§243 – §315 of the Philosophical Investigations suggest a large quantity of imprecise notions, which is typical of Wittgenstein. I don’t want to call them “concepts” or “ideas,” and certainly not “propositions.” The definitions of each of these words is different, and they imply other contexts. “Proposals” might work, but that makes it sound as though Wittgenstein had deposited certain meanings into them, whatever those are. This well might be the case, but probably isn’t. I don’t want to prejudge the issue, because it’s easy with Wittgenstein to over-interpret the text – a peculiar form of granular analysis. The biggest problem might be “calling” or “naming” “them” at all, because doing so implies they are “things” or “entities,” susceptible to being “referred to” or “designated as” such, which Wittgenstein most certainly would eschew. In fact, I am hesitant even to say they suggest some-“thing” or any-“thing” to begin with, again because of that pesky word “thing,” which implies they can be pointed out, or defined ostensively.

By the same token, they (whatever they are, or might be) certainly suggest more than merely no-“thing,” understood as the absence of some-“thing,” or any-“thing.” Taking a stand as to what “they” actually are, or might be, may make it impossible to discern exactly what (if anything) Wittgenstein is saying, or trying to stay. Wittgenstein certainly is engaging in some form of activity, otherwise he wouldn’t have written down any words, to begin with, much less the specific words he used. Rather, he would have sat there with his hands neatly folded, or embarked upon some other form of activity. In doing so, he would not necessarily have to be thinking about §243 – §315, or writing anything down, or wondering what words he was going to use, or anything at all. He could have been listening to music, or eating a sandwich, or whatever else he was doing.

The eventual outcome of this problem (understood in the sense of what happens at the conclusion of a process, not as a specific result, which might be a “thing”) well may be we have do away with certain nouns and articles altogether, if only because of the false ideations they import. The nouns we probably can keep are those that unambiguously refer to objects, items or things that actually exist in the world, or that might exist – items like rocks and trees, and unicorns. We can point to them, or hypothetical rearrangements of them, and possibly even devise a word for them. The nouns with which we must dispense will be those implicating mental representations of the foregoing, including perceptions, thoughts, ideas, memories, and all other forms of activity allegedly occurring in the “mind,” whatever that is (if it is any-“thing” at all). In a way, this may be what Bertrand Russell was trying to get to, when he defined a class of two or three nouns that could refer unambiguously, such as “this,” “that” and “I.”

The reason why Wittgenstein’s notions are imprecise is because they are not tightly compacted, or proprietary. Anybody can grab onto them, and define them pretty much however they want. Wittgenstein well might subscribe to some of these deployments, others he would reject entirely as ill-conceived, or an inappropriate extrapolation from whatever it is (or might be) that he meant. And, as per above, we know he meant some-“thing,” otherwise, he wouldn’t have written down the words he wrote, to begin with. Or, better phrased: we might approximate what Wittgenstein meant, if he would assent to some formulation of it, if it was presented to him for approval or rejection – if it was sufficiently determinate, and within the penumbra of what counts as “close enough.” In order to elude any problem of reference, perhaps he would evidence his agreement (or lack of it) only by nodding his head up, or down, as the case might be.

They are, then, a congeries of notions, partaking of varying degrees of definiteness or precision, situated at various distances from the core of whatever it is that Wittgenstein is attempting to express. Like planets, orbiting the center, in concentric circles.

Going back to the start, I also hesitate to use a verb stronger than the text “suggests” the notions. I certainly wouldn’t go so far as to say these sections of the Philosophical Investigations “state” or even “imply” (insert appropriate word for whatever “it” “is,” or might be). Because that indicates, or tends to indicate, intentional, meaning-conferring activity on Wittgenstein’s part. Wittgenstein well might deny ever having engaged in same, because it would be a form of “mental noun,” like having an “intention,” which he probably would want to avoid.

Even the process is dubious, because it implies Wittgenstein deliberately “selected” certain words that somehow “matched” whatever it was in his head, that he was attempting to express. In much the same way one might pick out produce at the grocery store, carefully inspecting each potato, in order to determine its fitness and suitability for the purpose of including it as a menu item in one’s dinner.

This simple exegesis casts some doubt on Wittgenstein’s enterprise, if his objective is to eliminate all things mental. For surely he would not have written down the words he in fact used, unless he discerned some relationship, however abstract, between them and what he wanted to express. We might even call it the “idea” he wanted to express, without committing ourselves to the existence of some-“thing” tangible that lived inside of his head. His words might be vague, and they may not completely envelop the topography of the idea.

