- similarity, let us ask a few questions about it: Could you say the feeling was located here or there? |
When did you actually have this feeling? For, what we- call comparing the two experiences is quite a complicated activity: perhaps you called the two experiences before your mind,- and imagining a bodily strain, and imagining a mental strain,- was each in itself imagining a process and not a state uniform- through time. Then ask yourself at what time during all this- you had the feeling of similarity. |
“But surely I wouldn't say they are similar if I had no- experience of their similarity.” – But must this experience- be anything you should call a feeling? Suppose for a moment
|
“But is there no feeling of similarity?” – I think there- are feelings which one might call feelings of similarity. But- you don't always have any such feeling if you “notice similarity”. Consider some of the different experiences which you- have if you do so. |
a) There is a kind of experience which one might call being- hardly able to distinguish. You see, e.g., two lengths, two- colours, almost exactly alike. But if I ask myself, “Does this- experience consist in having a peculiar feeling?”, I should- have to say that it certainly isn't characterized by any such- feeling alone, that a most important part of the experience is- that of letting my glance oscillate between the two objects,- fixing it intently, now on the one, now on the other, perhaps- saying words expressive of doubt, shaking my head, etc. etc. - There is, one might say, hardly any room left for a feeling of- similarity between these manifold experiences. |
b) Compare with this the case in which it is impossible- to have any difficulty of distinguishing the two objects. - Supposing I say, “I like to have the two kinds of flowers in- this bed of similar colours to avoid a strong contrast.” The- experience here might be one which one may describe as an easy- sliding of the glance from one to the other. |
c) I listen to a variation on a theme and say, “I don't- see yet how this is a variation of the theme, but I see a certain similarity.” What happened was that at certain points of
|
“But when two colours are similar, the experience of similarity should surely consist in noticing the similarity which- there is between them.” – But is a bluish green similar to a- yellowish green or not? In certain cases we should say they- are similar and in others that they are most dissimilar. - Would it be correct to say that in the two cases we noticed- different relations between them? Suppose I observed a process in which a bluish green gradually changed into a pure green,- into a yellowish green, into yellow, and into orange. I say,- “It only takes a short time from bluish green to yellowish green,- because these colours are similar.” – But mustn't you have had- some experience of similarity to be able to say this? – The- experience may be this, of seeing the two colours and saying- that they are both green. Or it may be this, of seeing a band- whose colour changes from one end to the other in the way described, and having some one of the experiences which one may- call noticing how close to each other bluish green and yellowish- green are, compared to bluish green and orange. |
We use the word “similar” in a huge family of cases. |
There is something remarkable about saying that we use the- word “strain” for both mental and physical strain because there- is a similarity between them. Should you say we use the word- “blue” both for light blue and dark blue because there is a similarity
|
One might suggest that the explanation is that in this- case you call “blue” what is in common between the two colours,- and that, if you called “strain” what was in common between the- two experiences of strain, it would have been wrong to say, “I- called them both ‘strain’ because they had a certain similarity”,- but that you would have had to say, “I used the word ‘strain’- in both cases because there is a strain present in both.” |
Now what should we answer to the question, “What do light- blue and dark blue have in common?”? At first sight the answer seems obvious: “They are both shades of blue.” But this- is really a tautology. So let us ask, “What do these colours- I am pointing to have in common?” (Suppose one is light blue,- the other dark blue.) The answer to this really ought to be,- “I don't know what game you are playing.” And it depends upon- this game whether I should say they had anything in common, and- what I should say they had in common. |
Imagine this game: A shews B different patches of colours- and asks him what they have in common. B is to answer by- pointing to a particular primaryprimary || pure colour. Thus if A points to- pink and orange, B is to point to pure red. If A points to- two shades of greenish blue, B is to point to pure green and- pure blue, etc. If in this game A shewed B a light blue and- a dark blue and asked what they had in common, there would be- no doubt about the answer. If then he pointed to pure red and- pure green, the answer would be that these have nothing in common. But I could easily imagine circumstances under which
|
We could also easily imagine a language (and that means- again a culture) in which there existed no common expression- for light blue and dark blue, in which the former, say, was- called “Cambridge”, the latter “Oxford”. If you ask a man of- this tribe what Cambridge and Oxford have in common, he'd be- inclined to say, “Nothing”. |
Compare this game with the one above. B is shewn certain pictures,- combinations of coloured patches. On being asked what these- pictures have in common, he is to point to a sample of red, say,- if there is a red patch in both, to green if there is a green- patch in both, etc. This shews you in what different ways this- same answer may be used. |
Consider such a propositiona proposition || an explanation as, “I mean by ‘blue’ what- these two colours have in common.” – Now isn't it possible that- someone should understand this explanation? He would, e.g.,- on being ordered to bring another blue object, carry out this- order satisfactorily. But perhaps he will bring a red object- and we shall be inclined to say: “He seems to notice some sort
|
Note: Some people when asked to sing a note which we strike- for them on the piano, regularly sing the fifth of that note. - That makes it easy to imagine that a language might have one- name only for a certain note and its fifth. On the other hand- we should be embarrassed to answer the question: What do a- note and its fifth have in common? For of course it is no- answer to say: “They have a certain affinity.” |
It is one of our tasks here to give a picture of the grammar (the use) of the word “a certain.” |
To say that we use the word “blue” to mean “what all these- shades of colour have in common” by itself says nothing more- than that we use the word “blue” in all these cases. |
And the phrase, “He sees what all these shades have in- common,” may refer to all sorts of different phenomena, i.e.,- all sorts of phenomena are used as criteria for “his seeing- that …” Or all that happens may be that on being asked to- bring another shade of blue he carries out our order satisfactorily. Or a patch of pure blue may appear before his mind's- eye when we shew him the different samples of blue: or he may- instinctively turn his head towards some other shade of blue- which we haven't shewn him for sample, etc. etc. |
Now should we say that a mental strain and a bodily strain- were “strains” in the same sense of the word or in different- (or “slightly different”) senses of the word? – There are cases- of this sort in which we should not be doubtful about the answer. |
Consider this case: We have taught someone the use of the
|
Now if such a person was asked whether u was “really”- darker than e, he would almost certainly answer some such thing- as, “It isn't really darker, but it somehow gives me a darker- impression.” |
But what if we asked him, “What made you use the word- ‘darker’ in this case at all?”? |
Again we might be inclined to say, “He must have seen something that was in common both to the relation between two colours and to the relation between two vowels.” But if he isn't- capable of specifying what this common element was, this leaves- us just with the fact that he was prompted to use the words- “darker”, “lighter” in both these cases. |
For, note the word “must” in “He must have seen something- …” When you said that, you didn't mean that from past
|
If someone said: “I do see a certain similarity, only I- can't describe it”, I should say: “This itself“This itself || “Saying this also characterizes- your experience.” |
Suppose you look at two faces and say, “They are similar,- but I don't know what it is that's similar about them.” And- suppose that after a while you said: “Now I know; their eyes- have the same shape”, I should say, “Now your experience of their- similarity is different from what it was when you saw similarity and didn't know what it consisted in.” Now to the question- “What made you use the word ‘darker’ …?” the answer may be,- “Nothing made me use the word ‘darker’, – that is, if you ask- me for a reason why I use it. I just used it, and what is more- I used it with the same intonation of voice, and perhaps with- the same facial expression and gesture which I should in certain cases be inclined to use when applying the word to colours.”- – It is easier to see this when we speak of a deep sorrow, a deep sound, a- deep well. Some people are able to distinguish between fat- and lean days of the week. And their experience when they conceive a day as a fat one consists in applying this word together- perhaps with a gesture expressive of fatness and a certain- comfort. |
But you may be tempted to say: This use of the word and- gesture is not their primary experience. First of all they
|
But why do you use the expression, “They have to”? Do- you know of an experience in this case which you call “the conception, etc.”? For if you don't, isn't it just what one might- call a linguistic prejudice that made you say, “He had to have- a conception before, etc.”? |
Rather, you can learn from this example and from others- that there are cases in which we may call a particular experience “noticing, seeing, conceiving that so & so is the case”,- before expressing it by word or gestures, and that there are- other cases in which if we talk of an experience of conceiving- at all, we have to apply this word to the experience of using- certain words, gestures, etc. |
When the man said, “u isn't really darker than e …”, it- was essential that he meant to say that the word “darker” was- used in different senses when one talked of one colour being- darker that another and, on the other hand, of one vowel being- darker than another. |
Consider this example: Suppose we had taught a man to use- the words “green”, “red”, “blue” by pointing to patches of these- colours. We had taught him to fetch us objects of a certain- colour on being ordered, “Bring me something red!”, to sort out- objects of various colours from a heap, and such like. Suppose we now shew him a heap of leaves, some of which are a slightly reddish brown, others a slightly greenish yellow, and give- him the order, “Put the red leaves and the green leaves on separate heaps.” It is quite likely that he will upon this
|
The question is: Do we supplement our statement that the- word has two meanings by a statement saying that in one case it- had this, in the other that meaning? As the criterion for a- word's having two meanings, we may use the fact of there being -two explanations given for a word. Thus we say the word “bank” -has two meanings; for in one case it means this sort of thing,- (pointing, say, to a river bank) in the other case that sort of thing, (pointing to the Bank of England). Now what I point to here- are paradigms for the use of the words. One could not say:- “The word ‘red’ has two meanings because in one case it means- this (pointing to a light red), in the other that (pointing to- a dark red)”, if, that is to say, there had been only one ostensive definition for the word “red” used in our game. One could,- on the other hand, imagine a language-game in which two words,- say “red” and “reddish”, were explained by two ostensive definitions, the first shewing a dark red object, the second a light- red one. Whether two such explanations were given or only one- might depend on the natural reactions of the people using the
|
Consider the following case: B has been taught a use of the- words “lighter” and “darker”. He has been shewn objects of- various colours and has been taught that one calls this a darker- colour than that, trained to bring an object on being ordered,- “Bring something darker than this”, and to describe the colour- of an object by saying that it is darker or lighter than a certain sample, etc., etc. Now he is given the order to put down- a series of objects, arranging them in the order of their darkness. He does this by laying out a row of books, writing down- a series of names of animals, and by writing down the five vowels in the order u, o, a, e, i. We ask him why he put down- that latter series, and he says, “Well o is lighter than u, and- e lighter than o.” – We shall be astonished at his attitude,- and at the same time admit that there is something in what he- says. Perhaps we shall say: “But look, surely e isn't lighter- than o in the way this book is lighter than that.” – But he- may shrug his shoulders and say, “I don't know, but e is lighter- than o, isn't it?”
