Things and their Place in Theories

10 Things and their Place in Theories

W.V.O.Quine

Our talk of external things, our very notion of things, is just a conceptual apparatus that helps us to foresee and control the triggering of our sensory receptors in the light of previous triggering of our sensory receptors. The triggering, first and last, is all we have to go on.

In saying this I too am talking of external things, namely, people and their nerve endings. Thus what I am saying applies in particular to what I am saying, and is not meant as skeptical. There is nothing we can be more confident of than external things—some of them, anyway—other people, sticks, stones. But there remains the fact—a fact of science itself—that science is a conceptual bridge of our own making, linking sensory stimulation to sensory stimulation; there is no extrasensory perception.

I should like now to consider how this bridging operation works. What does it mean to assume external objects? And what about objects of an abstract sort, such as numbers? How do objects of both sorts help us in developing systematic connections between our sensory stimulations?

The assuming of objects is a mental act, and mental acts are notoriously difficult to pin down—this one more than most. Little can be done in the way of tracking thought processes except when we can put words to them. For something objective that we can get our teeth into we must go after the words. Words accompany thought for the most part anyway, and it is only as thoughts are expressed in words that we can specify them.

If we turn our attention to the words, then what had been a question of assuming objects becomes a question of verbal reference to objects. To ask what the assuming of an object consists in is to ask what referring to the object consists in.

We refer by using words, and these we learn through more or less devious association with stimulations of our sensory receptors. The association is direct

200 W.V.O.QUINE volunteer the word “milk”, or to assent if the word is queried, in the conspicuous

presence of milk; also to volunteer the word so as to induce the presence of milk. The mechanism in such a case is relatively clear and simple, as psychological mechanisms go. It is the conditioning of a response. To call it objective reference, however, is premature. Learning the expression “milk” in this way, by direct association with appropriate stimulations, is the same in principle as learning the sentence “It’s windy” or “It’s cold” or “It’s raining” by direct association with appropriate stimulations. It is we in our adult ontological sophistication that recognize the word “milk” as referring to an object, a substance, while we are less ready to single out an object of reference for “It’s windy” or “It’s cold” or “It’s raining”. This is the contrast that we need eventually to analyze if we are to achieve a satisfactory analysis of what to count as objective reference; and it is not a contrast that obtrudes in the primitive phase of learning by ostension. The word “milk”, when uttered in recognition or when queried and assented to, is best regarded at first as a sentence on a par with “It’s windy”, “It’s cold”, and the rest; it is as if to say “It’s milk”. It is a one-word sentence. All of these examples are occasion sentences, true on some occasions of utterance and false on others. We are conditioned to assent to them under appropriate stimulation. There is no call to read into them, as yet, any reference to objects.

The view of sentences as primary in semantics, and of names or other words as dependent on sentences for their meaning, is a fruitful idea that began perhaps with Jeremy Bentham’s theory of fictions. What Bentham observed was that you have explained any term quite adequately if you have shown how all contexts in which you propose to use it can be paraphrased into antecedently intelligible language. When this is recognized, the philosophical analysis of concepts or explication of terms comes into its own. Sentences come to be seen as the primary repository of meaning, and words are seen as imbibing their meaning through their use in sentences.

Recognition of sentences as primary has not only expedited philosophical analysis; it has also given us a better picture of how language is actually learned. First we learn short sentences, next we get a line on various words through their use in those sentences, and then on that basis we manage to grasp longer sentences in which those same words recur. Accordingly the development leading from sensory stimulation to objective reference is to be seen as beginning with the flat conditioning of simple occasion sentences to stimulatory events, and advancing through stages more forthrightly identifiable with objective reference. We have still to consider what the distinguishing traits of these further stages might be.

As long as the word “milk” can be accounted for simply as an occasion sentence on a par with “It’s raining”, surely nothing is added by saying that it is a name of something. Nothing really is said. Similarly for “sugar”, “water”,

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serving only as honorary designata of expressions whose use as occasion sentences would continue as before.

The outlook changes when individuative words emerge: words like “chair” and “dog”. These differ from the previous examples in the complexity of what has to be mastered in learning them. By way of mastery of any of those previous words, all that was called for was the ability to pass a true-false test regarding points or neighborhoods taken one at a time. It is merely a question, in the case of Fido or milk, of what visible points are on Fido or on milk and what ones are not. To master “dog” or “chair”, on the other hand, it is not enough to be able to judge of each visible point whether it is on a dog or chair; we have also to learn where one dog or chair leaves off and another sets in.