This potential difficulty is exacerbated by the German language, which specializes in attempting to match words with ideas, simply by adding on more syllables to the words – sometimes expanding their potential applicability, sometimes restricting it. It fundamentally is unlike its parent language, Latin, which has a clear structure of subject – verb – object. It is easy to diagram Latin sentences. Latin invites this form of analysis, because it is particularly serial. Its syntactical structure also implies a robust notion of self. If Latin has an excess of “subject” nouns, then German is partakes of an excess of compound “object” nouns, together with their exfoliated adjectival appendages.

Despite this, somehow, the words Wittgenstein uses are “close enough” to express his thoughts, in the context of discourse in which he is engaged – that is, philosophical analysis. Which, for Wittgenstein, paradoxically might result in an outcome where the words “mean” no-“thing” at all, either to him, or for us, bewildered as we are in our attempts to extract meaning from them.

Let us consider two more examples of, or analogies to, this type of activity. A camera with a zoom lens situates the image to be photographed in a certain perspective. It also enables the photographer to focus on that image; and select a focal length (the “f”-stop), which is the depth of field of the focus. And, a notch filter for the sound engineer performs a similar function. The engineer selects a particular frequency to be boosted or cut; and then the “q” factor, which is the shape of the envelope surrounding the frequency – the range of frequencies surrounding the center, which also will be affected. That zone can be narrow or wider, either in fixed increments (like an f-stop), or on a variable basis, depending upon the type of control.

Both of these are analog processes, in that they involve interaction between light or sound, on the one hand, and perspicuous activity on the part of the person performing the task. The person performing the task must deploy tools of sensory perception in order to discern which looks, or sounds, “best” (or, at least, “better than” some other iteration of same). In the same manner, Wittgenstein must select the words to express his ideas.

There is no particular reason why this is, or must be, a “conscious” process. Most of the time, we write down words, or natter on in conversation, without the slightest “idea” of what we are trying to say (or, only a “general” idea, or a heading in a “vague direction”). We just open our mouth, and out come the words. It certainly would be wrong to say (again, for most of the time) that we “pick out” individual words to use.

Nor does the photographer necessarily have a “mental representation” of the photograph-to-be (how it should “look”), or compare one “mental representation” of it to another, say, when changing zoom-perspective or focal length. Fashion photographers, for example, attempt to induce their models to assume a number of different poses, attitudes and expressions, and are content blithely to snap away, hoping that one of the pictures felicitously captures or depicts what transpired during the session.

And, the sound engineer may spend hours fiddling with the equalization of different frequencies, all with a view towards making the sound recording sound as “good” as possible, with reference to some standard. Even less so than the photographer, that paradigm is not a “mental representation.” Rather, it depends on the engineer’s background, experience, and skill at differentiating (and then selecting from) any number of possible outcomes.

Still, we deploy certain words, instead of others. A musician writes down certain notes, instead of others. An artist chooses certain colors from a palette, instead of others. Even the chef selects particular vegetables from those on offer at the market. This process cannot be random, or chaotic. If it was, then, any old word, or any old note, or any old color, or any old vegetable, would do – which simply isn’t the case.

In order to be explanatory, or to explore his own assumptions, Wittgenstein ought to clarify exactly what’s involved in this process. But he doesn’t. Rather, if anything, he suggests we ought to do it, on his behalf. His words are elusive. This might mean he doesn’t have the slightest idea of what he’s talking about. Or, he cannot express himself articulately. Giving Wittgenstein more credit, he may be eschewing mere exposition. He invites us to participate in the process of understanding. We are not simply readers, rather, collaborators. To cooperate with Wittgenstein effectively, we in turn must import our own concepts, structure, meaning, framework, assumptions, and uses of language.

Many things Wittgenstein says are absurd. In many instances, he doesn’t have the slightest idea of what he’s talking about. He fails to address the issue properly, or parse it in a manner that makes sense. There are few things more amusing than contemporary philosophers who slavishly worship at the altar of Wittgenstein.

One of my personal grievances is that he has an annoying habit of using an imaginary interlocutor to express matters of importance, or at least they seem as though they are, or might be. This rather gives the impression that he’s a little child, wanting his mother to see something clever he’s just done. The imaginary interlocutor might just be a cover Wittgenstein uses, when he reaches impasse. Like a salmon about to spawn, he swims up a stream, to a tiny, closely-confined pond. The pond is so far removed from the mainstream of the river, that he no longer has the ability to navigate his way back. Where he would confront the rush of culture, and society – the main stream, or commonly accepted version, of what he’s trying to observe and articulate.