|
We may be inclined to treat this case as some kind of- abnormality, and to say, “B must have a different sense, with- the help of which he arranges both coloured objects and vowels.” - And if we tried to make this idea of ours (quite) explicit,- it would come to this: The normal person registers lightness and- darkness of visual objects on one instrument, and, what one- might call the lightness and darkness of sounds (vowels) on- another, in the sense in which one might say that we record- rays of a certain wave length with the eyes, and rays of another- range of wave length byby || with our sense of temperature. B on the other- hand, we wish to say, arranges both sounds and colours by the- readings of one instrument (sense organ) only (in the sense in- which a photographic plate might record rays of a range which- we could only cover with two of our senses). |
This roughly is the picture standing behind our idea that- B must have “understood” the word “darker” differently from the- normal person. On the other hand let us put side by side with- this picture the fact that there is in our case no evidence for- “another sense”. – And in fact the use of the word “must”- when we say, “B must have understood the word differently”,- already shews us that this sentence (really) expresses our- determination to look at the phenomena we have observed after- the picture outlined in this sentence. |
“But surely he used ‘lighter’ in a different sense when he- said e was lighter than u”. – What does this mean? Are you- distinguishing between the sense in which he used the word and- his usage of the word? That is, do you wish to say that if- someone uses the word as he does, some other difference, say in
|
Now is the fact that the usages differ anything over and- above what you describe when you point out the particular differences? |
What if somebody said, pointing to two patches which I had- called red, “Surely you are using the word ‘red’ in two different ways.” – I should say, “This is light red and the other- dark red, – but why should I have to talk of two different- usages?”– |
It certainly is easy to point out differences between that- part of the game in which we applied “lighter” and “darker” to- coloured objects and that part in which we applied these words- to vowels. In the first part there was comparison of two- objects by laying them side by side and looking from one to the- other, there was painting a darker or lighter shade than a- certain sample given; in the second there was no comparison by- the eye, no painting, etc. But when these differences are- pointed out, we are still free to speak of two parts of the same- game (as we have done just now) or of two different games. |
“But don't I perceive that the relation between a lighter- and a darker bit of material is a different one than that- between the vowels e and u, – as on the other hand I perceive- that the relation between u and e is the same as that between- e and i?” – Under certain circumstances we shall in these cases- be inclined to talk of different relations, under certain others- to talk of the same relation. One might say, “It depends how
|
Let us ask the question, “Should we say that the arrows- and point in the same direction or in different- directions?” – At first sight you might be inclined to say,- “Of course, in different directions.” But look at it this- way: If I look into a looking glass and see the reflection of- my face, I can take this as a criterion for seeing my own head. - If on the other hand, I saw in it the back of a head I might- say, “It can't be my own head I am seeing, but a head looking in- the opposite direction.” Now this could lead me on to say- that an arrow and the reflection of an arrow in a glass have the- same direction when they point atat || towards each other, and opposite directions when the head of the one points to the tail end of the- other. Imagine the case that a man had been taught the ordinary use of the word “the same” in the cases of “the same colour”,- “the same shape”, “the same length.” He had also been taught- the use of the word “to point to” in such contexts as, “The -arrow points to the tree.” Now we shew him two arrows facing- each other, and two arrows one following the other, and ask- him in which of these two cases he'd apply the phrase, “The- arrows point the same way.” Isn't it easy to imagine that if- certain applications were uppermost in his mind, he would be- inclined to say that the arrows point “the same way”? |
When we hear the diatonic scale we are inclined to say that- after every seven notes the same note recurs, and, asked why we- call it the same note again one might answer, “Well it's a c- again.” But this isn't the explanation I want, for I should- ask, “What made one call it a c again?” And the answer to this
|
If we had made this experiment with two people A and B,- and A had applied the expression “the same tone” to the octave- only, B to the dominant and octave, should we have a right to- say that the two hear different things when we play to them the- diatonic scale? – If we say they do, let us be clear whether- we wish to assert that there must be some other difference between the two cases besides the one we have observed, or whether- we wish to make no such statement. |
All the questions considered here link up with this problem: Suppose you had taught someone to write down series of numbers according to rules of the form: Always write down a number- n greater than the preceding. (This rule is abbreviated to - “Add n”). The numerals in this game are to be groups of dashes- -, --, ---, etc. What I call teaching this game of course- consisted in giving general explanations and doing examples. – - These examples are taken from the range, say, between 1 and 85. - We now give the pupil the order, “Add 1”. After some time we- observe that after passing 100 he did what we should call
|
(This would be similar to the case of a man who did not- naturally follow an order given by a pointing gesture by moving in the direction shoulder to hand, but in the opposite- direction. And understanding here means the same as reacting.) |
“I suppose what you say comes to this, that in order to- follow the rule “Add 1” correctly a new insight, intuition,- is needed at every step.” – But what does it mean to follow the- rule correctly? How and when is it to be decided which at a- particular point is the correct step to take? – “The correct- step at every point is” that which is in accordance with the- rule as it was meant, intended.” … with the meaning, intention,- of the rule.” – I suppose the idea is this: When you gave the- rule, “Add 1”, and meant it, you meant him to write 101 after- 100, 199 after 198, 1041 after 1040, and so on. But how did- you do all these acts of meaning (I suppose an infinite number- of them) when you gave him the rule? Or is this misrepresenting
|
To get this clearer, think of this example: Someone says,- “Napoleon was crowned in 1804.” I ask him, “Did you mean the- man who won the battle of Austerlitz?” He says, “Yes, I meant- him.” – Does this mean that when he “meant him” he in some way- thought of Napoleon's winning the battle of Austerlitz? – |
The expression, “The rule meant him to follow up 100 by- 101,” makes it appear that this rule, as it was meant, foreshadowed all the transitions which were to be made according to it. - But the assumption of a shadow of a transition does not get us- any further, because it does not bridge the gulf between it and- the transition itself.transition itself. || real transition. If the mere words of the rule could not- anticipate a future transition, no more could any mental act- accompanying these words. |
We meet again and again with this curious superstition, as- one might be inclined to call it, that the mental act is capable- of crossing a bridge before we've got to it. This trouble- crops up whenever we try to think about the ideas of thinking,- wishing, expecting, believing, knowing, trying to solve a mathematical problem, mathematical induction, and so forth. |
It is no act of insight, intuition, which makes us use the- rule as we do at the particular stage point of the series . - It would be less confusing to call it an act of decision, though- this too is misleading, for nothing like an act of decision- must take place, but possibly just an act of writing or speaking. - And the mistake which we here and in a thousand similar cases are- inclined to make is labelled by the word “to make” as we have- used it in the sentence, “It is no act of insight which makes- us use the rule as we do,” because there is an idea that
|
Now compare these sentences: “Surely it is using the rule- ‘Add 1’ in a different way if after 100 you go on to 102, 104,- etc.” and “Surely it is using the word ‘darker’ in a newnew || different way- if after applying it to coloured patches we apply it to the- vowels.” – I should say: “That depends on what you call a- ‘different way’”. – |
But I should certainly say that I wouldwould || should call the application of “lighter” and “darker” to vowels “another usage of the- words”; and I also should carry on the series “Add 1” in the- way 101, 102, etc., but not – or not necessarily – because of- some other justifying mental act. |
There is a kind of general disease of thinking which- always looks for (and finds) a mental state what would be- called a mental state from which all our acts spring as from- a reservoir. Thus one says, “The fashion changes because the- taste of people changes.” The taste is the mental reservoir. - But if a tailor today designs a cut of dress different from that- which he designed a year ago, can't what is called his change- of taste have consisted, partly or wholly, in doing just this? |
And here we say, “But surely designing a new shape isn't- in itself changing one's taste, – and saying a word isn't- meaning it, – and saying that I believe isn't believing; there- must be feelings, mental acts, going along with these lines- and these words.” – And the reason we give for saying this is
|
That is to say, we don't use the word “taste” as the name- of a feeling. To think that we do is to imagineimagine || represent the structurestructure || practice- of our language in undue simplification. This, of course, is- the way in which philosophical puzzles generally arise; and our- case is quite analogous to that of thinking that wherever we- make a predicative statement we state that the subject has a- certain ingredient (as we really do in the case, “Beer is alcoholic.”) |
