Showing posts with label Vergauwen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Vergauwen. Show all posts

28 Jul 2016

Priest (12.1) Beyond the Limits of Thought, ‘Frege, Concept and Object,’ summary

 

by Corry Shores

 

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[The following is summary. Boldface and bracketed commentary are my own. You will probably encounter typos and other distracting errors, because proofreading is incomplete. I apologize in advance.]

 

 

 

 

Graham Priest

 

Beyond the Limits of Thought

 

Part 4 Language and Its Limits

 

Ch.12 The Unity of Thought

 

12.1 Frege, Concept and Object

 

 

 

Brief summary:

There is an aporia in Frege’s groundbreaking theory of meaning, namely, that the sense and reference of larger structures is compositionally based on that of its parts, but precisely how to conceptualize the way this compositional relation works is not entirely apparent. Frege’s notion of the unsaturated function structure is our best means for understanding this compositionality. For, the sense and reference of the whole does not result simply from the bare addition of the sentence’s parts. Rather, they must be combined and related by means of the operation of the function upon the terms in its argument place.

 

 

 

Summary

 

Priest explains that Frege’s major philosophical project was “to demonstrate that mathematics (or, at least, analysis) was logic” (Priest 197). [Nolt in section 14.1 of Logics mentions this and notes that it is called “logicism”.] The discovery of Russell’s paradox ruined hopes in this project. But there was a “subsidiary” part of Frege’s project, namely, a formulation for a systematic philosophy of language (Priest 197). Priest explains that “The clarity and power of its structure | had never before been achieved” (Priest 198). So even though this was just a side-project, it became “one of the major influences on twentieth-century philosophy” (198).

 

Priest’s main concern in Frege’s philosophy of meaning will be a particular aporia found especially in “Function and Concept,” “On Sense and Reference,” and “On Concept and Object” (198).

 

Priest then explains Frege’s important innovations. [It seems that before Frege there was a certain understanding of the subject-predicate relation, but Frege modifies it by replacing the category of subject with that of name. This means that a predicate can contain within it these names which are of a different category. So this also means that the category of name is wider than that of subject (since subjects cannot be parts of predicates). But also note that a subject can be an expression like “all men” with the predicate being something like “are mortal.” However, Frege’s category of name does not include such quantified expressions as “all men”, so in that sense the category of name is more limited than that of subject. (Recall from “On Concept and Object” Frege’s explanation for this. He shows that the proper negation of a quantified expression would belong to the quantified expression (that is, it would be positioned in front of the quantified expression), which actually means it belongs to the predicate. I am still not exactly sure what the reasoning is, but what I proposed in that summary as a possible explanation for the reasoning is that the negation term should always be affixed to the predicate (since we are denying the predication to some object), and since the proper place to put it is next to the quantifier in such quantified expressions as “all mammals are land dwellers”, thereby giving us, “not all mammals are land dwellers”, that means the “all” must belong to the predicate and not to the noun coming after it. He wrote:

It must here be remarked that the words ‘all,’ ‘any,’ ‘no,’ ‘some,’ are prefixed to concept-words. In universal and particular affirmative and negative sentences, we are expressing relations between concepts; we use these words to indicate the special kind of relation. They are thus, logically speaking, not to be more closely associated with the concept-words that follow them, but are to be related to the sentence as a whole. It is easy to see this in the case of negation. If in the sentence

‘all mammals are land-dwellers’

the phrase ‘all mammals’ expressed the logical subject of the predicate are land- dwellers, then in order to negate the whole sentence we should have to negate the predicate: ‘are not land-dwellers.’ Instead, we must put the ‘not’ in front of ‘all’; from which it follows that ‘all’ logically belongs with the predicate. On the other hand, we do negate the sentence ‘The concept mammal is subordinate to the concept land-dweller' by negating the predicate: ‘is not subordinate to the concept land-dweller.’

(Frege, “On Concept and Object”, 48)

But this is not an essential point in our current context.) Priest then says that names include proper names and definite descriptions. And Frege also will offer a fresh conception of the predicate. Priest says that instead we are to think of the concept-expression. [From the way Priest describes them, they seem to be the part of the function minus the argument, or the function properly speaking, or the unsaturated part of the function. I am not sure how to conceive it. Frege describes this structure in “Function and Concept”. Let us look first at a mathematical structure and then relate it to a sentential structure. In this text, Frege says that a function can be understood as having two main parts: a variable part and a non-variable part. He illustrates with a function that when its variable part is assigned three different values it produces these formulations:

‘2∙13 + 1,’

‘2∙23 + 2,’

‘2∙43 + 4,’

The first stands for 3, the second, 18, and the third, 132. We ask, what part is variant and what part is not? We might think of the variant part as being like an opening or gap in the structure where the variant argument inputs can be placed. So we might display the structure as:

‘2∙(   )3 +(   )’

More conventionally we use letter variable symbols for those gaps. So we are more accustomed to seeing:

‘2∙x3 + x

(See Frege, “Function and Concept”, pp.21-24)