None of this particularly would matter, except for Wittgenstein’s stated objective, of doing just that – to expose the backgrounds, the contexts, and the applications, of words. How they are used, and how they intersect with “mind,” if they do, or if that’s possible, to begin with.

On the other hand, many of Wittgenstein’s insights are brilliant. But it’s hard to tell which is which.

For Wittgenstein, the best outcome might be a “brain transplant” between him and you, or me, or us. In this way, his thoughts could be transferred to us seamlessly, without loss of nuance, and without the intervention of words, each participating in some degree of indeterminacy. This particularly is so for nouns attempting to name, or characterize, or describe mental events or activity. And, verbs describing mental processes, as to which there is some kind of an outcome or result.

This, of course, isn’t possible. Words, properly understood, are the troublesome intermediaries. Even if we break through the penumbra of vagueness, we still are left with the problem of “why those words, instead of others.” Why did Dostoyevsky, or Melville, or any other great novelist, use the words they did, instead of others? Why did Mozart pick the certain notes he did? Surely, they weren’t just random – otherwise, anybody could do it. Part of what makes them great artists is their skill at instinctively selecting the “best” word (note) to use. [I hesitate to say “intuitively,” because that implies a level of cognition that well might be absent.]

But, “best” with reference to what? Even if we don’t attribute to them any “conscious” objective, we haven’t avoided the issue. Because if it comes down to sheer skill, like a championship tennis player, or a grand master at chess, there still has to be some standard, or criteria, for what counts as “good.” In a game, it is winning – there is a way of scoring one performance, as “better than” another. It is implausible, though, this would be sufficient for Wittgenstein’s purpose. Because some people can’t stand Dostoyevsky. Some people find Schoenberg, Berg, and Webern, to be unlistenable. On the other hand, I think they’re so amazing, that I no longer can listen to Bach, or Brahms, or Beethoven, or other crusty old German composers. There is a reason for these different outcomes, and I think I know what it is. For now, though, Wittgenstein has enough trouble enough explaining the fact they’re different, to begin with.

In the absence of suitable technology, then, we have no choice but to parse the text as delicately as possible, and with as much deference and discretion as we are capable of mustering. Keeping in mind that it is possible to read the same section of the Philosophical Investigations for several hours, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, as different issues keep revealing themselves with each methodology. It’s not possible to establish a protocol, or a procedure, for reading the text, that will result in the maximum extraction of whatever is, or might be, there to be extracted.

The simples way to proceed might be to construct a table. Column A sets forth the notion suggested by the text. Column B would ask, “does Wittgenstein agree?” In some cases he might rebuke the notion; in others, accept it; in others, not have the slightest idea of what we are talking about. Column C would evaluate whether the notion actually is so, or, at least, if we “think” it is (itself a conundrum unavoidably suggested by the very nature of this activity). You can pose the following as questions, or aspects of a phenomenological inquiry. Examples:

1. We experience brain activity in response to irradiations on the retina, vibrations in the auditory canal. If these are pleasurable or painful, we well might react behaviorally, with words or gestures. There is a functional, and perhaps even predictable, relationship between the two.

2. We interpolate, or somehow translate, that brain activity, into sensations and experiences, such as pleasure or pain.

3. We use words to identify or characterize these states (though not in the sense of “naming” an “object,” a “mental state,” that resides in the brain). One of the ways in which we do so is by using first-person psychological sentences (“avowals”). Not all uses of words, though, involve this reflexiveness. We are capable of engaging in fluid conversation and discourse, with other people. We communicate with them, and they with us. As we do so, we may not have the slightest “idea” of what we’re talking about.

4. Our brains are confined to our skulls. We do not have television screens on our foreheads, enabling somebody else to peer inside of our brain. The most advanced forms of electroencephalography, MRI, cat scan, and brain surgery cannot begin to account for the wealth of human experience and common sense. In principle, they never will be able to.

5. Because of this, it is impossible for us to experience other people’s sensations. Nonetheless, we understand their descriptions of their sensations, and even their characterizations of ours. This is what happens when you go to a doctor, for example, and describe, or try to describe, an ailment. The reciprocal occurs when the doctor offers a diagnosis. Most of the time, the patient and the doctor achieve mutual understanding. Sometimes, we have “empathy” with another person’s problems or issues. This only is possible because we recognize their experience, characterized by their words, as something uncannily similar to something we also have experienced. We are able to communicate that sense, back to our conversational counterpart.

6. It is impossible for any one of us to have a “private language,” that is, one understood only by its speaker. If this was so, it would preclude any reciprocal, interactive, or communicative effect.