It is advantageous in treating our problem to consider- parallel with the feeling or feelings characteristic for having- a certain taste, changing one's taste, meaning what one says,- etc. etc. the facial expression (gestures or tone of voice)- characteristic for the same states or events. If someone should- object, saying that feelings and facial expressions can't be- compared, as the former are experiences and the latter aren't,- let him consider the muscular, kinaesthetic and tactile experiences bound up with gestures and facial expressions. |
Let us then consider the proposition, “Believing something- can not merely consist in saying that you believe it, you must
|
To understand this family of cases it will again be helpful to consider an analogous case drawn from facial expressions. - There is a family of friendly facial expressions. Suppose we- had asked, “What feature is it that characterizes a friendly- face?” At first one might think that there are certain traits which one might call friendly traits, each of which- makes the face look friendly to a certain degree, and which when- present in a large number constitute the friendly expression. - This idea would seem to be borne out by our common speech, talking
|
“But is there no difference between saying something and- meaning it, and saying it without meaning it?” – There needn't- be a difference while he says it, and if there is, this difference may be of all sorts of different kinds according to the- surrounding circumstances. It does not follow from the fact- that there is what we call a friendly and an unfriendly expression of the eye that there must be a difference between the eye
|
One might be tempted to say, “This trait can't be said to- make the face look friendly, as it may be belied by another- trait.” And this is like saying, “Saying something with the- tone of conviction can't be the characteristic of conviction,- as it may be belied by experiences going along with it.” But- neither of these sentences is correct. It is true that other- traits in this face could take away the friendly character of- this eye, and yet in this face it is the eye which is the outstanding friendly feature. |
It is such phrases as, “He said it and meant it”, which- are most liable to mislead us. – Compare meaning “I shall be- delighted to see you” with meaning “The train leaves at 3.30”. - Suppose you had said the first sentence to someone and were- asked afterwards, “Did you mean it?”, you would then probably- think of the feelings, the experiences, which you had while you- said it. And accordingly you would in this case be inclined- to say, “Didn't you see that I meant it?” Suppose that on the- other hand, after having given someone the information, “The- train leaves at 3.30”, he asked you, “Did you mean it?”, you- might be inclined to answer, “Certainly. Why shouldn't I have- meant it?” |
In the first case we shall be inclined to speak of a feeling characteristic of meaning what we said, but not in the- second. Compare also lying in both these cases. In the first- case we should be inclined to say that lying consisted in saying what we did but without the appropriate feelings or even- with the opposite feelings. If we lied in giving the information
|
It is even possible while lying to have quite a strong- experience of what might be called the characteristic for meaning- what one says, – and yet under certain circumstances, and perhaps under the ordinary circumstancescircumstances || ones, one refers to just this- experience in saying, “I meant what I said”, because the cases- in which something might give the lie to these experiences do- not come into the question. In many cases therefore we are- inclined to say, “Meaning what I say” means having such-and-such experiences while I say it. |
If by “believing” we mean an activity, a process, taking- place while we say that we believe, we may say that believing is- something similar to or the same as expressing a belief. |
It is interesting to consider an objection to this: What- if I said, “I believe it will rain” (meaning what I say) and- someone wanted to explain to a Frenchman who doesn't understand- English what it was I believed. Then, you might say, if all -that happened when I believed what I did was that I said the -sentence, the Frenchman ought to know what I believe if you tell- him the exact words I used, or say, “Il croit ‘It will rain’”. - Now it is clear that this will not tell him what I believe and- consequently, you might say, we failed to convey just that to- him which was essential, my real mental act of believing. – - But the answer is that even if my words had been accompanied by
|
We should say that we had told the Frenchman what I believed if we translated my words for him into French. And it- might be that thereby we told him nothing – even indirectly –- about what happened “in me” when I uttered my belief. Rather,- we pointed out to him a sentence which in his language holds a- similar position to my sentence in the English language. – - Again one might say that, at least in certain cases, we could- have told him much more exactly what I believed if he had been- at home in the English language, because then, he would have- known exactly what happened within me when I spoke. |
We use the words “meaning”, “believing”, “intending” in- such a way that they refer to certain acts, states of mind given- certain circumstances; as by the expression “checkmating somebody” we refer to the act of taking his king. If on the other- hand someone, say a child, playing about with chessmen, placed- a few of them on a chess board and went through the motions of- taking a king, we should not say the child had checkmated anyone.– And here too one might think that what distinguished this
|
Suppose I had made a move in chess and someone asked me,- “Did you intend to mate him?”, I answer, “I did”, and he now- asks me, “How could you know you did, as all you knew was what- happened within you when you made the move?”, I might answer,- “Under these circumstances this was intending to mate him.” |
What holds for “meaning” holds for “thinking”. – We very- often find it impossible to think without speaking to ourselves- half aloud, – and nobody asked to describe what happened in- this case would ever say that something – the thinking –- accompanied thethe || his speaking, were theythey || he not led into doing so by- the pair of verbs, “speaking”: :“thinking”, and by many of our- common phrases in which their uses run parallel. Consider- these examples: “Think before you speak!”, “He speaks without- thinking”, “What I said didn't quite express my thought”, “He- says one thing and thinks just the opposite”, “I didn't mean a- word of what I said”, “The French language uses its words in- that order in which we think them.” |
If anything in such a case can be said to go with the speaking, it would be something like the modulation of voice, the- changes in timbre, accentuation, and the like, all of which one- might call means of expressiveness. Some of these like the tone- of voice and the accent, nobody for obvious reasons would call- the accompaniments of the speech; and such means of expressiveness as the play of facial expression or gestures which can be- said to accompany speech nobody would dream of calling thinking. |
Let us revert to our example of the use of “lighter” and
|
And this brings me to the following point: When someone- asks me, “What colour is the book over there?”, and I say, “Red”,- and then he asks, “What made you call this colour ‘red’?”, I- shall in most cases have to say: “Nothing makes me call it red;- that is, no reason. I just looked at it and said, ‘It's red’”. - One is then inclined to say: “Surely this isn't all that happened; for I could look at a colour and say a word and still- not name the colour.” And then one is inclined to go on to- say: “The word ‘red’ when we pronounce it, naming the colour we- look at, comes in a particular way.” But, at the same time,- asked, “Can you describe the way you mean?” – one wouldn't- feel prepared to give any description. Suppose now we asked:- “Do you, at any rate, remember that the name of the colour
|
Now it is very remarkable that when in a philosophical- conversation we say: “The name of a colour comes in a particular- way”, we don't trouble to think of the many different cases- and ways in which such a name comes. – And our chief argument- is really that naming the colour is different from just pronouncing a word on some different occasion while looking at a- colour. Thus one might say: “Suppose we counted some objects- lying on our table, a blue one, a red one, a white one, and a- black one, – looking at each in turn we say: ‘One, two, three,
|
When we philosophize about this sort of thing we almost- invariably do something of this sort: We repeat to ourselves a- certain experience, say, by looking fixedly at a certain object- and trying to “read off” as it were the name of its colour. - And it is quite natural that doing so again and again we should- be inclined to say, “Something particular happens while we say- the word ‘blue’”. For we are aware of going again and again- through the samesame || identical process. But ask yourself: Is this also the- process which we usually go through when on various occasions- – not philosophizing – we name the colour of an object? |
The problem which we are concerned with we also encounter- in thinking about volition, deliberate and involuntary action. - Think, say, of these examples: I deliberate whether to lift a- certain heavyish weight, decide to do it, I then apply my force- to it and lift it. Here, you might say, you have a full-fledged- case of willing and intentional action. Compare with this- such a case as reaching a man a lighted match after having lit- with it one's own cigarette and seeing that he wishes to light- his; or again the case of moving your hand while writing a letter, or moving your mouth, larynx, etc. while speaking. – Now- when I called the first example a full fledged case of willing,- I deliberately used this misleading expression. For this- expression indicates that one is inclined in thinking about volition to regard this sort of example as one exhibiting most- clearly the typical characteristic of willing. One takes one's- ideas, and one's language, about volition from this kind of- example and thinks that they must apply – if not in such an
|
Now on the other hand it has been said that when a man,- say, gets out of bed in the morning, all that happens may be- this: he deliberates, “Is it time to get up?”, he tries to make- up his mind, and then suddenly he finds himself getting up. - Describing it this way emphasizes the absence of an act of volition. Now first: where do we find the paradigmparadigm || prototype of such a- thing, i.e., how did we come by the idea of such an act? I- think the prototype of the act of volition is the experience of- muscular effort. – Now there is something in this above description which tempts us to contradict it; we say: “We don't just
