by Keith Wilson (Part 3)

Grammatical Investigation

We clearly have a practice of calling some things philosophy, and others not, but perhaps there is no single set of criteria that can be applied to delineate one from the other (the analytic philosopher’s ‘necessary and sufficient conditions’). Here we find ourselves in sympathy with one of philosophy’s most enigmatic and controversial figures, namely Ludwig Wittgenstein, maverick philosopher and undisputed genius, twice over. Wittgenstein used the concept of a game to illustrate the idea that not all concepts are amenable to the kind of exhaustive definition that ‘bachelor’, ‘bald’ and ‘beetle’ are. Just as we have card games, team sports, games of skill, games of luck, and so on, there are, I contend a wide variety of philosophical activities and techniques, each of which bears a certain resemblance to the others, but not all of which can be subsumed under a single, comprehensive definition.

The worry about attempting to define philosophy in this way is that it becomes a matter of mere linguistic housekeeping. In a way, this brings us full circle and back to the realm of empirical linguistics – or pragmatics, which amounts to much the same thing – with the philosophers’ job being to dot the ‘i’s and cross the ‘t’s in order to clarify the use of and connections between our many and varied concepts. (Wittgenstein himself once described philosophy as the ‘battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by means of our language’, and philosophical problems as ‘what happens when language goes on holiday’ – Philosophical Investigations, §109 and §38.)

Having started out with the idea that philosophy was some kind of fundamental investigation into the nature of the world, or the pursuit of wisdom, it is profoundly dissatisfying to think of the philosopher as a kind of ‘language lawyer’, whose job it is to make ‘sense’ of ordinary words, and whose purview never goes beyond these strictly delineated boundaries. Of course it is true that you can’t do anything in philosophy without bumping up against the problems and limitations of language. But does this really mean that the means of investigation (i.e. language or thought itself) must itself become the topic for investigation, as it is only by means of language that we can answer – or even ask – questions in the first place? What about metaphysics, facts and values? Can’t they tell us something about the world, or ‘objective reality’, whatever that means?

Lest we dismiss Wittgenstein too quickly, it is worth pointing out that he was not an ‘ordinary language philosopher’ of the kind that flourished in Oxbridge during the 1960s and ’70s. Nor was he a logical positivist, despite the ideas in his Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus being appropriated by the once influential Vienna circle. Rather, in his later period, he eschewed all forms of philosophical theory building and attempts to systematise language, and throughout his career maintained that language is itself in perfect working order and in no need of reform. Rather, it is the philosopher who must endeavour not to be taken in by false pictures of its workings – a hazard for all of us who use language as a means of enquiry, rather than the purpose for which it is usually employed, i.e. as an integral part of our everyday activities and ‘forms of life’. Perhaps the answer to the question with which we set out can be given not in terms of what philosophy actually achieves – which by many accounts is precious little – but by what it rules out.

On this account, philosophy is a systematic study of the avoidance of error, not just in terms of sticking to an established methodology or set of rules, as a scientist or engineer might do, but in the wider sense of the mistaken use of logic, reason and sloppy thinking. This is of course very much the essence (if you’ll excuse the irony) of Wittgenstein’s own Philosophical Investigations, which attempt to show us how the pre-philosophical pictures and metaphors that lie behind our use of language mislead us into thinking that, for example, understanding is a mental process, sensations are objects in the mind, and that all words must ‘point at’ something in the world in order to make sense (Frege’s Sinn and Bedeutung). Perhaps, then, this relentless focus upon the avoidance of error is what requires philosophy to keep reinventing itself and adopting ever-changing methods with which to address the cause of the problem. The cure, as it were, must keep up with the disease, which has a nasty habit of mutating into another even more virulent strain just when you thought you had finished sterilising the ward. (Of course, it’s possible that philosophy is itself as much the cause of the problem as part of the solution, but I shall leave that to the reader to decide.)

Beyond Wittgenstein

So, are we any closer to having an answer that will satisfy the casual enquirer as to the nature of philosophy? Well, maybe. But there still seems to be something lacking. So far, we have talked about language as if it is something given to us, independently of the world, as it were. A form of behaviour, rather than a form of knowledge and thought. When, as newcomers to philosophy, we become frustrated with the idea that philosophy is ‘just about language’ – something that I’m sure we’ve all struggled with at some time – it seems to express a deeper worry, or perhaps a misconception, about the nature of philosophical enquiry. What is the point of all this linguistic hair splitting? What, at the end of the day, does it all mean? Perhaps it will help to remind ourselves of the nature of language, not just as a form of communication (the idea that we use language to convey information), but as a means of knowing. What is it that the forms, concepts and pictures embedded within our language express, and that is the target of Wittgenstein’s method of philosophical therapy?

I would like to suggest such linguistic knowledge represents a kind of self-knowing; a form of knowledge that is not so much about ‘the world’, as if this were something outside of and separate from us, but of our place within it, our ways of thinking, of knowing and of understanding. In the same way that the sciences analyse our physical situation and the nature of the universe that we find ourselves in, art explores human creativity and expands our capacity for sensitivity and expression, and philosophy is, I think, a profoundly self-reflective activity that tells us about our own fundamental nature as thinking self-aware beings. As such, it is an ever expanding and self-correcting process by which the forms our our thought grow and change to reflect new and different ways of understanding both ourselves and the world that we’re in. Much as we might like to see philosophy as a way of gaining certain and timeless knowledge, we keep coming back to our own limited, infinitely malleable and distinctly human nature which is expressed, more than anything, by our forms of language and self-expression. Philosophy, then, is a way of coming to know ourselves, not as individuals, but as creatures with the capacity for intelligent thought and reflection. It is, we might say, the means by which we make (rather than discover) our world.

So have we answered the original question to the satisfaction of our casual enquirer? It’s difficult to say. Perhaps one, perhaps none, or maybe even all, of the above responses are correct in one respect or another. Or perhaps it is better to simply try and avoid the question unless you’re prepared to engage in a lengthy – and most likely inconclusive – philosophical debate of the kind that I’ve attempted above. In general, I find that it best to answer ‘Well, it passes the time’ or ‘It’s kind of hard to explain’ is often the best policy. In any case, these answers are the best that I’ve been able to come up with so far, and it’s not for lack of trying! After three years of studying philosophy, it seems a little strange to say that I’m still figure out what it is, but it has certainly helped me understand more about who I am and this strange and wonderful state of being that we call ‘the human condition’. And in the end, perhaps that’s more important than having a glib dictionary-style definition of the academic tradition within which you’re working.

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If you want to follow up this piece, there are some interesting comments on Keith’s own blog.