7. We engage in “functional behavior,” that is, the ability to use language, follow rules, manipulate equipment, and the like. In some cases, we have no “sensation” of doing so. We do so with ease, facility, and non-consciously. Any sensations we might have might collapse, or incorporate into, sensation-experiencing behavior (the type of behavior exhibited by someone experiencing that sensation, or one somehow similar to it). Certainly this is all somebody else can perceive, or respond to, if at all.

8. There is, however, no “one way” (much less a “right way,” or even a “comprehensive way”) to describe human activity or endeavor.

9. We deploy cognitive mechanisms and processes, such as doing arithmetic, writing poems, and conceiving of the theory of relativity. We use what J. L. Austin characterized as “performative” verbs, to achieve a result in the world. The world changes when we use them; it is different than it was, before the speaker’s utterance. The use of performatives in turn implies an “intention” to cause, or bring about, a certain state of affairs. If I didn’t want to achieve a certain effect, then I would have used different words, or no words at all. Again, this activity doesn’t necessarily have to be “conscious,” in the sense that it’s subject to more-or-less simultaneous awareness or introspection. However, sometimes, it is.

10. We also have ideas, reflections, memories, and other forms of “mental representations.” We associate ideas quickly and fluently, hop-scotching between one suggestive thought to another. These somehow are triggered, or activated. Sometimes they’re from the distant past, sometimes quite recent. There is, however, a reason why one has Memory A, which leads to Memory B, which leads to Memory C. If this process was random or chaotic, however, then there would be no reason why anybody is able to associate anything with anything. The explanation may be entirely neurochemical, or depend on relative electrical charges of neurons or synapses, or their size, or their flexibility. As with most of our day-to-day activity, it is entirely non-conscious.

11. From time to time, we have “self-knowledge,” that is, we know what we are thinking about, and why we are thinking about that, instead of something else. We “know” what is in the “mind.”

12. Wittgenstein believes philosophy is nothing more than “grammar,” that is, parsing language and how words are used. Because of this, he also is committed to the notion there is no such thing as a “creative” use of language, such as that found in novels, or poetry. It’s a mystery how he was able to write Philosophical Investigations, to begin with. Is this right? It seems dubious, because philosophy deals with “issues,” comprising more than merely the means by which they are expressed.

Put slightly differently, language presents a “procedural” issue. Because it deals with “fit,” in the ways we’ve discussed, it isn’t disinteresting. However, particularly in philosophical or creative discourse, it always is deployed for some purpose or reason. We can be as clear as crystal about words and language, yet the “substantive” problem remains.

The Solution to Wittgenstein’s Dilemma

It would be like having a mental representation of pure color, and not, say, a color swatch, or something of that color (a “thing” in the “world” to which that color truthfully could be attributed).

A sensation (such as “pain”), though, is not such a “thing” out there in the world, somehow existing independently of its experiencers (which may be the necessary metaphysical counterpart of such a position). Wittgenstein wouldn’t think so; in fact, I think he thinks we don’t even have sensations, to begin with. Or, if we do, they either are irrelevant, or can’t be expressed “grammatically” (in his sense of that term). And of course, “What we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence. “[1]

I can’t perform this extrapolation, and I can’t see how it could be done. I think the best case that can be made for such a hypothetical correspondence theory of sensation is that you compare x (the current sensation) with y (a remembered instance of previously having had a sensation which, for some reason, seems sufficiently similar to y, that somehow you recall it).

And thus have what counts as a mental representation of that sensation. Not as a disembodied feeling, but rather as one thoroughly embedded in (the recollection of) a “real-world” event. You then compare the current sensation (x ) with the mental representation of y, and attempt to discern if they’re the same, or different, and if so, by how much, etc. Through some kind of a cognitive process.

To continue laboring in this vineyard, let’s imagine (incoming = I) sensation x may have the attributes

{f ^I₁, f ^I₂, f ^I₃, … f ^I_n},

and (remembered = R) sensation y may have the attributes

{f ^R₁, f ^R₂, f ^R₃, … f ^R_n},

etc. Each f is dynamic (as for that matter are both sets of f ), presenting themselves with varying degrees of force and vivacity, in a manner not unlike the way Hume distinguishes impressions from ideas in the opening paragraphs of A Treatise on Human Nature.[2]

How might this work in practice? Hold out your finger and stick a pin into it. You experience a sensation comprising a certain feature-set, i.e., the sensation is sharp, it is persistent, it may be accompanied by the extrusion of blood, there is swelling, it is localized to the point where you inserted the pin, etc. Being the inquisitive sort, you wonder, just what that sensation is. So you call up the last time you stuck a pin in your finger, circumspectively analyze the feature-set, and conclude it is similar (or, at least, “close enough”).