|
Now here again it is clear that there are many striking- differences between the cases of observing my arm rising in this- experiment or watching someone else getting out of bed and the- case of finding myself getting up. There is, e.g., in this- case a perfect absence of what one might call surprise, also I- don't look at my own movements as I might look at someone- turning about in bed, e.g., saying to myself, “Is he going to- get up?”. There is a difference between the voluntary act of- getting out of bed and the involuntary rising of my arm. But- there is not one common difference between so-called voluntary- acts and involuntary ones, viz., the presence or absence of one- element, the “act of volition.” |
The description of getting up in which a man says, “I just- find myself getting up”, suggests that he wishes to say that he- observes himself getting up. And we may certainly say that an- attitude of observing is absent in this case. But the observing attitude again is not one continuous state of mind or
|
If I had said, “When I told him that the train was leaving- at 3.30, believing that it did, nothing happened than that I- just uttered the sentence”, and if someone contradicted me saying, “Surely this couldn't have been all, as you might ‘just- say a sentence’ without believing it”, – my answer should be,- “I didn't wish to say that there was no difference between speaking, believing what you say, and speaking, not believing what- you say; but the pair ‘believing’::‘not believing’ refers to- various differences in different cases (differences forming a- family), not to one difference, that between the presence and- the absence of a certain mental state.” |
Let us consider various characteristics of voluntary and- involuntary acts. In the case of lifting the heavy weight,- the various experiences of effort are obviously most characteristic for lifting the weight voluntarily. On the other hand,- compare with this the case of writing, voluntarily, here in most
|
Now consider a case in which we do take up an observant- attitude towards a voluntary action, I mean the very instructive case of trying to draw a square with its diagonals by placing a mirror on your drawing paper and directing your hand by- what you see by looking at it in the mirror. And here one is- inclined to say that our real actions, the ones to which volition immediately applies for which volition is immediately- responsible , are not the movements of our hand but something- further back, say, the actions of our muscles. We are inclined- to compare the case with this: Imagine we had a series of levers- before us, through which, by a hidden mechanism, we could direct- a pencil drawing on a sheet of paper. We might then be in- doubt which levers to pull in order to get the desired movement of the pencil; and we could say that we deliberately- pulled this particular lever, although we didn't deliberately- produce the wrong result that we thereby produced. But this- comparison, though it easily suggests itself, is very misleading. For in the case of the levers which we saw before us,- there was such a thing as deciding which one we were going to- pull before pulling it. But does our volition, as it were,- play on a keyboard of muscles, choosing which one it was going- to use next? – For some actions which we call deliberate it is- characteristic that we, in some sense, “know what we are going- to do” before we do it. In this sense we say that we know- what object we are going to point to, and what we might call- “the act of knowing” might consist in looking at the object- before we point to it or in describing its position by words or
|
(It is interesting here to think of the case of sucking a- liquid through a tube; if asked what part of your body you sucked with, you would be inclined to say your mouth, although the- work was done by the muscles by which you draw your breath.) |
Let us now ask ourselves what we should call “speaking
|
Now to involuntary speaking. Imagine you had to describe- a case, – what would you do? There is of course the case of- speaking in one's sleep; here the characteristic is that you- know nothing about it while it happens and don't remember having done it afterwards.here the characteristic is that you- know nothing about it while it happens and don't remember having done it afterwards. || this is characterized by our doing it- without being aware of it and not remembering having done it. - But this obviously you wouldn't call- the characteristic of an involuntary action. |
A better example of involuntary speaking would I suppose- be that of involuntary exclamations: “Ch!”, “Help!”, and such- like, and these utterances are akin to shrieking with pain. - (This, by the way, could set us thinking about “words as expressions of feelings.”) One might say, “Surely these are good- examples of involuntary speech, because there is in these cases- not only no act of volition by which we speak, but in many cases- we utter these words against our will.” I should say: I certainly should call this involuntary speaking; and I agree that an- act of volition preparatory to or accompanying these words is- absent, – if by “act of volition” you refer to certain acts of
|
Crying out with pain against our will could be compared with- raising our arm against our will when someone forces it up- while we are struggling against him. But it is important to- notice that the will – or should we say “wish” – not to cry- out is overcome in a different way from that in which our resistance is overcome by the strength of the opponent. When we- cry out against our will, we are as it were taken by surprise;- as though someone forced up our hands by unexpectedly sticking- a gun into our ribs, commanding, “Hands up!” |
Consider now the following example, which is of great help- in all these considerations: In order to see what happens when- one understands a word, we play this game: You have a list of- words, partly these words are words of my native language, partly- words of languages entirely unknown to me, (or, which comes to- the same, nonsensical words invented for the occasion.) Some- of the words of my native tongue, again, are words of ordinary,- everyday usage; and some of these, like “house”, “table”, “man”,- are what we might call primitive words, being among the first- words a child learns, and some of these again, words of baby - talk like “Mamma”, “Papa”. Again there are more or less common- technical terms such as “carburetor”, “dynamo”, “fuse”; etc. etc. - All these words are read out to me, and after each one I have to- say “Yes” or “No” according to whether I understand the word or
|
Now if someone said, “But surely something did happen when- you understood the word ‘tree’, unless you were utterly absent- minded when you said ‘Yes’”, I might be inclined to reflect and- say to myself, “Didn't I have a sort of homely feelingfeeling || sensation when I- took in the word ‘tree’?” But then, do I always have this- feeling which now I referred to when I hear that word used or- use it myself, do I remember having had it, do I even remember- a set of, say, five sensations some one of which I had on every- occasion when I could be said to have understood the word? - Further, isn't that “homely feeling” I referred to an experience- rather characteristic for the particular situation I'm in at- present, i.e., that of philosophizing about “understanding”? |
Of course in our experiment we might call saying “Yes” or- “No” characteristic experiences of understanding or not understanding, but what if we just hear a word in a sentence where- there isn't even a question of this reaction to it? – We are- here in a curious difficulty: on the one hand it seems we have- no reason to say that in all cases in which we understand a- word one particular experience – or even one of a set – is- present. On the other hand we may feel it's plainly wrong to- say that in such a case all that happens may be that I hear or- say the word. For that seems to be saying that part of the- time we act as mere automatons. And the answer is that in a- sense we do and in a sense we don't. |
If someone talked to me with a kindly play of facial expressions, is it necessary that in any short interval his face- should have beenbeen || looked such that seeing it at any other timeat any other time || under any other circumstances I should- have called its expression distinctly kindly? And if not,- does this mean that his “kindly play of expression” was interrupted by periods of inexpressiveness? – We certainly should- not say this under the circumstances which I am assuming, and we- don't feel that the look at this moment interruptsinterrupts || interrupted the expressiveness, although taken alone we should call it inexpressive. |
Just in this way we refer by the phrase “understanding a- word” not necessarily to that which happens while we are saying- or hearing it, but to the whole environment of the event of- saying it. And this also applies to our saying that someone- speaks like an automaton or like a parrot. Speaking with understanding certainly differs from speaking like an automaton, but- this doesn't mean that the speaking in the first case is all the- time accompanied by something which is lacking in the second- case. Just as when we say that two people move in different- circles this doesn't mean that they mayn't walk the street in- identical surroundings. |
Thus also, acting voluntarily (or involuntarily) is, in- many cases, characterized as such by a multitude of circumstances- under which the action takes place rather than by an experience- which we should call characteristic of voluntary action. And- in this sense it is true to say that what happened when I got- out of bed – when I should certainly not call it involuntary- – was that I found myself getting up. Or rather, this is a
|
The troubles which since page 105 we have been discussingdiscussing || turning over- were all closely bound upbound up || connected with the use of the word “particular”. - We have been inclined to say that seeing familiar objects we- have a particular feeling, that the word “red” came in a particular way when we recognized the colour as red, that we had a- particular experience when we acted voluntarily. |
