MINDS WITHOUT MEANINGS
Chapter 1 : Working Assumptions
Most of this book is a defense and elaboration of a galaxy of related theses which, as far as we can tell, no one but us believes. There are various ways to formulate these theses: That tokens of beliefs, desires and the like are tokens of relations between minds and mental representations; that mental representations are `discursive’ (which is to say, language-like); that reference is the only semantic property of metal or linguistic representations[1] that there are no such things as word meanings or conceptual contents; that there are no such things as senses… This list is not exhaustive; we’ll add to it as we go along. And we’ll argue that these claims, if true, have profound implications for cognitive science, linguistics, psychology, the philosophy of language and the philosophy of mind; all of which are, according to us, long overdue for massive revisions. We’ll sketch accounts of mental representations and processes that embody such revisions and are, we think, compatible with a variety of empirical data.
We don’t, however, propose to start from first principles. To the contrary, we will make a variety of quite substantive assumptions which, though they are by no means universally endorsed in the Cognitive Science community, are at least less scandalous than the ones that we primarily propose to defend. We start by enumerating several of these. In chapters to follow, we will add more and consider some of their implications.
First assumption: Belief/desire psychology
To begin with, we take it that behaviorism is false root and branch; in the paradigm cases, behavior is the effect of mental causes, and the paradigm of explanation in cognitive psychology is the attribution of a creature’s actions to its beliefs, intentions, desires and other of its `propositional attitudes’, which are themselves typically the effects of interactions with one another and between its innate endowments and such mental processes as perceiving, remembering and thinking. Likewise, though we assume that the mechanisms by which mental causation is implemented are in all likelihood neural, we don’t at all suppose that psychological explanations can be reduced to, or replaced by, explanations in brain science; no more than we suppose that geological explanations can be reduced to, or replaced by, explanations in quantum mechanics. Confusions of ontological issues about what mental phenomena are with epistemological issues about how mental phenomena are to be explained have plagued interdisciplinary discussions of how ---or whether--- psychology is to be `grounded’ in brain science. Current fashion prefers `central state’ reductionism to the behaviorist kind, but we think, and will assume, that the prospects for both are equally dim, and for much the same reasons. `Naïve Realism’ is the default assumption in the psychology of cognition, just as it is everywhere else in science. Otherwise why does it so often turn out that the predictions that the theories endorse turn out to be true?
The paradigms of belief/desire explanation, to which we will advert from time to time, is what Aristotle called a `practical syllogism’.
Practical Syllogism:
§ A wants it to be the case that P
§ A believes that not-P unless Q
§ A acts so as to bring it about that Q.
We take it that explanations that invoke practical syllogisms are typically causal (beliefs and desires cause actions). But we think it was a mistake for Aristotle to hold that the `conclusion’ of a practical syllogism is itself an action. For one thing, what syllogisms are supposed to preserve is truth, and actions are neither true nor false. Also, intentions to perform actions are often thwarted by facts that the agent failed to include in his reasoning (you try to scratch your nose, but somebody stops you) .
Readers who wish to think such objections are mere quibbles are, however, entirely free to do so; we too think that the main point of Aristotle’s story is perfectly sound: Typical explanations of creatures’ behaviors take them to be the effects of mental causes; and so shall we. Also, we take for granted that the question which of a creature’s behaviors are correctly explained by reference to its beliefs and desires is a fully empirical question as is the question which of the behaviors of a creature xx constitute actions. Such issues can’t be settled from the arm-chair, much philosophy to the contrary notwithstanding. As usual, in empirical inquiry, data count; as do considerations of simplicity, plausibility and the availability of alternative explanations.
Second assumption: Naturalism
Mental states and processes are part of the physical world. That means, at a minimum, that the processes that cognitive science postulates must be ones that can be carried out by actual physical mechanisms, and the states that it postulates are ones that physical objects can be in. It has sometimes been suggested that naturalism, so construed, is vacuous since which states and processes count as’ physical` keeps changing as physics advances. (See, for example, Chomsky (REFERENCE). But we don’t think this objection is sustainable., What matters, from the naturalist’s point of view, is not that physics is basic science, but only that some or other science is basic, and that its explanatory apparatus contains no irreducibly mentalistic vocabulary. As things stand of course, it appears, that some science more or less continuous with our current physics is overwhelmingly the most plausible candidate: The best bet is that everything that enters into causal processes, and every causal process that anything enters into, will have a true description in the vocabulary of physics, but not in, as it might be, in the vocabulary of geology or meteorology, or botany; least of all in the vocabulary of psychology. Naturalism per se cares that there be a science in which all the others are rooted, that its explanatory apparatus contains nothing mentalistic; But for our present purposes. it doesn’t matter which science that is.
Like Chomsky, Hilary Putnam (REFERENCE) rejects the naturalist program in psychology, but for a reason different from Chomsky’s; viz that “as a rule naturalism is not defined (110). In consequence, he accepts the theses that intentional idioms are “ baseless” and that a science that requires them is “empty” (14) Putnam is certainly right that no one has defined `naturalism’ `believes that’ or `means that’ or, indeed, any of the key methodological or theoretical terms to that intentional explanations routinely employ. But we wonder why he thinks that shows that intentional idiom is baseless; or, indeed, anything else of much interest. In fact, neither the theoretical vocabulary of empirical sciences, nor the vocabulary in terms of which methodological constraints on empirical science is formulated, is hardly ever defined (or, we expect, ever will be). The notion of definition plays no significant role in either science or the philosophy of science as Putnam himself has often and illuminatingly insisted. No botanist has defined `tree’, nor has chemistry defined `water’. `Water is H2O’ doesn’t define `water’; it says what water is; what makes a thing water. Likewise empirical science often adverts to such notoriously undefined notions as ‘observation’, `confirmation’, ‘data’ , `evidence’ and, for that matter, `empirical’ and `theory’. That is not a reason to suppose that empirical theories are ipso facto empty. Even sophisticated people used to say that science consist solely of “observations and definitions”. But that was a long while ago, and sophisticated people don’t say that any more. Putnam himself doesn’t except when he is talking about intentional science. That does strikes us as a little arbitrary.