What would Wittgenstein’s response be to this experiment? He probably wouldn’t have much to say. As he observes at §285, we can’t experience somebody else’s sensations. “Another person can’t have my pains,” §253, because, obviously, they’re not me.

But he then abandons this promising observation in order to pursue two other issues, although he doesn’t clearly distinguish between them. These are: (a) “Knowing that” one has a sensation, such as pain. Here, he says: “It can’t be said of me at all … that I know I am in pain” (§246). If you “knew” you had pain, then you could “doubt” if you had pain, which can be solved by pricking your finger with a pin, as at §288. This simply is “pain,” not “knowledge of” pain.

And, (b) characterizing a sensation, including how it gets named, how we know what other people are saying when they use the word for it, etc. For example, if one says one doubts if one is in pain, we think he doesn’t know the meaning of the word “pain,” §288. “What does that mean [when I say ‘I am in pain’]? Does it mean: ‘If someone else could know what I am calling “pain,” he would admit that I was using the word correctly?’” (§289).

I think Wittgenstein conflates (a) with (b), that is, he doesn’t think it’s possible to know you have a sensation, or be able to differentiate it from other sensations, unless you can say what it is. “Privacy of sensation” thus becomes characterized in terms of its “epistemic expression”[3] – the words used to convey one is experiencing the sensation, such as (for pain), crying or shrieking. “[T]he verbal expression of pain replaces crying and does not describe it,” §244. “Crying is not a report about our feelings of pain, but an expression of them; it is not a bit of commentary on our pain behavior, but one of the items in our pain behavior”[4]

Language is communal. Therefore, in order to communicate, you must be able to tell whether your sensation is the same type of sensation as that experienced by everybody else. If sensations were private mental experiences, then in order to do so, we would have to “extrapolate it from our own case”[5] and assume everybody else feels the same way. This, however, is implausible. “If one has to imagine someone else’s pain on the model of one’s own, this is none too easy a thing to do: for I have to imagine pain which I do not feel on the model of the pain which I do feel,” §302.

Furthermore, if sensations were private mental experiences, then “each person’s sensations will be completely inaccessible to everyone else, and so this part of our language will become necessarily unteachable.”[6] Rather, what happens is you learn the meaning of an expression over time by discerning appropriate occasions for its use, e.g., it’s OK to say “ouch” when somebody sticks you with a pin. “Public criteria are needed across the whole range of mental phenomena, and so the language of mental phenomena could not exist in isolation.”[7]

But Wittgenstein isn’t content to leave off there, because he is so insistent we don’t use words to report on the status of an inner mental state or psychological occurrence (e.g., “being in pain”). So he goes on to claim that once we consider “the grammar of the expression of sensation,” the sensation itself “drops out of consideration as irrelevant,” §293. There is nothing for the word to “refer to” – “not in the way slab, pillar, and beam come to refer to building stones,”[8] “We do not learn the concept of intense pain by having intense pains. We learn it by learning the use of ‘intense pain’ and related words in the language” (emphasis in original).[9] Further, “[T]here is no pain … without pain-behavior,” §281, and “we should not in practice be able to learn and teach the word for sensations like pain unless they were outwardly manifested.”[10]

I think Wittgenstein goes too far here. He is right that pain is not a “private object before the mind”[11] and that what counts as pain is not learned by means of an “inner ostensive definition.”[12] As revealed by the futility of our earlier attempt to parse a correspondence theory of sensation, sensations cannot be treated “as if their criterion of identity were very like the criterion of identity of material objects.”[13] He also is right that we don’t engage in a cognitive process of self-introspection, somewhat like that I characterized above, at least while the sensation is happening. Rather, we just are experiencing the sensation, in all of its non-feature set, non-predicative fulsomeness.

However, he is wrong, if he means there never are occasions when we engage in this form of circumspective analysis – though it occurs with reference to specific, remembered incidents, and not some abstract concept. Furthermore, he is wrong if he thinks that just because the use of the word is connected with observable behavior, he somehow has done away with the sensation itself. The sensation is far more than the grammar of its concept, or a grammatical problem. It isn’t some linguistic fiction. Rather, it actually exists.