If the argument is not specified, as when there is just a gap or variable in the structure, then it is said to be ‘unsaturated’, Frege says. But when instead a specific argument is placed into the gap where it arguments are supposed to be placed, then we say that the function is ‘saturated’. This structure also applies to concepts which are expressed using sentence formulations. We can have the function (or as Priest will call it, the ‘concept-expression’) “... is the capital of England” (Frege will just write it as “the capital of England” but it is to be understood as a function and not as a name). Here we have marked the gap with an ellipsis. When we fill that argument place with ‘Sydney’ it is false, but it is true if the argument is ‘London’. For Priest it seems that the ‘name’ is to be understood as the argument in this function structure, and he calls the function part the ‘concept-expression’. But I might have this wrong. He says that the concept-expression is everything minus the names. But I wonder what that means for the ‘London is the capital of England’ example. ‘London’ and ‘England’ would seem to be names, and then “... is the capital of ...” would then seem to be the expression. Or is ‘capital’ also a name, and thus the concept expression would be ‘... is the ... of ...”? Or is ‘the capital of England’ all one name, and thus the concept-express would be ‘... is ...’? In other words, I am not sure how what Priest is calling the category of name corresponds to the ‘argument’ in a function, since I would think that names could appear in concept-expressions without being variable parts of the expression. The point here might be that “...is the capital of England” is all one concept, but it is itself a function composed of the concept/function “is the capital of ...”, which is a function/concept composed of “is the ... of ...”. I am just wondering. But that would make Priest’s definition of ‘name’ fit how I understand what Frege considers the argument of a function or concept.]

Frege takes the traditional distinction between subject and predicate, and refashions it for his own ends. Instead of the category of subject, Frege proposes the category name. This is wider than the traditional category, since it includes those noun-phrases that occur within the predicate as a grammatical object. But it is also narrower than the traditional category, since it excludes quantifier phrases such as ‘all men’. We are left with proper names and definite descriptions. Instead of the category of predicate, Frege proposes the category concept-expression. A concept-expression is what is left when names are deleted from a sentence. Thus, in ‘Oswald was framed for the murder of Kennedy’, ‘Oswald’ and ‘the murder of Kennedy’ are names and ‘was framed for’ is a concept- expression.

(Priest 198)

 

Priest next addresses another of Frege’s innovations, namely, his new way of conceiving the distinction between connotation and denotation, which are two notions for meaning. Frege’s terms are sense and reference (or Sinn and Bedeutung). The reference is the denotation. For a name the denotation is the object it refers to, and for concept-expression it is a concept. [Let me review the understanding we came to when summarizing Frege’s “On Sense and Reference.” The main distinctions we made there were between a name and a sentence and between sense and reference. The reference of a sign is the thing it designates, and its sense is the contextual conceptual contents that are evoked by the sign in its designation of some object. We can also think of it as the mode by which that object is presented by means of the sign. To illustrate how sense can vary for the same object, Frege offers three useful examples. The first in fact comes from the Begriffsschrift section 8, and it perhaps is not the ideal example for this; but let us begin with it to see what insights it provides in this regard. The basic idea is that we will have two points that begin by not coinciding, and then after a movement takes place, they later will coincide. Frege’s main point will be that when the points coincide, insofar as they occupy that place, they have no need of two different names. But, he argues, that does not mean we have reason to drop one of the two names. For, the way this point of correspondence is designated requires first a distinction not just of the names but also of the things they designate. So, it seems he is saying, when they do coincide, we should still distinguish them, because the mode by which that coincidence is presented requires separate names and entities. (Again, see Begriffsschrift section 8 for a fuller account of this example, along with illustration.) The two other examples come from “On Sense and Reference,” and they perhaps are more obviously illustrative of the difference between the sense and reference of a sign. In the first one, we are to think of a triangle where we might draw lines from any of its vertices to the opposite side’s midpoint.

triangle-midpoint-frege.1_thumb2

The point of intersection at the center can be designated with just two of the lines. But the sense will differ depending on which two lines are chosen. He has us consider the point designated as being the intersection of lines a and b.

triangle-midpoint-frege.2_thumb2

or as being the point of intersection between lines b and c.

