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Mar. 9th, 2007
In the course of addressing a philosophical problem, like the freedom of the will, we often find ourselves talking about what we think 'the will' and 'freedom' are. That is, we attempt to shed light on the problem by examining our concepts. This is not so odd. Later, though, after philosophers have done a great deal of examining, they will inevitably have populated their discussion with numerous new terms that, they believe, pick out the most interesting elements of the problem. This will move them beyond 'ordinary language.' An ingenue arriving on the scene will be interested, then confused, then recalcitrant. He will protest that we never will the things that we do in daily life, that we don't have unconscious beliefs, or that the mind does not represent things to us (only words and images can 'represent' anything, and only if they were created by a person with the intention of conveying something). The ordinary language philosopher makes these sorts of protests, often with the aim of showing whatever it is the philosophers are talking about is confused and muddled.
The perennial question about such a method concerns the special authority such philosophers think we (or they) have to pronouce others' uses of words wrong. Why have ordinary language philosphers any greater right to do this than the 'normal' philosophers? And if the way terms are 'ordinarily' used should bear upon what philosophers say, why don't we just do empirical linguistics--survey the popular uses of certain terms--and make use of the results?
I think both sides of this debate are shooting wide of the mark. Attackers of ordinary language have an exaggerated view of what the appeal to ordinary language entails, and ordinary language philosophers have a narrow view of what philosophy can be. First of all, we cannot learn about the extensions of all of our concepts by thinking about what's involved in our ordinary use of them. Terms used in the natural sciences to denote the subjects of scientific inquiry are things we learn about through science. Specialists in certain fields have a monopoly on what their terms of art mean. But there are still some words left over, words like 'belief,' 'the will,' 'freedom,' the words for "the human things," and these we all have equal authority to pronounce upon. If someone's account of the meaning of such a term is better than others, most should be able to perceive that it is, and why. Many philosophical problems seem to concern "the human things" (or the relationship between "the human things" and "the scientific things"), so it should be no surprise that a discussion of what the words for these things mean is part of philosophers' discussion. It is possible, as the ordinary language philosophers (whoever they are) warn, that ignoring our ordinary use of the concepts involved in philosophical discussions will divert us from the original problem.
But why do we not do research into the 'ordinary use' of these words, if we want those uses to inform our discussion? Because we do not need to. It would seem odd to conduct research into what people mean by the word 'conincidence' prior to having a philosophical discussion of coincidence. What could such a study tell us that we could not figure out for ourselves? For philosophical purposes, the way the majority of people use a word is not the most interesting thing; what's most interesting is the most detailed account of the meaning of the word. This, I think, is Austin's point in saying that ordinary language contains a wealth of distinctions people have thought worth making. 'Ordinary language' in this sense is not so proletarian: those with the most finesse with the distinctions embedded in ordinary language are the best informants for philosophers. Often those with the most finesse with distinctions (though their imaginations occasionally get carried away) are philosophers.
In my studies of ordinary language method I have often wondered whether there is not an implied goal of maximizing the distinctions embedded in ordinary language--for the purpose, say, of becoming as aware as possible of the alleys and side streets of our concepts. Or perhaps for the purpose of providing the most thorough description of how things are with us. Something like this is what I take philosophy, insofar as I am engaged with it, to be about. I don't think we should use the distinctions embedded in our language to dissolve philosophical problems, but to press them farther. I do not expect that we can solve them, either. Philosophy is interesting because in it we run up against not the barriers of our language, but the borders of our understanding of our condition. And in this we should try to be as true to the facts as possible.
The perennial question about such a method concerns the special authority such philosophers think we (or they) have to pronouce others' uses of words wrong. Why have ordinary language philosphers any greater right to do this than the 'normal' philosophers? And if the way terms are 'ordinarily' used should bear upon what philosophers say, why don't we just do empirical linguistics--survey the popular uses of certain terms--and make use of the results?
I think both sides of this debate are shooting wide of the mark. Attackers of ordinary language have an exaggerated view of what the appeal to ordinary language entails, and ordinary language philosophers have a narrow view of what philosophy can be. First of all, we cannot learn about the extensions of all of our concepts by thinking about what's involved in our ordinary use of them. Terms used in the natural sciences to denote the subjects of scientific inquiry are things we learn about through science. Specialists in certain fields have a monopoly on what their terms of art mean. But there are still some words left over, words like 'belief,' 'the will,' 'freedom,' the words for "the human things," and these we all have equal authority to pronounce upon. If someone's account of the meaning of such a term is better than others, most should be able to perceive that it is, and why. Many philosophical problems seem to concern "the human things" (or the relationship between "the human things" and "the scientific things"), so it should be no surprise that a discussion of what the words for these things mean is part of philosophers' discussion. It is possible, as the ordinary language philosophers (whoever they are) warn, that ignoring our ordinary use of the concepts involved in philosophical discussions will divert us from the original problem.
But why do we not do research into the 'ordinary use' of these words, if we want those uses to inform our discussion? Because we do not need to. It would seem odd to conduct research into what people mean by the word 'conincidence' prior to having a philosophical discussion of coincidence. What could such a study tell us that we could not figure out for ourselves? For philosophical purposes, the way the majority of people use a word is not the most interesting thing; what's most interesting is the most detailed account of the meaning of the word. This, I think, is Austin's point in saying that ordinary language contains a wealth of distinctions people have thought worth making. 'Ordinary language' in this sense is not so proletarian: those with the most finesse with the distinctions embedded in ordinary language are the best informants for philosophers. Often those with the most finesse with distinctions (though their imaginations occasionally get carried away) are philosophers.
In my studies of ordinary language method I have often wondered whether there is not an implied goal of maximizing the distinctions embedded in ordinary language--for the purpose, say, of becoming as aware as possible of the alleys and side streets of our concepts. Or perhaps for the purpose of providing the most thorough description of how things are with us. Something like this is what I take philosophy, insofar as I am engaged with it, to be about. I don't think we should use the distinctions embedded in our language to dissolve philosophical problems, but to press them farther. I do not expect that we can solve them, either. Philosophy is interesting because in it we run up against not the barriers of our language, but the borders of our understanding of our condition. And in this we should try to be as true to the facts as possible.