Wittgenstein tries to hedge his bets here by saying “It is not a something, but not a nothing either!”, §304.[14] This is weasly, though, and he might as well come right out and say he doesn’t think it “exists,” because “a nothing would serve just as well as a something about which nothing could be said,” §304.[15] The fact of the matter, however, is that “sentient creatures … without the command of language, can truly be said to be in pain, without knowing it.”[16]

Here’s an example of just such circumspection at work and in actual practice. I recently went and got my eyes checked, and underwent an examination of the sort an opthamologist typically administers to a patient who needs for glasses (which I do) (yet again). The patient peers into a complex piece of equipment fitted with different lenses, while staring at a chart upon which are printed letters and numbers of different sizes. The opthamologist asks the patient, “What is the smallest line you can see?” or something to such effect, and the patient responds. The opthamologist then flips over a different strength of lens, and the patient is invited to respond to the question, “Is that better? Is that worse?” If the patient isn’t sure, then the opthamologist repeats the exercise. The patient says, “Yes, A is clearer than B,” or vice versa.

In other words, the patient has engaged in a cognitive process, and reached a conclusion of the sort that might be expressed by the phrase, “I know that …”. The patient accomplishes this outcome by comparing the feature-set of incoming sensations (the letters are crisp, the letters are blurry, that’s an “R” and not a “K,” etc.) with the feature-set of the remembered mental representation (the way the alpha-numeric characters appeared when viewed through the previous lens). The patient has to be “referring” to a “mental representation” (or at least engaging in some form of a cognitive process with respect to it), for the simple reason that the previous image no longer physically is present.

Another example is the procedure a medical doctor might deploy when examining a patient. “What are your symptoms? When did it start? How long has this been going on?” At some point, the doctor might ask: “Are you sure about that?” To which the patient might reply: “Yes, I know it started last week, and I still feel it.”[17]

The reason why Wittgenstein’s view is wrong, is because of course we experience pain as a phenomenon, even though we might not know what to call it. To continue with the doctor example, the patient isn’t concerned with “naming” what the sensation is, or establishing criteria for the correct application (use) of that identifier. Rather, the patient simply is participating in a process to enable the doctor to evaluate the patient’s condition. The doctor may, but need not, disclose a diagnosis to the patient. The doctor may not arrive at a diagnosis immediately; a variety of observations first might have to be accumulated, the doctor ventures a hypothesis, looks to refute it, confirms it, etc. That is, a word or phrase – a descriptor – probably isn’t assigned to this collection of observations, until some point in the diagnostic process, subsequent to its onset.

Non-conclusionary patient self-reports (i.e., “Where does it hurt?” “It hurts here.”) are an important element the doctor considers, in addition to the doctor’s own clinical observations.[18] It would not be possible for the patient to make these reports, unless the patient in fact was experiencing an underlying symptom. In fact, come to think of it, the entire medical discipline of psychiatry relies almost completely upon patient self-reports.[19]

In summary, to assess Wittgenstein’s position, I think we need to distinguish between the following, which he has a tendency to mix up:

(1) Functional behavior, that is, the ability to use language, follow rules, manipulate equipment, and the like. These are important to Wittgenstein, because of his theory that actual sensations simply collapse into sensation-experiencing behavior (the type of behavior exhibited by someone experiencing a sensation).

(2) Cognitive mechanisms, such as:

(a) Attention – vigilance: the ability to focus awareness to a specific stimulus in the environment, and to respond to that stimulus.

(b) Speed of processing: the amount of time needed to complete a simple cognitive task, which often includes encoding information, making a decision, then formulating and executing a response (functional behavior).

(c) Working memory: short-term maintenance and manipulation of information, such as in the opthamologist example.

(d) Executive functioning: scheduling processes or task management.

(e) Declarative memory: the explicit recall of previously-learned information; the ability to encode, store and retrieve information from long-term memory.

(f) Reasoning: higher-level cognitive processes which involve complex strategic planning and information-processing skills.[20]

Wittgenstein has nothing to say about any of these phenomena, except to deny they exist. We do not “know” we are having a sensation, we simply have it.

(3) Sensations, which often may be comorbid with cognitive processes. These run the gamut from sublime feelings of happiness or contentment to extremes such as auditory or visual hallucinations. Like I said earlier, Wittgenstein seems to deny these exist. Or, if and to the extent they exist, basically they are irrelevant, because they are manifested in behavior, and there’s nothing more that can be said about them.