Still, there are some plausible grounds for arguing that naturalism rules out the kind of cognitive psychology that this book has in mind; one that takes believing, intending and the like to be content-bearing states that are bona fide causes of behavior. Propositional attitudes are relations that minds bear to propositions; as such, they are abstract objects (as are concepts numbers, properties and the like). And abstract objects can’t be either causes or effects. The number three can’t make anything happen, nor can it be an effect of something’s having happened (though, of course, a state of affairs that instantiates threeness, ---for example, there being three bananas on the shelf--- can perfectly well be a cause of John’s looking for the bananas there oran effect of his having put the bananas there.) Likewise the proposition that it is raining can’t cause John to bring his umbrella; it can’t even cause John to believe that it’s raining. But then, if propositions can’t be causes or effects, and if propositional attitudes are relations that creatures bear to propositions, mustn’t propositional attitudes themselves be likewise causally inert? After all, the difference between propositional attitudes is, often enough, just a difference between the propositions that they are attitudes towards: The difference between the propositions Venus is red and Mars is red is, quite plausibly, all that distinguishes John’s believing that Venus is red from his believing that Mars is. In short, we want propositional attitudes to be causes of behavior, but naturalism wants propositions not to be causes of anything; so perhaps we can’t have what we want. It wouldn’t be the first time. This is a metaphysical minefield and has been at least since Plato; one in which we don’t intend to wander. We will simply take for granted that abstracta are without causal powers; only `things in the world’ (including, in particular, individual states and events) can have causes or effects. The question is how to reconcile taking all that for granted with the naturalism of explanations in cognitive science.
Third assumption: the type/token distinction.
It helps the exposition, here and further on, if we introduce the `type/token’ distinction: Ifone writes `this cat has no tail’ three times, one has written three tokens of the same sentence type. Likewise, if one utters ` this cat has no tail’ three times. Propositions, by contrast, are types of which there may (or may not) be tokens either in language or (according to the kind of cognitive science we endorse) in thought. Propositions types are causally inert; but the tokens that express them --- including chalk marks on blackboards, ink marks on papers, utterances of sentences and so forth---- are bona fide physical objects. The `Representational Theory of Mind’ proposes to extend this sort of analysis to thoughts, beliefs, and other contentful mental states and events that play roles in the causation of cognitive phenomena: Mental causes that express propositions (or whatever units of content propositional attitude explanations may require) are, by stipulation, `mental representations’. It is convenient to suppose that mental representations are neural entities of some sort, but a naturalist doesn’t have to assume that if he doesn’t want to. We are officially neutral; all we insist on is that, whatever else they are or aren’t, mental representations are the sorts of things that basic science talks about. There may be a better way out of the puzzle about how mental contents can have causal roles, but we don’t know of any.
Fourth assumption: psychological reality
It is sometimes suggested, both by philosophers of language and by linguists (REFERENCES; Jackson; Somes, Devitt ) that accurate prediction of the intuitions (modal grammatical or both) of informants is the most that can reasonably be required in some of thecognitive sciences; linguistics in particular. We assume, on the contrary that, intuitions are of interest in the cognitive sciences (or any other sciences), i.e., only insofar as they are ontologically reliable. And, typically they are ontologically reliable only when they are effects of mental processes of the sort that the cognitive sciences study. If there aren’t such processes, or if informant’s intuitions about them aren’t reliable, who cares what informants intuit?
Fifth assumption: Compositionality of propositions
The propositions that are the objects of propositional attitudes (intuitively, the things that go in the blanks in such formulas as `John believes that…; John remembers that…; John hopes that..., etc) have semantic contents; indeed, they have their semantic contents essentially since propositions that differ in contents are ipso facto different propositions The semantic content of a proposition is the joint product of (what philosophers call) its `logical syntax’ together with its inventory of constituent concepts. Suppose the question arises whether the propositions John is an unmarried man and John is a bachelor are identical (and hence whether believing that John is a bachelor is the same mental state as believing that John is an unmarried man). By stipulation, it is if and only if UNMARRIED MAN and BACHELOR are the same concepts.[2]
In short, we assume that propositions are structured objects of which concepts are the constituents, much as English sentences are structured objects of which words (or, if you prefer, morphemes) are the constituents. Some concepts are also syntactically structured (eg. the concept GRAY SKY) and some (including, perhaps, the concepts GRAY and SKY) are `primitive’. Analogies between propositions and sentences aren’t, of course, accidental; propositions are what (declarative) sentences express, and (excepting idioms, metaphors and the like), which proposition a sentence expresses is determined by its syntax and its inventory of constituents. So the sentence `John loves Mary’ expresses a different proposition than the sentence `Mary loves John’ or the sentence `John loves Sally. Likewise the thoughts that John loves Mary express a different propositions than either the thought that Mary loves John or the thought that John loves Sally. That thoughts and sentences match up so nicely is part of why you can sometimes say what you think and vice versa.