triangle-midpoint-frege.3_thumb2

So the same point can be designated by means of two different modes of presentation, each with its own sense. This is why I defined the sense of a sign as being the contextual conceptual material involved in its conception. And by this I do not mean to confuse it with what Frege calls an ‘idea’, which would be the subject associative mental content involved when one is conceptualizing something. The contextual conceptual material I refer to are objective in the sense that they are specified explicitly and would be common to all people conceiving the sense by means of that particular mode of designating the object. Different lines are used for each manner of designating the point of intersection, and so were we to form a concept of it by means of any of the various modes of presenting the object, there would be different contextual conceptual material in each case even though those different sets of contents would designate exactly the same object. The other example is the famous case of ‘the morning star’ and ‘the evening star’. Here, they have different senses, even though they designate the same object. Both of course are Venus, the third brightest heavenly body. But to conceive of Venus with the sense of it being the evening star means to conceive it for example as being the first star to appear at dusk. And to conceive it with the sense of it being the morning star means to conceive it for example as being the last star to disappear in the morning. One reason this example is excellent is that it highlights the connotational component of sense. And in this case of ‘the morning star’ and ‘the evening star’, that connotational difference takes on a poetic quality that is hard to miss. So Priest notes that the denotation (reference) of a name is an object, and the denotation of a concept-expression is a concept. Here is something in addition to what we determined, for we said that the denotation (reference) of a sentence is a truth value., but we did not in our summary mention the reference of the concept-expression. The difference here seems to be that the concept-expression is not a full sentence but is rather the sentence minus the name(s). Priest then says that the sense of a linguistic unit is in general what determines which thing (be it an object, concept, or truth value) is the correct referent. This is not something that I was able to discern in the texts, but I have come across similar such interpretations. For example, in Roger Vergauwen’s A Metalogical Theory of Reference he writes, “Informally stated, an intension is something which makes it possible, in any ‘possible world’, to recognize or determine the extension of a specific element” (Vergauwen 30). Also on this point are also course recordings of John Campbell’s “Theory of Meaning” class at UC Berkeley. In the first lecture he discusses Frege’s “On Sense and Reference”. At around 33 minutes he begins discussing this role of sense in connecting signs with things in the world (and the part we discuss in more detail comes at around 36 minutes). He makes the point that sense explains informativeness. So we know that “the morning star” and “the evening star” are two names for the same object. But ‘the morning star is the evening star’ is informative, because they have different senses. Suppose we say that another name for point A is point alpha (α), such that when we say point A we can if we want instead say or think point α. This means that, so far as we can tell, there is no difference in sense between the terms, and so there is nothing informative in making formulating the equality ‘a = α’. But the next step in Campbell’s reasoning, which will make this point that sense is what serves to pick out the reference, I do not follow very well (again see around 36 minutes). He says that because sense explains informativeness, sense fixes the reference of the sign, and in fact the sense uniquely determines the sign’s reference. He explains that sameness of sense makes the identity uninformative, therefore sameness of sense must guarantee sameness of reference. This should be easy to grasp, but I do not follow really. So in our example, we have ‘a’ and ‘α’. We assumed that both signs use the same conceptual contents when designating their objects. So they are both determined by the same means and with the same conceptual components (unlike the point determined by lines a and b and by b and c in the triangle example). The fact that they have the same sense means that all of these conceptual determinations that are bound up in its designation of the object are identical, in which case it would seem to be that they would have to designate the same object. So sameness of sense must guarantee sameness of reference. But still I am not sure that I followed that right. The next inference, which is based on this prior one, is that we can then conclude that sense determines reference. But I do not see exactly how we are supposed to make that inference, because two senses can pick out the same reference, as the morning star and evening star example illustrates. (Basically the difficulty in my understanding is that if you told me that two senses can pick out the same reference, then I would be inclined to think that we need instead to find something they have in common to explain why they pick out a common reference, and not use something that makes them distinct. This of course is just a failure in my logic abilities, so I would need a simplified elaboration that makes the steps of reasoning more explicit.) I would have thought that instead the reasoning for why the sense determines the reference is because the sense determines what qualifies as such a thing under this designation. So the reason ‘the morning star’ designates Venus is because the sense of ‘the morning star’ is being the thing that is the last star to disappear in the morning (or being the brightest star in the morning) which is Venus, and the reason that ‘the evening star’ designates Venus is because the sense of ‘the evening star’ is being the first star to appear at dusk (or being the brightest star at dusk) which is Venus. In other words, the sense of ‘the morning star’ picks out Venus in the night sky because it directs our attention to the appropriate thing by means of properties and determinations that are properties and determinations that belong to Venus. And depending on its temporal (and spatial) context, Venus has different properties and determinations, meaning that different senses can correspond to or belong to it (or to names designating it). At any rate, my point here in these comments is that I do not find Frege directly making this point that sense is what determines the correct referent of a sign or concept-expression. But I can see how it is implied by the way he defines sense in terms of mode of presentation of the designated thing. For, the mode of presentation is the means by which some sign is correlated to the determining features of some thing. Priest’s last point in this paragraph is that the objective thought expressed by a statement, that is, the proposition it expresses, is its sense.]

Frege also reshaped the traditional distinction between two notions of meaning: connotation and denotation. He distinguished between the sense (sinn), of a linguistic unit and its referent (bedeutung). According to Frege, all linguistic units have both a sense and a reference (denotation). The denotation of a name is an object; the denotation of a concept-expression is a concept. The denotation of a statement is a truth value (true or false). The sense of a linguistic unit is, in general, that which determines which object/concept/truth value is the correct referent. In the case of a statement, this is the (objective) thought expressed by it (the proposition expressed by it).

(Priest 198)

 

Priest’s next point about Frege’s theory of meaning is that it involves compositionality in that

the meaning of a compound linguistic expression is, in some sense, a function of the meanings of its parts. Frege thought that, by and large, the referent of an expression was a function of the referents of its parts, and the sense of an expression was a function of the senses of its parts. 

(Priest 198)

 

Priest now wonders, given that meaning in larger complex structures operates compositionally, how do the senses or the referents of the parts contribute to or produce the sense or references of the whole? Priest observes a problem with forming this conception. The meaning of a whole, like a whole sentence, is a unity of sorts. So for instance, “the thought that Brutus killed Caesar, for example, is a single thought” (Priest 199). This means that the meaning of a whole sentence is not the bare combination of the parts. “It is not, therefore, a mere congeries of the meanings of its parts: <the sense of ‘Brutus’, the sense of ‘killed’, the sense of ‘Caesar’>” (Priest 199). Frege explains the way this compositionality works with respect to reference, so Priest will give that account, but Priest says that “a parallel story is to be told for sense” (199).