(4) Actual brain activity. For example, functional MRI can detect when the dorsal-lateral pre-frontal cortex becomes saturated with oxygenated hemoglobin. This in turn sets up a pattern of activity across the entire brain. Dorsal-lateral hyper-frontality (the hemoglobin is or becomes too deoxygenated, therefore the brain circuits abnormalize) may be caused by asynchronous firing of neurons; which in turn may be caused by low levels of dopamine or norepenephrin. This condition often correlates with the behavioral symptoms to which we have assigned the word “schizophrenia.” It can be moderated with psychotropic medications such as modafinil, which tend to reverse the entire cycle I just have described. Wittgenstein has nothing at all to say about the brain.

Parsing these distinctions through Wittgenstein interestingly illuminates where he’s onto something and where he’s barking up the wrong tree, figuratively speaking.

ENDNOTES

[1] Wittgenstein, L., Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus 151 (1961).

[2] Govier, T., “Variations on Force and Vivacity in Hume,” The Philosophical Quarterly 44 (Jan. 1972); Landy, D., “Humes Impression/Idea Distinction,” 32 Hume Studies 119 (Apr. 2006).

[3] Temkin, J., “Wittgenstein on Epistemic Privacy,” 31 The Philosophical Quarterly 97 (Apr. 1981).

[4] Fogelin, R., Wittgenstein 170 (2^nd ed. 1987).

[5] Kripke, S., Wittgenstein on Rules and Private Language 115 (1982).

[6] Pears, D., Ludwig Wittgenstein 151 (1986 ed.).

[7] Pears, D., Ludwig Wittgenstein 154 (1970 ed.).

[8] Brenner, W., Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations 43 (1999).

[9] Ibid. 96.

[10] Ayer, A., Wittgenstein 77 (1985).

[11] Kenny, A., Wittgenstein 182 (1973).

[12] McGinn, M., Wittgenstein and the Philosophical Investigations 121 (1997). Ayer calls it a “private ostensive definition,” Ayer, A., Wittgenstein 80 (1985).

[13] Pears, D., Ludwig Wittgenstein 150 (1970 ed.). Might we not, with Quine, simply state that such propositions are referentially opaque? Quine, W., Word & Object 141 (1960).

[14] I read §296 as originating with Wittgenstein’s sarcastic interlocutor, so it doesn’t count. Also – why does he use an exclamation point here? It comes off as though he’s some kind of a child making an exciting discovery.

[15] A. J. Ayer (of all people) comes to Wittgenstein’s defense. “Wittgenstein did not deny that we have sense-experiences, including sensations of pain and feelings of movement, or that these experiences are private in at least one reputable sense of the term. He may have imagined situations in which one would have a ground for saying that different persons shared their thoughts or sensations, but in the normal way he allowed each of us to have his own. Neither did he advance the view that a man’s sensations and feelings, let alone his thoughts and images, are identical with physical events. He did not maintain that it is only if they are interpreted in physical terms, whether as referring to physiological states, or to dispositions to overt behavior, that statements about one person’s experiences can be made intelligible to another.” Ayer, A., Wittgenstein 74 (1985).

[16] Ayer, A., Wittgenstein 109 (1985).

[17] Although complicated by considerations of his mortality vis-à-vis his divinity, we also have the case of Jesus, who is reported to have “cried with a loud voice” at about the ninth hour of his crucifixion, “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?” (“My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”), Matthew 27:46. In other words, he was stating, “I am engaging in a cognitive process. I know I am in pain.”

[18] E.g., if the patient is unconscious and a bone is sticking out of the patient’s arm, then the doctor confidently might diagnose the patient has a broken arm, without soliciting patient input. Or, the patient might have no idea of what’s going on, due to lack of specialized knowledge, cognitive impairment, absence of insight, or for any number of other reasons.

[19] The use of this kind of introspective evidence in cognitive science is the subject of considerable academic debate, as it should be; see, e.g., Jack, A. & Roepstorff, A. (eds.), Trusting the Subject? (2003). One volume wasn’t enough, so they put out another one with more essays, in 2004.

[20] This taxonomy is not original with me; see, e.g., Green, M., “Cognitive Impairment and Functional Outcome in Schizophrenia and Bipolar Disorder,” 67 J. Clin. Psychiatry 3 (2006).

At §150 of the Philosophical Investigations, Wittgenstein invites us to consider three separate concepts:

1. {“knowing that”};

2. {“knowing how”}; and

3. {“being able to do”}.

Wittgenstein states their “grammar” is “evidently closely related.” Wittgenstein has a propensity to put forth “stalking horses” as a way to delineate his position more sharply. And, frequently, he does not identify them as the heuristic devices they are. I think §150 is an illustration of this. That is, I don’t think Wittgenstein actually contends they “are” closely related, even though their “grammar” “evidently” might be.