Now the use of the word “particular” is apt to produce a- kind of delusion and roughly speaking this delusion is produced- by the double usage of this word. On the one hand, we may say,- it is used preliminary to a specification, description, comparison; on the other hand, as what one might describe as an emphasis. The first usage I shall call the transitive one, the- second the intransitive one. Thus, on the one hand I say,- “This face gives me a particular impression which I can't describe.” The latter sentence may mean something like: “This- face gives me a strong impression.” These examples would perhaps be more striking if we substituted the word “peculiar” for- “particular”, for the same appliessame applies || same comments apply to “peculiar”. If I say,- “This soap has a peculiar smell: it is the kind we used as- children”, the word “peculiar” may be used merely as an introduction to the comparison which follows it, as though I said,- “I'll tell you what this soap smells like: ….” If on the- other hand, I say, “This soap has a peculiar smell!” or “It has- a most peculiar smell”, “peculiar” here stands for some such- expression as “out of the ordinary”, “uncommon”, “striking”. |
We might ask, “Did you say it had a peculiar smell, as
|
“But didn't I mean that ‘red’ came in a different way from- ‘two’?” – You may have meant this, but the phrase, “They come- in different ways”, is itself liable to cause confusion. Suppose I said, “Smith and Jones always enter my room in different- ways”: I might go on and say, “Smith enters quickly, Jones
|
What is particular about the way “red” comes is that it- comes while you're philosophizing about it, as what is particular about the position of your body when you concentrated on it- was concentration. We appear to ourselves to be on the verge- of giving a characterization of the “way”giving a characterization of the “way” || describing the way, whereas we aren't- really opposing it to any other way. We are emphasizing, not- comparing, but we express ourselves as though this emphasis was- really a comparison of the object with itself; there seems to- be a reflexive comparison. Let me express myself in this way: - suppose I speak of the way in which A enters the room, I may- say, “I have noticed the way in which A enters the room”, and on- being asked, “What is it?”, I may answer, “He always sticks his- head into the room before coming in.” Here I'm referring to- a definite feature, and I could say that B had the same way, or- that A no longer had it. Consider on the other hand the statement, “I've now been observing the way A sits and smokes.” I- want to draw him like this. In this case I needn't be ready- to give any description of a particular feature of his attitude,- and my statement may just mean, “I've been observing A as he sat- and smoked.” – “The way” can't in this case be separated from- him. Now if I wished to draw him as he sat there, and was- contemplating, studying, his attitude, I should while doing so- be inclined to say and repeat to myself, “He has a particular- way of sitting.” But the answer to the question, “What way?”- would be, “Well, this way”, and perhaps one would give it by- drawing the characteristic outlines of his attitude. On the- other hand, my phrase, “He has a particular way …”, might
|
Now this is a characteristic situation to find ourselves- in when thinking about philosophical problems. There are many- troubles which arise in this way, that a word has a transitive- and an intransitive use, and that we regard the latter as a particular case of the former, explaining the word when it is used- intransitively by a reflexive construction. |
Thus we say, “By ‘kilogram’ I mean the weight of one liter- of water”, “By ‘A’ I mean ‘B’”, where B is an explanation of- “A”. But there is also the intransitive use: “I said that I- was sick of it and meant it.” Here again, meaning what you said- could be called “retracing it”, “laying an emphasis on it.” But- using the word “meaning” in this sentence makes it appear that
|
Suppose to the question, “What's a kilogram?” I answered,- “It is what a liter of water weighs”, and someone asked, “Well,- what does a liter of water weigh?” – |
We often use the reflexive form of speech as a means of- emphasizing something. And in all such cases our reflexive- expressions can be “straightened out”. Thus we use the expression, “If I can't, I can't”, “I am as I am”, “It is just what- it is”, also “That's that.” This latter phrase means as much- as, “That's settled”, but why should we express “That's settled”- by “That's that”? The answer can be given by laying before- ourselves a series of interpretations which make a transition- between the two expressions. ThusThus || So for “That's settled” I will- say, “The matter is closed.” And this expression, as it were,- files the matter and shelves it. And filing it is like drawing- a line around it, as one sometimes draws a line around the result of a calculation, thereby marking it as final. But this- also makes it stand out, it is a way of emphasizing it. And- what the expression, “That's that” does is to emphasize the- “That”. |
Another expression akin to those we have just considered
|
It is closely connected with this that in describing a- case like 30) or 31) (?) we are tempted to use the phrase,- “There is, of course, a number beyond which no one of the tribe- has ever counted; let this number be …” Straightened out- this reads: “Let the number beyond which no one of the tribe- has ever counted be …” Why we tend to prefer the first expression to the one straightened out is that it more strongly- directs our attention to the upper end of the range of numerals- used by our tribe in their actual practice. |
Let us now consider a very instructive case of that use of- the word “particular” in which it does not point to a comparison in which it doesn't indicate that I'm making a comparison , and yet seems most strongly to do so, – the case when- we contemplate the expression of a face primitively drawn in- this way: . Let this face produce an impression on you. - You may then feel inclined to say: “Surely I don't see mere- strokes.strokes. || dashes. I see a face with a particular expression.” But you- don't mean that it has an outstanding expression nor is it said- as an introduction to a description of the expression though we
|
“This face has a particular expression.” – I am inclined- to say this when I am letting it makeletting it make || trying to let it make its full impression upon- me. |
What goes on here is an act, as it were, of digesting it,- getting hold of it, and the phrase, “getting hold of the expression of this face” suggests that we are getting hold of a thing- which is in the face and different from it. It seems we are- looking for something, but we don't do so in the sense of looking for a model of the expression outside the face we see, but- in the sense of sounding the thing with our attention. It is,
|
When we say, “This is a face, and not mere strokes”, we- are, of course, distinguishing such a drawing from such a- one . And it is true: If you ask anyone: “What is this?”- (pointing to the first drawing) he will certainly say: “It's a- face”, and he will be able straight away to reply to such questions as, “Is it male or female?”, “Smiling or sad?”, etc. If- on the other hand you ask him: “What is this?” (pointing to the- second drawing), he will most likely say, “This is nothing at- all”, or “These are just dashes”. Now think of looking for a- man in a picture puzzle; there it often happens that what at- first sight appears as “mere dashes” later appears as a face. - We say in such cases: “Now I see it is a face.” It must be- quite clear to you that this doesn't mean that we recognize it- as the face of a friend or that we are under the delusion of- seeing a “real” face: rather, this “seeing it as a face” must be- compared with seeing this drawing either as a cube or as- a plane figure consisting of a square and two rhombuses; or with- seeing this “as a square with diagonals”, or “as a swastika”,- that is, as a limiting case of this ; or again with seeing- these four dots .... as two pairs of dots side by side with
|
The case of “seeing as a swastika” is of special interest because this expression might mean being, somehow, under- the optical delusion that the square is not quite closed, that- there are the gaps which distinguish the swastika from our drawing. On the other hand it is quite clear that this was not- what we meant by “seeing our drawing as a swastika”. We saw- it in a way which suggested the description, “I see it as a- swastika.” One might suggest that we ought to have said, “I- see it as a closed swastika”; – but then, what is the difference- between a closed swastika and a square with diagonals? I think- that in this case it is easy to recognize “what happens when we- see our figure as a swastika.” I believe it is that we retrace- the figure with our eyes in a particular way, viz., by starting- at the centre, looking along a radius, and along a side adjacent- to it, starting at the centre again, taking the next radius and- the next side, say in a right handed sense of rotation, etc. - But this explanation of the phenomenon of seeing the figure as- a swastika is of no fundamental interest to us. It is of interest to us only in so far as it helps one to see that the expression, “seeing the figure as a swastika” did not mean seeing- this as that, seeing one thing as something else, when, essentially, two visual objects entered the process of doing so. – - Thus also seeing the first figure as a cube did not mean- “taking it to be a cube.” (For we might never have seen a cube- and still have this experience of “seeing it as a cube”). |
And in this way “seeing dashes as a face” does not involve
|
Consider also this example: Look at W once “as a capital- double-U”, and another time as a capital M upside down. Observe what doing the one and doing the other consists in. |
We distinguish seeing a drawing as a face and seeing it as- something else or as “mere dashes.” And we also distinguish- between superficially glancing at a drawing (seeing it as a- face), and letting the face make its full impression on us. - But it would be queer to say: “I am letting the face make a particular impression on me”, (except in such cases in which you- can say that you can let the same face make different impressions on you). And in letting the face impress itself on me- and contemplating its “particular impression”, no two things- of the multiplicity of a face are compared with each other; there- is only one which is laden with emphasis. Absorbing its expression, I don't find a prototype of this expression in my mind;- rather, I, as it were, cut a seal fromfrom || after the impression. |
And this also describes what happens when (on pages 126 ff) we say- to ourselves, “The word ‘red’ comes in a particular way …” - The reply could be: “I see, you're repeating to yourself some- experience and again and again gazing at it.” |
We may shed light on all these considerations if we compare what happens when we remember the face of someone who- enters our room, when we recognize him as Mr. So-and-so, –- when we compare what really happens in such cases with the- representation we are sometimes inclined to make of the events.