 

Priest notes how for Frege, a concept can be understood as a function “that maps an object to a truth value”. [I do not follow these points very well. Priest is discussing a “problem”, which as I understand it is the problem of explaining how the sense or reference of the parts of a sentence compositionally contribute to the sense or reference of the whole. He notes that a mathematical function, like sin, maps a number to another number. For example, sin maps the  the value π to the value zero (see Suppes’ explanation of functions in terms of relations and ‘mapping’ in his Intro section 11.1). And as we noted, Priest says that a concept is a function that maps an object to a truth value. I am not exactly sure what the “object” is in this case. I suppose it would be the argument. So for Frege’s example of the concept-function “... is the capital of England”, it maps “London” to the True and “Sydney” to the false. Another interpretation I suppose could be that the function maps the whole sentence to a truth value, but that would seem strange that the function would include or reference itself in that way. But I am not sure. I then do not understand so well the next point. Priest says, “This does not solve the problem, since exactly the same problem arises with respect to a function and its arguments: ‘sin(π)’ is an expression referring to a single entity (the number zero); it is quite different from <sin, π>” (Priest 199). In the Suppes section I mentioned, we have a function also described as a binary relation whose extension is a set of ordered couples, where the first member of a couple is like the argument of the function and the second member of the couple is like the output value of the function. So for example, the function f(x) = x2 can be understood as relation whose extension is the set including {<1,1>, <2,4>, <3,9>...} and so on. So I was a little confused at first by Priest’s formulation <sin, π>. I think now that he is not using the ordered n-tuple structure, but rather I think he means, like he seemed to above with <the sense of ‘Brutus’, the sense of ‘killed’, the sense of ‘Caesar’> to be listing the bare parts of the function sin(π), which would be <sin, π>. With that in mind, I think Priest’s point is that if we only think in terms of the composition in this simple manner of raw combination or concatenation, we still cannot explain how on the basis of combining the parts {sin, π} that we can explain why the function’s value is zero. We need something in addition to that. Frege’s answer is that the function is unsaturated, in that it has gaps. I am not sure how this concept of saturation explains the compositionality, however. So we have the parts {sin, π}. But this is not a function. It is just a set of parts which could make up a function. Instead, a function has more of a structure of something like: value gap, and operation on the value in that gap. I still am not sure how to articulate how this explains compositionality. As I understood from Frege’s analysis in “On Sense and Reference”, the compositionality was a matter of sentences with multiple clauses, and he showed how in the qualifying cases, the value of the whole was determined by the value of the component clauses. I am not sure how this would work for saying that a singular function’s sense or reference is somehow based on the sense and reference of its argument and its functional component. I wonder if perhaps one way to understand this would be the following. We have the function-concept, “the capital of England”. It has an extension (a reference), which includes just one member, namely, the city London. Then we consider two names, “London”  and “Sydney”. In Sydney’s extension (its reference) is the city Sydney, and in London’s extension (its reference) is the city London. Now, when we combine the references of “Sydney” and “capital of England” in a raw way, we get, <{Sydney}, {London}> or something like that. But when we combine it for “London”  and “capital of England”, we get <{London}, {London}>. We say that “London is the capital of England” has as its reference the True, and as its sense, the concept of London being the capital of England. So perhaps we might say that the reference of the whole saturated concept-function is built compositionally on the basis of the references of the parts by means of some sort of additional evaluative function which somehow assigns to couplings where there values are identical (or where the first term is found in the set coming in the second place), like <{London}, {London}>, the value true and ones where they are not identical (or where the first term is not found in the set of members in the set comprising the second term) like <{Sydney}, {London}> the value false. But of course we are not saying that the falsity of the whole sentence “Sydney is the capital of England” is somehow based on the truth values of the parts, because they have no truth values. Rather, the references (or extensions) of the parts are still determinative of the reference of the whole sentence, if we can apply an additional evaluative procedure which assigns truth when the argument is included in the relation’s set. But what about sense? We said that the sense of a term is a matter of its mode of presentation, which we specified as the conceptual determinations (some of which being contextual and arbitrarily related, like the contextual elements bound up in the sense of “the evening star”) that pick out the proper reference to the term. And the sense of a sentence is the concept it expresses, often taking the form of predication. We also had the idea of the sense of a concept-expression (a function), which I think is a more general sort of conception, like “being the capital of England” or just “being the capital of”.  So how might the sense of the whole expression be composed of the sense of its parts? I can only guess; I am sorry. But perhaps the idea is like the following. The argument term as a name has a sense, which is the conceptual material by which the reference is determined as the sign’s proper object. So the sense of “London” is whatever conceptual determinations being used to adequately point us to the city in question. Perhaps this includes geographical co-ordinates, or descriptions of distinguishing features of the city, or something like that. And we also in our example have the concept of “being the capital of England”. I would suspect that contained somehow in this sense are implied criteria for what would qualify as a proper argument. So for example, part of what is implied in the sense of that expression is that the city is geographically located somewhere within English territory. And also implied in its sense is that the city functions the way a capital city functions in a nation of the sort that England is. And so on. So I am just making wild guesses, but perhaps we can say that the sense of the whole sentence is based compositionally on the parts, when we again have some evaluative function or operation which detects whether the determining conceptual material that picks out the city London also picks out an object that fulfills all the criteria implied in the concept. At any rate, somehow the notions of gaps and saturation in the function explain how the sense and reference of the whole structure is based on the sense and reference of the parts. Priest then says that these terms Frege is using are just metaphors, but they are the best means we have at the moment for conceptualizing this notion. And Priest further says that we have reached “bedrock”. Perhaps he means that since we have no better means for understanding the compositionality, that we can really not go too much further in our analysis and understanding. Or perhaps he means something like the point Frege makes about the fact that the argument and the concept cannot be defined, because they are logically simple in that they do not contain any parts (see “On Concept and Object” pp.42-43).]