One possible interpretation of §150 is:

4. 2 ↛ 3. For example, as Wittgenstein illustrates at §148, one might be able to recite the alphabet, or the multiplication table, yet not be able to apply them.

5. 2 → 1. Knowing how to do something is knowing a compilation of propositions about what it is one is doing, or proposes to do: the steps involved, the success conditions, the practical constraints, and similar factors.

6. 3 → (1 ⋀ 2). Actually being able to do something is a combination of 1 and 2, or, at least, elements of 1 and 2.

I don’t think 4 – 6 are true, and I don’t think Wittgenstein does, either. Rather:

7. 3 ↛ (1 ⋁ 2). Accomplishing an activity in the world doesn’t entail “knowing how” or “knowing that.” For that matter, it doesn’t entail “knowing” anything at all.

8. 2 ↛ 1. Even to the extent one knows “how” to do something, this doesn’t mean one can enumerate the many elements identified at 5.

9. {1_a, 1_b, 1_c … 1_∞} ≠ {2_a, 2_b, 2_c … 2_∞}. Knowing all of the ingredients or propositional elements about a skill or process isn’t the same thing as knowing how to do it. The converse is equally true.

A possible response to 9 is:

10. 2 ↛ {1_a, 1_b, 1_c … 1_∞}; and

11. 2 → {1_a, 1_b, 1_c}, i.e., 2 occurs in a “referential context;” you don’t need to know everything there might be to know about 1, in order to have 2.

The first problem I have with 6, 10 and 11 is that they are “too cognitive.” Certainly Tractatus-Wittgenstein would agree with 6, 10 and 11, and probably go further (for example, he might say we have “mental representations” of the propositions). But I think this is what Philosophical Investigations-Wittgenstein is trying to rebuke.

For example, at §68, Wittgenstein invites us to consider a game of tennis. Although there are “rules,” many aspects of it are “unregulated.” For example, there are no “rules for how high one throws the ball in tennis, or how hard.” I think what he is trying to say here is, the expert tennis player simply plays tennis. She does not have a set of rules in mind when doing so. Nor does she adopt a propositional attitude while playing (e.g., “now it’s time to hit the ball over the net and between the lines”). Indeed, doing so would disrupt her game. In this respect, the expert is unlike the novice, who might indeed be following, or attempting to follow, a more explicit schematic.

The reciprocal of this also seems true. That is, the expert might not be able to unpack, or articulate, all of the rules (or non-rule “principles of play”, or “factors affecting play”) she considers. And there would be many of them, for example:

1. The ball’s velocity;

2. Its rate of spin;

3. Its elevation;

4. Its direction;

5. Its trajectory;

6. Its anticipated point of landing;

7. The wind speed;

8. The temperature;

9. Her position on the court;

10. The traction afforded by the court’s surface;

11. If she was feeling limber and able to move quickly from one point on the court to another;

12. The influence of gravity;

13. The geographic orientation of the court vis-à-vis the sun;

14. Spectator distraction;

15. etc.

Rather, she just incorporates these factors automatically into her play.

Tennis might be a silly example, because, after all, it’s just a game. I think Wittgenstein’s larger point is about how we “are in the world.” At §202, he introduces the concept of a “practice”: to “think one is obeying a rule is not to obey a rule.” In other words, we just go about our daily business, doing whatever it is we do. We are familiar with the world, its procedures and constraints, and we comport or conform ourselves to them. We certainly don’t “think” about what we are doing (except in those rare instances when we do).

Wittgenstein’s example might be Aristotle’s phronemos, who unthinkingly (non-cognitively) navigates the world with a practical understanding of its dynamic and effortlessly responds to its challenges and stimulations. Think of all of the elements the phronemos would have to enumerate, if making a list like the one I started to construct for the game of tennis. It would be infinite. And, it couldn’t be done, because it doesn’t account for “common sense.”

This leads to my second objection to 10 and 11, which is, what would the “relevancy criteria” be for comprising the set

{1_a, 1_b, 1_c}

which I hypothesized at 11? That is, what particular “thats” would one have to “know,” in order to “know how”? If the selection criteria are determined by the referential context, then what procedure or mechanism do we use to evaluate it? And what about those criteria? Etc. etc. I think the answer is, the whole undertaking is flawed, and we don’t do anything like this, at all. Rather, like Wittgenstein says at §199, we “master a technique.” But the technique we master isn’t simply a “language,” rather, it’s the technique of the “practices.” There is no “mental process of understanding,” §153.