|
I will here again describe the kind of thing that happens- in your mind and otherwise when you recognize a person coming- into your room by means of what you might say when you recognize him. Now this may just be: “Hello!” And thus we may- say that one kind of event of recognizing a thing we see consists in saying “Hello!” to it in words, gestures, facial- expressions, etc. – And thus also we may think that when we- look at our drawing and see it as a face, we compare it with- some paradigm, and it agrees with it, or it fits into a mould- ready for it in our mind. But no such mould or comparison- enters into our experience, there is only this shape, not any- other to compare it with, and as it were, say “Of course!” to- it. As when in putting together a jig-saw puzzle, somewhere- a small space is left unfilled and I see a piece obviously fitting it and put it in the place saying to myself “Of course!” - But here we say, “Of course!” because the piece fits the mould
|
The same strange illusion which we are under when we seem- to seek the something which a face expresses whereas, in reality,- we are giving ourselves up to the features before us,– that- same illusion possesses us even more strongly if repeating a- tune to ourselves and letting it make its full impression on- us, we say, “This tune says something”, and it is as though I- had to find what it says. And yet I know that it doesn't say- anything in which I might express in words or pictures what it- says. And if, recognizing this, I resign myself to saying,- “It just expresses a musical thought”, this would mean no more- than saying, “It expresses itself.” – “But surely when you play- it you don't play it anyhow, you play it in this particular- way, making a crescendo here, a diminuendo there, a caesura in- this place, etc.”– Precisely, and that's all I can say about- it, or may be all that I can say about it. For in certain- cases I can justify, explain the particular expression with- which I play it by a comparison, as when I say, “At this point- of the theme, there is, as it were, a colon”, or, “This is, as- it were, the answer to what came before”, etc. (This, by the- way, shews what a “justification” and an “explanation” in aesthetics is like.) It is true I may hear a tune played and say,- “This is not how it ought to be played, it goes like this”; and- I whistle it in a different tempo. Here one is inclined to- ask, “What is it like to know the tempo in which a piece of- music should be played?” And the idea suggests itself that there- must be a paradigm somewhere in our mind, and that we have
|
This doesn't mean that suddenly understanding a musical- theme may not consist in finding a form of verbal expression- which I conceive as the verbal counterpoint of the theme. And- in the same way I may say, “Now I understand the expression of- this face”, and what happened when the understanding came was- that I found the word which seemed to sum it up.sum it up. || characterize its expression. |
Consider also this expression: “Tell yourself that it's a- waltz, and you will play it correctly.” |
What we call “understanding a sentence” has, in many cases,- a much greater similarity to understanding a musical theme- than we might be inclined to think. But I don't mean that- understanding a musical theme is more like the picture which one- tends to make oneself of understanding a sentence; but rather- that this picture is wrong, and that understanding a sentence- is much more like what really happens when we understand a tune- than at first sight appears. For understanding a sentence,- “we say”,“we say”, || one says, points to a reality outside the sentencesentence || language. Whereas -one might say, “Understanding a sentence means getting hold of- its content; and the content of the sentence is in the sentence”. |
We may now return to the ideas of “recognizing” and “familiarity”, and in fact to that example of recognition and familiarity which started our reflections on the use of these terms- and of a multitude of terms connected with them. I mean the
|
In reading the spoken words come in a particular way, I am- inclined to say; and the written words themselves which I read- don't just look to me like any kind of scribbles. At the same- time I am unable to point to, or get a grasp on, that “particular way.” |
The phenomenon of seeing and speaking the words seems- enshrouded by a particular atmosphere. But I don't recognize- this atmosphere as one which always characterized reading - the situation of reading . Rather, I notice it when I read- a line, trying to see what reading is like. |
When noticing this atmosphere I am in the situation of a- man who is working in his room, reading, writing, speaking,- etc., and who suddenly concentrates his attention on some soft- uniform noise, such as one can almost always hear, particularly- in a town (the dim noise resulting from all the various noises- of the street, the sounds of wind, rain, workshops, etc.). - We could imagine that this man might think that a particular- noise was a common element of all the experiences he had in this
|
Now we have used a misleading expression when we said that- besides the experiences of seeing and speaking in reading there- was another experience, etc. This is saying that to certain- experiences another experience is added. – Now take the experience of seeing a sad face, say, in drawing, – we can say that- to see the drawing as a sad face is not “just” to see it as some- complex of strokes, (think of a puzzle picture). But the word- “just” here seems to intimate that in seeing the drawing as a- face some experience is added to the experience of seeing it as- mere strokes; as though I had to say that seeing the drawing as- a face consisted of two experiences, elements. |
You should now notice the difference between the various- cases in which we say that an experience consists of several- elementselements || experiences or that it is a compound experience. We might say to- the doctor, “I don't have one pain; I have two: toothache and- headache.” And one might express this by saying, “My experience of pain is not simple, but compound, I toothache and- headache.” Compare with this case that in which I say, “I- have got both pains in my stomach and a general feeling of sickness.” Here I don't separate the constituent experiences by- pointing to two localities of pain. Or consider this statement: “When I drink sweet tea, my taste experience is a compound of the- taste of sugar and the taste of tea.” Or again: “If I hear
|
Now although the expression that seeing a drawing as a- face is not merely seeing strokes seems to point to some kind of- addition of experiences, we certainly should not say that when- we see the drawing as a face we also have the experience of- seeing it as mere strokes and some other experience besides. - And this becomes still clearer when we imagine that someone said- that seeing the drawing as a cube consisted in seeing it- as a plane figure plus having an experience of depth. |
Now when I felt that though while reading a certain constant experience went on and on, I could not in a sense lay hold- of that experience, my difficulty arose through wrongly comparing this case with one in which one part of my experience can- be said to be an accompaniment of another. Thus we are sometimes tempted to ask: “If I feel this constant hum going on while- I read, where is it?” I wish to make a pointing gesture, and- there is nothing to point to. And the words “lay hold of”- express the same misleading analogy. |
Instead of asking the question, “Where is this constant- experience which seems to go on all through my reading?”, we- should ask, “What is it in saying, ‘A particular atmosphere
|
I will try to elucidate this by an analogous case: We are- inclined to be puzzled by the three-dimensional appearance of- the drawing in a way expressed by the question, “What does- seeing it three-dimensionally consist in?” And this question- really asks, “What is it that is added to simply seeing the- drawing when we see it three dimensionally?” And yet what- answer can we expect to this question? It is the form of this- question which produces the puzzlement. As Hertz says: “Aber- offenbar irrt die Frage in Bezug auf die Antwort, welche sie- erwartet” (p.9, Einleitung, Die Prinzipien der Mechanik).- The question itself keeps the mind pressing against a blank wall,- thereby preventing it from ever finding the outlet. To show a- man how to get out you have first of all to free him from the- misleading influence of the question. |
Look at a written word, say, “read”, – “It isn't- just a scribble, it's ‘read’”, I should like to say, “It has one- definite physiognomy.” But what is it that I am really saying- about it?! What is this statement, straightened out? “The- word falls”, one is tempted to explain, “into a mould of my- mind long prepared for it.” But as I don't perceive both the- word and a mould, the metaphor of the word's fitting a mould- can't allude to an experience of comparing the hollow and the- solid shape before they are fitted together, but rather to an- experience of seeing the solid shape accentuated by a particular- background. 1) , 11) .
|
I am tempted to say, “This isn't just a scribble, but it's- this particular face.” – But I can't say, “I see this as this- face”, but ought to say, “I see this as a face.” But I feel- I want to say, “I don't see this as a face, I see it as this- face!” But in the second half of this sentence the word “face”- is redundant, and it should have run, “I don't see this as a- face, I see it like this.” |
Suppose I said, “I see this scribble like this”, and while- saying “this scribble” I look at it as a mere scribble, and- while saying, “What at one time appears to me like this- at another appears to me like that”, and here the “this” and the- “that” would be accompanied by the two different ways of seeing. – - But we must ask ourselves in what game is this sentence with- the processes accompanying it to be used. E.g., whom am I- telling this? Suppose the answer is, “I'm saying it to myself.” - But that is not enough. We are here in the grave danger of- believing that we know what to do with a sentence if it looks- more or less like one of the common sentences of our language. - But here in order not to be deluded we have to ask ourselves:- What is the use, say, of the words “this” and “that”? – or- rather, What are the different uses which we make of them? - What we call their meaning the meaning of these words is
|
The danger of delusion which we are in becomes most clear- if we propose to ourselves to give the aspects “this” and “that”- names, say A and B. For we are most strongly tempted to imagine that giving a name consists in correlating in a peculiar- and rather mysterious way a sound (or other sign) with something. - How we make use of this peculiar correlation then seems to be- almost a secondary matter. (One could almost imagine that- naming was done by a peculiar sacramental act, and that this- produced some magic relation between the name and the thing.) |
But let us look at an example; consider this language-game: A sends B to various houses in their town to fetch goods- of various sorts from various people. A gives B various lists. - On top of every list he puts a scribble, and B is trained to go- to that house on the door of which he finds the same scribble,- this is the name of the house. In the first column of every- list he then finds one or more scribbles which he has been- taught to read out. When he enters the house he calls out these- words, and every inhabitant of the house has been trained to- run up to him when a certain one of these sounds is called out,- these sounds are the names of the people. He then addresses- himself to each one of them in turn and shews to each two
|
What now is the relation between a name and the object- named, say, the house and its name? I suppose we could give- either of two answers. The one is that the relation consists- in certain strokes having been painted on to the door of the- house. The second answer I meant is that the relation we are- concerned with is established, not just by painting these strokes- on the door, but by the particular role which they play in the- practice of our language as we have been sketching it. – - Again, the relation of the name of a person to the person consists in the person having been trained to run up to- someone who calls out the name; or again, we might say that it- consists in this and the whole of the usage of the name in the- language-game. |
Look into this language-game and see if you can find the- mysterious relation of the object and its name. – The relation- of name and object we may say, consists in a scribble being- written on an object (or some other such very trivial relation),- and that's all there is to it. But we are not satisfied with- that, for we feel that a scribble written on an object in itself- is of no importance to us, and interests us in no way. And- this is true; the whole importance lies in the particular use
|
Now we might use the expression, “The relation of name toto || and- object does not merely consist in this kind of trivial, ‘purely- external’, connection”, meaning that what we call the relation- of name and object is characterized by the entire usage of the- name, but then it is clear that there is no one relation of name- to object, but as many as there are uses of sounds or scribbles- which we call names. |
We can therefore say that if naming something is to be more- than just uttering a sound while pointing to something, there- must come to it, in some form or other, the knowledge of how in- the particular case the sound or scratch is to be used. |
Now when we proposed to give the aspects of a drawing names,- we made it appear that by seeing the drawing in two different- ways, and each time saying something, we had done more than performing just this uninteresting action; whereas we now see that- it is the usage of the “name” and in fact the detail of this- usage which gives the naming its peculiar significance.