According to Frege, a concept is a function, like the mathematical function, sin, which maps a number to another number. A concept is a function that maps an object to a truth value. This does not solve the problem, since exactly the same problem arises with respect to a function and its arguments: ‘sin(π)’ is an expression referring to a single entity (the number zero); it is quite different from <sin, π>. Frege's solution to the problem is that a function is, in some sense, inherently ‘gappy’. Objects (the arguments of the function) may fill those gaps, giving completion. As he puts it (p. 24):

The argument does not belong with the function, but goes together with the function to make up a complete whole; for the function by itself must be called incomplete, in need of supplementation, or ‘unsaturated’. And in this respect functions differ fundamentally from numbers [i.e. , objects].

The words ‘incomplete’, ‘unsaturated’, etc. are, of course, metaphors. Frege realised this, but could do no better; neither can I. At this point we seem to have reached bedrock.

(199)

 

 

 

 

 

From:

 

Graham Priest. Beyond the Limits of Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1995.

 

 

Or if otherwise noted:

 

Gottlob Frege. “Begriffsschrift (Chapter 1)”. Transl. P.T. Geach. In Translations from the Philosophical Writings of Gottlob Frege. Eds. P.T. Geach and Max Black. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1960, second edition (1952 first edition).

 

Gottlob Frege. “Function and Concept.” Transl. P.T. Geach. In Translations from the Philosophical Writings of Gottlob Frege. Eds. P.T. Geach and Max Black. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1960, second edition (1952 first edition).

 

Gottlob Frege. “On Concept and Object”. Transl. P.T. Geach. In Translations from the Philosophical Writings of Gottlob Frege. Eds. P.T. Geach and Max Black. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1960, second edition (1952 first edition).

 

Gottlob Frege. “On Sense and Reference”. Transl. P.T. Geach. In Translations from the Philosophical Writings of Gottlob Frege. Eds. P.T. Geach and Max Black. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1960, second edition (1952 first edition).

 

 

Roger Vergauwen. A Metalogical Theory of Reference: Realism and Essentialism in Semantics. Lanham / New York / London: University Press of America, 1993.

 

John Campbell. “Lecture 1” of Philosophy 135: Theory of Meaning. Recorded course of UC Berkeley. On youtube at:

https://youtu.be/vN_yGxabNFw

Course listed at:

http://www.openculture.com/freeonlinecourses

 

 

.

26 Apr 2011

No Reign May Be: Infinite Unsaying in Clifford Duffy's 'around'

response to Clifford Duffy's poem, by Corry Shores
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All images are screen-shots of Duffy's work, from:
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May I thank Clifford Duffy for sharing his creations.


No Reign May Be:
Infinite Unsaying in Clifford Duffy's 'around'



Without words, without things: so, what else would remain? Heidegger famously wrote, "where words break off, no thing may be." If we did not have the word-meaning for 'beside', would our world have things one-beside-another? If we cross-out all our word-meanings and grammatical functions (like predication, 'The tulip is a flower, is yellow,') can anything in our world remain? Not only would all the namable things be crossed-out, so too would the possibility of making designations; for, to designate something, we need to differentiate it from other things in its context or against which it would be counter-defined (we might need 'dark' to know 'light'). But without grammatical-functions like predication, negation, and prepositional relation (dark lingers before light), can we even begin to have a world of things?

How might we further this line of thinking? Regarding the sentence, "where words break off, no thing may be," let's draw our attention to no thing. We could think of it as nothing, or perhaps as a 'no-thing.' What would a no-thing be? It is not a thing, but it is not nothing, either. And from this sentence, we would assume that a no-thing appears when words 'break off'. It could be that the no-thing was there even while there were words, but we only notice it when the words break-off and leave the no-thing standing by itself.

Such observations might be of interest when we consider the mechanics of language. When driving and we see a stop signal, our feet hit the brake without a second thought. It is as if there is no need to translate the meaning of the sign: the same way that one gear need not think about another gear in order for them to turn one another, our bodies too are like gears that react automatically to the signs we see. But first recall when we initially learned how to drive. When we saw the red, we did not automatically stomp our feet without hesitation. There were so many possibilities available. Where exactly is the brake pedal? We have to hit it without looking for it? But is not the gas pedal right next to it? If we hit the gas accidentally, our situation could become unpredictably catastrophic. Our body does not yet have the word-thing 'red means stomp on brake'. Instead, we have something much more interesting. But after we learn the meaning of the sign, there is no longer anything there. We hit the brake without the red, the stomp, or the stopping entering our attention. These are all very concrete real things in our world, and they are so much a part of our world that we do not notice them. But before they existed, before we had the word-meanings for these parts of our world, they were so much more, they were infinitely more, they could have been anything! Red could very easily have meant catastrophe as much as total safety and orderliness. In this case, words broke-off, but there was not nothing, nor was there a concrete something. Rather, there was a no-thing, an infinite non-something, a something = x to the power of infinity, or we might say, a thing = x to the nth power.

Recalling again us first learning to drive, we had to learn a new language, of sorts, the language of traffic signs, both customary ones, like traffic-lights and official street signs and signals, and also contextual signs, like seeing a fluid on the road and knowing this signals to us to slow down so not slip-off the road. But when first acquiring this 'vocabulary', we learn that the language-meanings we already know do not always help. We need to learn the new language, yet we are lost at first because we try to apply the languages we already know. Perhaps we first considered those mechanical reactions we knew from the language of bike-riding, but back-peddling or gripping the steering wheel does not brake the automobile. So when first learning to brake the car, we exhaust all the 'words' we have in the 'languages' we know, running through all the things already in our world. That does not mean only nothing remains! There is an infinity at the edge of these limits!: catastrophe or safety from death, happening by so many unforeseeable ways. When we exhaust the words of our language and the things of our world, what remains is infinite no-thingness.

So let's not interpret this no-thing as an absence. It could hardly be so! How is something infinite also something absent? This means then that when Heidegger speaks of 'saying,' which is also an 'unsaying,' we need not think that language (in how we feel it immediately) has anything to do with something missing from it. When first learning how to brake a car, it is not that we face a nothing or an absolutely foreign otherness. Language becomes exhausted. All its possibilities have run-through and run-out. At last!: the birth of the full and immediate no-thing, the absolute thing = xn. Please note the difference between thing = x and thing = xn (or no-thing = xn. Also consider the formulations sign = x and no-Sign = xn.) An extensional meaning refers to the things in the set it refers to. Oedipus, recall, married his mother. So 'son of Jocasta' and 'husband of Jocasta' refer to the same thing, the same object in a set, which in this case is a set with one member, the thing we also call Oedipus. But what happens in our minds and bodies when we say to ourselves, 'The son of Jocasta is the husband of Jocasta'? This does not give us the same feeling as when we say 'Oedipus is Oedipus' or 'Oedipus is Jocasta's son', for example. This is because even though both 'son of Jocasta' and 'husband of Jocasta' extend into the same meaning-reference (Oedipus), they do not at all intend the same meaning. The words and propositions in our language have intensional meanings as well as extensional ones. It is hard to define what an intensional meaning really is, but we might think of it as the impulses and tendencies for a meaning to want to reach-out into different suggested or 'virtual' implications. It is implicit rather than explicit, and in a way, it is inexplicably implicit, because it is difficult to formalize (those with superb analytical philosophical skills can in fact formalize this, as for example the remarkable contributions Roger Vergauwen has made to formalized intensional logic and semantics). So 'thing = x' might suggest that there is an unknown thing, or an empty set; in the case of sign = x, we might at first think of it as an empty reference, or we may even regard it to indicate that at the core of all signification there is absence, in the sense that absence is always a prerequisite condition for representation (for otherwise, if the thing were present, it would be mere presentation and not representation). But this is to regard 'x' only in an extensional way. When however x is to the nth power, this means that while no extensional meaning is designated, there is an infinity of virtual intensional meaning. It is not just that the x is an empty place-marker meaning that it could be filled by anything, but rather that it virtually is tending with infinite power to mean a great variety of things, like how the no-thing/no-sign of learning to brake a car virtually implies so many meanings, ranging from utter disaster to complete safety to so much else that it may prove itself to mean.

So let's consider a Deleuzean reading of Heidegger's philosophies of language, rather than one that follows a more post-structuralist leaning (I tried that here). Perhaps we see such an approach suggested in Deleuze's essay, 'An Unrecognized Precursor to Heidegger: Alfred Jarry' (may I thank Miguel Paley for bringing this text to my attention and for offering his research on it). A closer analysis is forthcoming. For now, let's look at the final line:
The thing is the limit of language, as the sign is the language of the thing. When a language is hollowed out by its turning within language, it finally completes its mission: the Sign shows the Thing, and effectuates the nth power of language, for
"where word breaks off no thing may be." (98d)
Let's return to this for a deeper explanation another time, after we conduct a closer reading of the article. For now, I suggest we turn again to Clifford Duffy's works in our effort to understand language in a Deleuzean way, in this case, what might be a poetic unsaying to the nth power.