|
It is therefore not an unimportant question, but a- question about the essence of the matter: “Are ‘A’ and ‘B’ to- remind me of these aspects; can I carry out such an order as- ‘See this drawing in the aspect ‘A’; are there, in some way,- pictures of these aspects correlated with the names ‘A’ and ‘B’- (like and ); are ‘A’ and ‘B’ used in communicating with- other people, and what exactly is the game played with them?” |
When I say, “I don't see mere dashes (a mere scribble) but- a face (or word) with this particular physiognomy”, I don't wish- to assert any general characteristic of what I see, but to- assert that I see that particular physiognomy which I do see. - And it is obvious that here my expression is moving in a - circle. But this is so because really the particular physiognomy which I saw ought to have entered my proposition. – - When I find that, “In reading a sentence, a peculiar experience- goes on all the while”, I have actually to read over a fairly- long stretch to get the peculiar impression uttered in this way- which makes one say this . |
I might then have said, “I find that the same experience- goes on all the time”, but I wished to say: “I don't just notice- that it's the same experience throughout, I notice a particular experience.” Looking at a uniformly coloured wall I might- say, “I don't just see that it has the same colour all over,- but I see thethe || a particular colour.” But in saying this I am- mistaking the function of a sentence. – It seems that you- wish to specify the colour you see, but not by saying anything- about it, nor by comparing it with a sample, – but by pointing- to it; using it at the same time as the sample and that which
|
Consider this example: You tell me to write a few lines,- and while I am doing so you ask, “Do you feel something in your- hand notice a feeling in your hand while you are writing?” - I say, “Yes, I have a peculiar feeling.” – Can't I say to myself- when I write, “I have this feeling”? Of course I can say it,- and while saying “this feeling”, I concentrate on the feeling.- – But what do I do with this sentence? What use is it to me? - It seems that I am pointing out to myself what I am feeling, –- as though my act of concentration was an “inward” act of pointing, one which no one else but me is aware of, this however is- unimportant. But I don't point to the feeling by attending to- it. Rather, attending to the feeling means producing or modifying it. (On the other hand, observing a chair does not- mean producing or modifying the chair.) |
Our sentence, “I have this feeling while I'm writing”, is- of the kind of the sentence, “I see this.” I don't mean the- sentence when it is used to inform someone that I am looking- at the object which I am pointing to, nor when it is used, as- above, to convey to someone that I see a certain drawing in- the way A and not in the way B. I mean the sentence, “I see- this”, as it is sometimes contemplated by us when we are brooding over certain philosophical problems. We are then, say,- holding on to a particular visual impression by staring at some- object, and we feel it is most natural to say to ourselves, “I- see this”, though we know of no further use we can make of this- sentence. |
“Surely it makes sense to say what I see, and how better
|
But the words, “I see” in our sentence are redundant. - I don't wish to tell myself that it is I who see this, nor that- I see it. Or, as I might put it, it is impossible that I- should not see this. This comes to the same as saying that I- can't point out to myself by a visual hand what I am seeing; as- this hand does not point to what I see but is part of what I- see. |
It is as though the sentence was singling out the particular colour I saw; as if it presented it to me. |
It seems as though the colour which I see was its own description. |
For the pointing with my finger was ineffectual. (And the- looking is no pointing, it does not, for me, indicate a direction, which could mean contrasting a direction with other directions.) |
What I see, or feel, enters my sentence as a sample does;- but no use is made of this sample; the words of my sentence don't- seem to matter, they only serve to present the sample to me. |
I don't really speak about what I see, but to it. |
I am in fact going through the acts of attending which- could accompany the use of a sample. And this is what makes- it seem as though I was making use of a sample. This error- is akin to that of believing that an ostensive definition says- something about the object to which it directs our attention. |
When I said, “I am mistaking the function of a sentence”,- it was because by its help I seemed to be pointing out to myself- which colour it is I see, whereas I was just contemplating a
|
Suppose I said to someone: “Observe the particular lighting- of this room.” – Under certain circumstances the sense of this- orderorder || imperative will be quite clear, e.g., if the walls of the room were- red with the setting sun. But suppose at any other time when- there is nothing striking about the lighting I said, “Observe- the particular lighting of this room”: – Well, isn't there a- particular lighting? So what is the difficulty about observing- it? But the person who was told to observe the lighting when- there was nothing striking about it would probably look about- the room and say, “Well, what about it?” Now I might go on- and say, “It is exactly the same lighting as yesterday at this- hour”, or “It is just this slightly dim light which you see in- this picture of the room.” |
In the first case, when the room was lit a striking red,- you could have pointed out the peculiarity which you were meant,- though not explicitly told, to observe. You could, e.g.,- have used a sample of the particular colour in order to do so. - We shall in this case be inclined to say that a peculiarity was- added to the normal appearance of the room. |
In the second case, when the room was just ordinarily- lighted and there was nothing striking about its appearance,- you didn't know exactly what to do when you were told to observe- the lighting of the room. All you could do was to look about- you waiting for something further to be said which would give- the first order its full sense.
|
But wasn't the room, in both cases, lit in a particular- way? Well, this question, as it stands, is senseless, and so- is the answer, “It was …” The order, “Observe the particular- lighting of this room”, does not imply any statement about the- appearance of this room. It seemed to say: “This room has a- particular lighting, which I need not name; observe it!” The- lighting referred to, it seems, is given by a sample, and you- are to make use of the sample; as you would be doing in copying- the precise shade of a colour sample on a palette. Whereas- the order is similar to this: “Get hold of this sample!” |
Imagine yourself saying, “There is a particular lighting- I must observeI must observe || which I'm to observe.” You could imagine yourself in this case- staring about you in vain, that is, without seeing the lighting. |
You could have been given a sample, e.g., a piece of colour material, and been asked: “Observe the colour of this patch.”-– And we can draw a distinction between observing, attending- to, the shape of the sample and attending to its colour. But,- attending to the colour can't be described as looking at a thing- which is connected with the sample, rather, as looking at the- sample in a peculiar way. |
When we obey the order, “Observe the colour …”, what - we do is to open our eyes to colour. “Observe the colour …”- doesn't mean “See the colour you see.” The order, “Look at- so-and-so”, is of the kind, “Turn your head in this direction”;- what you will see when you do so does not enter this order. - By attending, looking, you produce the impression; you can't- look at the impression. |
|
Suppose someone answered to our order: “Yes“Yes || “All right, I am now- observing the particular lighting this room has”, – this would- sound as though he could point out to us the particular lighting which lighting it was ; The order, that is to say, may- seem to telltell || have told you to do something with this particular lighting,- as opposed to another one (like “Paint this lighting, not that”). - Whereas you obey the order by taking in lighting, as opposed- to dimensions, shapes, etc. |
(Compare, “Get hold of the colour of this sample” with- “Get hold of this pencil”, i.e., there it is, take hold of it.) |
I return to our sentence: “This face has a particular expression.” In this case too I did not compare or contrast my impression with anything, I did not make use of the sample before- me. The sentence was an utterance of a state of attention. |
What has to be explained is this : Why do we- talk to our impression? – You read, put yourself into a state- of attentionstate- of attention || particular state of attention and say: “Something peculiar happens undoubtedly.” - You are inclined to go on: “There is a certain smoothness about- it”; but you feel that this is only an inadequate description- and that the experience can only stand for itself. “Something- peculiar happens undoubtedly” is like saying, “I have had an- experience.” But you don't wish to make a general statement- independent of the particular experience you have had but rather- a statement into which this experience enters. |
You are under an impression. This makes you say, “I am- under a particular impression”, and this sentence seems to say,- to yourself at least, under what impression you are. As though- you were referring to a picture readyready || in readiness in your mind and said,
|
When you read, as it were attending closely to what- happened when you readwhen you read || in reading, you seemed to be observing reading as- under a magnifying glass and to see the reading process. (But- the case is more like that of observing something through a- coloured glass.) You think you have noticed the process of- reading, the particular way in which signs are translatedare translated || pass over into- spoken words. |
I have read a line with a peculiar attention; I am impressed by the reading, and this makes me say that I have observed- something besides the mere seeing of the written signs and the- speaking of words. I have also expressed it by saying that I- have noticed a particular atmosphere round the seeing and speaking. How such a metaphor as that embodied in the last sentences can arise can come to suggestsuggest || present itself to me may be- seen more clearly by looking at this example: If you heard- sentences spoken in a monotone, you might be tempted to say- that the words were all enshrouded in a particular atmosphere. - But wouldn't it be using a peculiar way of representation to say- that speaking the sentence in a monotone was adding something- to the mere saying of it? Couldn't we even conceive speaking- in a monotone as the result of taking away from the sentence its- inflexion. Different circumstances would make us adopt different
|
I am impressed by the reading of a sentence, and I say the- sentence has shewn me something, that I have noticed something- in it. This made me think of the following example: A friend- and I once looked at beds of pansies. Each bed shewed a different kind. We were impressed by each in turn. Speaking- about them my friend said, “What a variety of colour patterns,- and each says something.” And this was just what I myself- wished to say. |
Compare such a statement with this: “Every one of these- men says something.” – |
- If one had asked what the colour pattern of the pansy said,- the right answer would have seemed to be that it said itself. - Hence we could have used an intransitive form of expression,- say, “Each of these colour patterns impresses one.” |
It has sometimes been said that what music conveys to us- are feelings of joyfulness, melancholy, triumph, etc. etc. and- what repels us in this account is that it seems to say that- music is a means toa means to || an instrument for producing in us sequences of feelings. And- from this one might gather that any other means of producing- such feelings would do for us instead of music. – To thisthis || such an- account we are tempted to reply “Music conveys to us itself!” |
It is similar with such expressions as, “Each of these
|
I could have used the expression, “Each of these colour- patterns has meaning”; – I didn't say “has meaning”, for this- would provoke the question, “What meaning?”, which in the case- we are considering is senseless. We are distinguishing between- meaningless patterns and patterns which have meaning; but there- is no such expression in our game as, “This pattern has the- meaning so-and-so.” Nor even the expression, “These two patterns have different meanings”, unless this is to say: “These- are two different patterns and both have meaning.” |
It is easy to understand though why we should be inclined- to use the transitive form of expression. For let us see what- use we make of such an expression as, “This face says something”,- that is, what the situations are in which we use this expression,- what sentence would precede or follow it, (what kind of conversation it is a part of). We should perhaps follow up such
|
We can now consider sentences which, as one might say,- give an analysis of the impression we get, say, from a face. - Take such a statement as, “The particular impression of this- face is due to its small eyes and low forehead.” Here the- words, “the particular impression”, may stand for a certain- specification, e.g., “the stupid expression.” Or, on the other- hand, they may mean, “what makes this expression a striking one”- (i.e. an extraordinary one); or, “what strikes one about this- face” (i.e., “what draws one's attention”). Or again, our sentence may mean, “If you change these features in the slightest- the expression will change entirely (whereas you might change- other features without changing the expression nearly so much)”. - The form of this statement, however, mustn't mislead us into- thinking that there is in every case a supplementing statement- of the form, “First the expression was this, after the change- it's that.” We can, of course, say, “Smith frowned, and his- expression changed from this to that”, pointing, say, at two- drawings of his face. – (Compare with this the two statements:- “He said these words”, and “His words said something”). |
When, trying to see what reading consisted in, I read a- written sentence, let itit || the reading of it impress itself upon me, and said that
|
Let us now go back to the idea of a feeling of familiarity- which arises when I see familiar objects. Pondering about the- question whether there is such a feeling or not, we are likely- to gaze at some object and say, “Don't I have a particular feeling when I look at my old coat and hat?” But to this we now- answer: What feeling do you compare thisthis || it with, or oppose it to? - Should you say that your old coat gives you the same feeling- as your old friend A with whose appearance too you are well- acquainted, or that whenever you happened to look at your coat- you get that feeling, say of intimacy and warmth? |
“But is there no such thing as a feeling of familiarity?”- – I should say that there are a great many different experiences,- some of them feelings, which we might call “experiences (feelings) of familiarity.” |
Different experiences of familiarity: a) Someone enters my- room, I haven't seen him for a long time, and didn't expect him. - I look at him, say or feel, “Oh, it's you.” – (Why did I in- giving this example say that I hadn't seen the man for a long- time? Wasn't I setting out to describe experiences of familiarity? And whatever the experience was I alluded to, couldn't- I have had it even if I had seen the man half an hour ago? - I mean, I gave the circumstances of recognizing the man as a- means to the end of describing the precise situation of the- recognition. One might object to this way of describing the- experience, saying that it brought in irrelevant things, and in
|
b) the same as a), but the face is not familiar to me- immediately. After a little, recognition “dawns upon me.” - I say, “Oh, it's you”, but with totally different inflexion- than in a). (Consider tone of voice, inflexion, gestures,- as essential parts of our experience, not as inessential accompaniments or mere means of communication. (Compare p. 104–5)). - c) There is an experience directed towards people or things- which we see every day when suddenly we feel them to be “old- acquaintances” or “good old friends”; one might also describe- the feeling as one of warmth or of being at home with them. - d) My room with all the objects in it is thoroughly familiar to- me. When I enter it in the morning do I greet the familiar- chairs, tables, etc., with a feeling of “Oh, hello!”? or have- such a feeling as described in c)? But isn't the way I walk- about in it, take something out of a drawer, sit down, etc.- different from my behaviour in a room I don't know? And why- shouldn't I say therefore, that I had experiences of familiarity- whenever I lived amongst these familiar objects? e) Isn't it- an experience of familiarity when on being asked, “Who is this- man?” I answer straight away (or after some reflection), “It is- so-and-so”? Compare with this experience, f), that of looking- at the written word “feeling” and saying, “This is A's handwriting” and on the other hand g) the experience of reading the- word, which also is an experience of familiarity. |
To e) one might object saying that the experience of saying- the man's name was not the experience of familiarity, that he- had to be familiar to us in order that we might know his name,
|
Consider this example: What is the difference between a- memory image, an image that comes with expectation, and say,- an image of a day dream. You may be inclined to answer, “There- is an intrinsic difference between the images”. – Did you notice that difference, or did you only say there was one because- you thought there had to be one?thought there had to be one? || think there must be one? |
“But surely I recognize a memory image as a memory image,- an image of a day dream as an image of a day dream, etc.” – - Remember that you are sometimes doubtful whether you actually- saw a certain event happening or whether you dreamt it, or just- had heard of it and imagined it vividly. But apart from that,- what do you mean by “recognizing an image as a memory image”? - I agree that (at least in most cases) while an image is before- your mind's eye you are not in a state of doubt as to whether- it is a memory image, etc. Also, if asked whether your image- was a memory image, you would (in most cases) answer the question without hesitation. Now what if I asked you, “When do you- know what sort of an image it is?”? Do you call knowing what- sort of image it is not being in a state of doubt, not wondering- about it? Does introspection make you see a state or activity of mind which you would call knowing that the image was a- memory image, and which takes place while the image is before
|
It is easy, on the other hand, to point out experiences- characteristic of remembering, expecting, etc. accompanying the- images, and further differences in the immediate or more remote- surrounding of them. Thus we certainly say different things- in the different cases, e.g., “I remember his coming into my- room”, “I expect his coming into my room”, “I imagine his coming- into my room.” – “But surely this can't be all the difference- there is!” It isn't all: There are the three different games- played with these three words surrounding these statements. |
When challenged, do we understand the word “remember”, etc.,- is there really a difference between the cases besides the mere- verbal one, our thoughts moving in the immediate surroundings- of the image we had or the expression we used. I have an image- of dining in Hall with T. If asked whether this is a memory- image, I say, “Of course”, and my thoughts begin to move on- paths starting from this image. I remember who sat next to us,- what the conversation was about, what I thought about it, what- happened to T later on, etc. etc. |
Imagine two different games both played with chess men on- a chess board. The initial positions of both are alike. One- of the games is always played with red and green pieces, the- other with black and white. Two people are beginning to play,- they have the chess board between them with the red and green
|
But isn't there also a peculiar feeling of pastness characteristic of images as memory images? There certainly are- experiences which I should be inclined to call feelings of pastness, although not always when I remember something is one of- these feelings present. – To get clear about the nature of- these feelings it is again veryvery || most useful to remember that there- are gestures of pastness and inflexions of pastness which we- can regard as representing the experiences of pastness. - (Aristotle). |
I will examine one particular case, that of a feeling which- I shall roughly describe by saying it is the feeling of “long,- long ago.” These words and the tone in which they are said- are a gesture of pastness. But I will specify the experiences- which I mean still further by saying that it is that corresponding to a certain tune (Davids Bündlertänze – “Wie aus- weiter Ferne”). I'm imagining this tune played with the right
|
Now should I say that hearing this tune played with this- expression is in itself that particular experience of pastness,- or should I say that hearing the tune causes the feeling of- pastness to arise and that this feeling accompanies the tune? - I.e., can I separate what I call this experience of pastness- from the experience of hearing the tune? Or, can I separate- an experience of pastness expressed by a gesture from the experience of making this gesture? Can I discover something, the- essential feeling of pastness, which remains after abstracting- all those experiences which we might call the experiences of- expressing the feeling? |
I am inclined to suggest to you to put the expression of- our experience instead of the experience. “But these two aren't- the same.” This is certainly true, at least in the sense in- which it is true to say that a railway train and a railway- accident aren't the same thing. And yet there is a justification for talking as though the expression, “the gesture ‘long,- long ago’” and the expression, “the feeling ‘long, long ago’”- had the same meaning. Thus I could give the rules of chess in- the following way: I have a chess board before me with a set of- chess men on it. I give rules for moving these particular- chess men (these particular pieces of wood) on this particular- board. Can these rules be the rules of the game of chess? - They can be converted into them by the usage of a single
|
There is the idea that the feeling, say, of pastness, is- an amorphous something in a place, the mind, and that this something is the cause or effect of what we call the expression of- feeling. The expression of feeling then is an indirect way of- transmitting the feeling. And people have often talked of a- direct transmission of feeling which would obviate the external- medium of communication. |
Imagine that I tell you to mix a certain colour and I- describe the colour by saying that it is that which you get if- you let sulphuric acid react on copper. This might be called- an indirect way of communicating the colour I meant. It is- conceivable that the reaction of sulpuric acid on copper under- certain circumstances does not produce the colour I wished you- to mix, and that on seeing the colour you had got I should- have to say, “No, it's not this”, and to give you a sample. |
Now can we say that the communication of feelings by gestures is in this sense indirect? Does it make sense to talk- of a direct communication as opposed to that indirect one? - Does it make sense to say, “I can't feel his toothache, but if- I could I'd know what he feels like”? |
If I speak of communicating a feeling to someone else,- mustn't I in order to understand what I say know what I shall- call the criterion of having succeeded in communicating? |
We are inclined to say that when we communicate a feeling
|