Duffy's poem, 'around', says to us things about rain. But consider when we watch rain falling on a puddle. It has a chaotic pattern of falling. In one way, it is completely redundant, because it's just drop drop drop, every time. But also, its chaos makes it continually unique, which can entrance us, much like how this happens when we watch the dance of fire tongues, always repeating, while always unique and singular. Rain, in a way, is continually exhausted, having done the same thing in seemingly every possible arrangement and combination, and yet also somehow always uniquely this particular fall of drops. Rain, like fire, can give us this experience of the no-thing = xn. Having seen so much rain in our lives, we have exhausted all possible words to give what we witness. And yet, that does not mean we stop noticing the raindrop patterns. They keep giving to us something infinite, lying at the limits of language.



The falling of rain is cyclonic cycling, one that is as wild as a cyclone but cyclical in its self-exhaustive repetition, like the variational rhythm of these lines above, and the rhythm of space-text temporalizations, the breaks which make our eyes fall from line-to-line, word-to-word, in a rain-like way. This is rhythm in an intensive sense, as a something creating the feeling of motion by acceleration-changes. We do not feel motion when our train or car maintains the same speed. It is only when the speed changes that we feel ourselves move forward or backward. There is no such thing as a steady rhythm, at least it would not be a rhythm with any intensity.

The no-thing is not these gaps, nor would it be a sense that something is being left-out of these poetic lines. Where the words break-off is not the empty spaces. Those are words too, don't forget! Rather, the words here are in a continual state of self-breaking, of being cracked and self-differentiated. 'rain to rain' and 'rain on rain'. It is rain raining upon itself, as different unto itself. The word/thing 'rain' is self-broken from the beginning of its utterance/appearance. Rain unsays itself with each drop. That's how it keeps being rain. Something that repeats without changing has not actually reappeared. Something can only reappear if its next appearance is self-differentiated, so that it may stand-out from itself. This is not as simple as rain at time1 being different from rain at time2. Rather, rain1 and rain2 are found in time = 0; which is to say, rain varies from itself from the beginning and before any time has passed, and it is only on account of the tension, the intensity, of an imcompossible combination of differences between a self and itself that we get the power to create the motion of time. If there were no paradoxes right now, no contradictions, no things being themselves and not themselves, then everything will have stopped! There would be no power, no tension, no force for change. 'Becoming' is not a process of something moving from being itself to not being itself; no; rather; 'Becoming' involves something already from the start not being itself, and on account of that, it has the cause, reason, ground, motivation, and power to change itself.

Duffy's 'rains' here, are becomings: each is a self-difference upon itself; it is 'rain to rain' and 'rain on rain', where each rain is itself self-differential. And it is at least partly because each moment differentiates from itself that there is intensive rhythm and the unsaying of no-things to powers n-infinite (or put more simply, true becomings).

Following that first part is something like a pause in the rain or a calm before a storm, if you will. During such moments, we do not at all feel a lack, a lack of rain and storm. In fact, these are the moments we feel the weather most acutely, when it announces itself in its infinite no-thingness, in those moments we would exhaust all words to describe it, and instead just have a direct immediate affectual connection with the weather itself.



Now consider the raining of words to come.




Our eyes rain rhythmically down the text, again in self-differential repetitions. The poem goes through words we have that might exhaust the meaning of rain. It is a god, a faucet, a reigning, a goddess, a goddess raining by reigning /and/ reigning by raining, over the earth.

Loves have secret loves. Why is it each dropping is a repetition but self-differential? Like when watching fire, we love not just what we see, but the motions that continue arriving. We did not expect them, so the next moments we did not previously know that we loved. They are secret loves of our loves, and by giving to us each time these ever newer and newer secret loves, the rain repeats in a delightfully differential way.




Clifford Duffy. 'around.'
http://recalltopoetry.blogspot.com/2011/04/around.html


Gilles Deleuze. 'An Unrecognized Precursor to Heidegger: Alfred Jarry.' in Essays Critical and Clinical. Transls. Daniel W. Smith & Michael A. Greco. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1997.

19 Mar 2009

Vergauwen, A Metalogical Theory of Reference, 2.3.2 Principles of a Montague Grammar, 2.3.2.2 Structure, 2.3.2.2.1 Languages and categorical grammars


by Corry Shores
[Search Blog Here. Index-tags are found on the bottom of the left column.]

[Central Entry Directory]
[Logic & Semantics, Entry Directory]
[Vergauwen's Metalogical Theory of Reference, Entry Directory]


[The following is summary. Paragraph headings are my own.]


Roger Vergauwen

A Metalogical Theory of Reference: Realism and Essentialism in Semantics

Chapter 2: Reference and Theory of Reference

2.3.2 Principles of a Montague Grammar

2.3.2.2. Structure of a Montague Grammar

Vergauwen will give a general overview of Montague's ideas.

2.3.2.2.1 Languages and categorical grammars

Montague held a view about natural languages. He believed that they contained a mechanism that produces unambiguous grammatical sentences. He called them the "Disambiguated language" (DL). The language also has a disambiguating relation R. It guarantees that the natural language's ambiguities will not appear in the syntactic metalanguage. This relation allows us to connect an ambiguous sentence to descriptions of its structure. These structural descriptions have been constructed from the syntax. We will now examine Montague's complex formulation for DL.

In DL, there is a set of all basic expressions: X. We call it the lexicon. To it we index specific syntactic categories. We consider then syntactical categories such as 'noun,' 'intransitive verb,' and so forth. We will call the whole set of all such syntactical categories upper-case delta Δ. And we will call one specific such category, like 'noun,' lower-case delta δ. We will call the set of all numbers upper-case gamma Γ. And we will call some natural number from this set lower-case gamma γ. Now we will consider a function F. In the first place, we will give it a subscript which will be a number. That number will be a number γ included in the set Γ.


Such a function regards as argument the elements from either the whole basic lexicon or from more complex categories that we form by placing the simpler categories into a specific order. The rules we use to make these formations we call the syntactic rules S. A part of these rules are the operations



We will take A to mean the set of all 'proper expressions' of a language. A basic expression that is indexed with a specific syntactic category δ we denote with:



We build up set A by repeatedly applying the operations



to the basic expressions



So in other words, we take basic elements, like 'noun,' 'article,' and 'preposition.' We use rules to create prepositional phrases, for example, 'to the dog.' We can continue building, but we might end up with such proper constructions as 'He to the dog ran.' We see that this is not a grammatical sentence or well-formed formula (WFF). We need also the syntactical rules S to extract all the grammatical sentences from the set A of proper expressions. We represent these syntactical rules as FoR. Hence we may represent DL as this quintuple:


We form the syntactic rules by means of a categorical grammar, as established by Adjukiewicz. [I quote from Vergauwen's text]

a) A finite number of basic categories are specified.
b) A set of derived categories are construed from the basic categories.
c) There are one or more syntactic rules in which the working of a syntactic operation is established and the category of the result of this operation is determined.
d) Each lexical element of the language is assigned to one syntactic category.
(25a)

In Montegue's "Proper Treatment of Quantification in Ordinary English" model, there are only two basic syntactic categories:
1) e for entity and
2) t for truth value.

We describe our whole syntax with these elements. But no words in the lexicon correspond to these categories. For example, 'to sleep.' Logically speaking, 'to sleep' is a one-place predicate. And it refers to 'the set of sleeping things.' We may also consider this predicate as a function. It would map some individual to a truth value. So if Joe is sleeping, then this predicate would map the element Joe to the truth value 'true.' So let's consider the intransitive verb (IV) 'to sleep.' Above we just said that this IV is a function that maps an individual (e) to a truth value (t). So we could formulate it as follows:

IV = t/e (a function from e to t)

The proper noun 'Joe' can be combined syntactically to an intransitive verb. We will call a proper noun E. And we want to say that when we combine a proper noun with an intransitive verb, we obtain a sentence. To do so, we formulate it as following [I cannot account for this formulation, however]

E = t/IV or t/ (t/e).

We will now articulate a syntactic rule in categorial grammar that tells how we combine proper nouns with intransitive verbs. To understand the following formulation, we will first look at its parts. We will use P to mean "phrase." And we will consider a function



that belongs to



This function will refer to the operation that joins two elements. Here it is by means of concatenation. The result is sentence



Together our rule reads [and I cannot explain it]



We can then take any sentence of our language, and formulate it unambiguously this way. This is the syntactic component of Montague's grammar. Now we consider the semantic component.




Vergauwen, Roger. A Metalogical Theory of Reference: Realism and Essentialism in Semantics. London: University Press of America, 1993.




Vergauwen, A Metalogical Theory of Reference, 2.3.2 Principles of a Montague Grammar, 2.3.2.1 Introduction

by Corry Shores
[Search Blog Here. Index-tags are found on the bottom of the left column.]

[Central Entry Directory]
[Logic & Semantics, Entry Directory]
[Vergauwen's Metalogical Theory of Reference, Entry Directory]


[The following is summary. Paragraph headings are my own.]




Roger Vergauwen

A Metalogical Theory of Reference: Realism and Essentialism in Semantics

Chapter 2: Reference and Theory of Reference

2.3.2 Principles of a Montague Grammar

2.3.2.1 Introduction: an ambitious program

The advances in logical semantics proved relevant to studies on natural languages. Chomsky for example showed how a language's grammar involves 'rewrite rules' that generate sentences from basic grammatical categories. These rules "explicitly represent the internal structure of the sentence." (22b) In terms of describing semantics, generative grammar was too vague. As a result, generative semantics broke-off to remedy the problem. It uses elementary predicate logic to link semantic elements to the deep grammatical structure. However this effort never produced an adequate theory explaining the relation between syntax and semantics.

Chomsky's approach sought-out our innate linguistic capacities. Montague's approach however was not concerned with such psychological issues. He argued that there is no fundamental difference between natural language and the formal languages of logic. So in fact there is a mathematically precise way to describe the relation between syntax and semantics. This is his notion of a "universal grammar." It seeks a uniform treatment for both natural and artificial formal languages. And he makes use of Tarski's concept of truth-conditional semantics. We use models to establish these conditions. To do so, we make use of a semantic metalanguage expressed through an intensional logic. (Vergauwen will return to this notion in the fourth chapter.)



Vergauwen, Roger. A Metalogical Theory of Reference: Realism and Essentialism in Semantics. London: University Press of America, 1993.