In the case of such words, individuative ones, the idea of objective reference seems less trivial and more substantial. The word “dog” is taken to denote each of many things, each dog, and the word “chair”, each chair. It is no longer an idle one-to-one duplication, a mirroring of each word in an object dreamed up for that exclusive purpose. The chairs and dogs are indefinite in number and individually, for the most part, nameless. The “Fido”-Fido principle, as Ryle called it, has been transcended.

However, this contrast between the individuatives and the previous words does not become detectable until a further device has become available: predication. The contrast emerges only when we are in a position to compare the predication “Fido is a dog” with the predication “Milk is white”. Milk’s being white comes down to the simple fact that whenever you point at milk you point at white. Fido’s being a dog does not come down to the simple fact that whenever you point at Fido you point at a dog: it involves that and more. For whenever you point at Fido’s head you point at a dog, and yet Fido’s head does not qualify as a dog.

It is in this rather subtle way that predication creates a difference between individuative terms and others. Prior to predication, such words as “dog” and “chair” differ in no pertinent way from “milk” and “Fido”; they are simple occasion sentences that herald, indifferently, the presence of milk, Fido, dog, chair.

Thus reference may be felt to have emerged when we take to predicating individuative terms, as in “Fido is a dog”. “Dog” then comes to qualify as a general term denoting each dog, and thereupon, thanks again to the predication “Fido is a dog”, the word “Fido” comes at last to qualify as a singular term naming one dog. In view then of the analogy of “Milk is white” to “Fido is a dog”, it becomes natural to view the word “milk” likewise as a singular term naming something, this time not a body but a substance.

In Word and Object and The Roots of Reference I have speculated on how we learn individuative terms, predication, and various further essentials of our language. I will not go further into that, but will merely remind you of what some of these further essentials are. Along with singular predication, as in “Milk

202 W.V.O.QUINE want dyadic ones, such as “part of, “darker than”, “bigger than”, and “beside”;

also perhaps triadic and higher. Also we want predication of these polyadic terms, at least in the singular: thus “Mama is bigger than Fido”, “Fido is darker than milk”. Also we want the truth functions—“not”, “and”, “or”—by means of which to build compound sentences.

Now a further leap forward, as momentous as predication, is the relative clause . It is a way of segregating what a sentence says about an object, and packaging it as a complex general term. What the sentence

Mont Blanc is higher than the Matterhorn but the Matterhorn is steeper says about the Matterhorn is packaged in the relative clause:

object that is not as high as Mont Blanc but is steeper. Predicating this of the Matterhorn carries us back in effect to the original

sentence. The grammar of relative clauses can be simplified by rewriting them in the “such that” idiom:

object x such that Mont Blanc is higher than x but x is steeper. This keeps the word order of the original sentence. The “x” is just a relative

pronoun written in mathematical style. We can change the letter to avoid ambiguity in case one relative clause is embedded in another.

The relative clause serves no purpose in singular predication, since such predication just carries us back to a sentence of the original form. Where it pays off is in plural predication. Without relative clauses, the use of plural predication is cramped by shortage of general terms. We could still say “Dogs are animals” and perhaps “Small dogs are amusing animals”, but it is only with the advent of relative clauses that we can aspire to such heights as “Whatever is salvaged from the wreck belongs to the state”. It becomes:

Objects x such that x is salvaged from the wreck are objects x such that x belongs to the state.

In general, where “Fx” and “Gx” stand for any sentences that we are in a position to formulate about x, relative clauses open the way to the plural predication:

Objects x such that Fx are objects x such that Gx. Once we have this equipment, we have the full benefit of universal and

existential quantification. This is evident if we reflect that “(x)Fx” is equivalent

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Objects x such that not Fx are objects x such that Fx.

I said that reference may be felt to emerge with the predicating of individuatives. However, it is better seen as emerging by degrees. Already at the start the sentences “Fido” and “Milk”, unlike “It’s raining”, are learned by association with distinctively salient portions of the scene. Typically the salience is induced by pointing. Here already, in the selectivity of salience, is perhaps a first step toward the eventual namehood of “Fido” and “Milk”. Predications such as “Milk is white” further enhance this air of objective reference, hinging as they do on a coinciding of saliences. Thus contrast the predication “Milk is white” with “When night falls the lamps are lit”. “When” here is a connection comparable to the truth functions; it just happens to deliver standing sentences rather than occasion sentences when applied to occasion sentences. “Milk is white” likewise can be viewed as a standing sentence compounded of the occasion sentences “Milk” and “White”, but it says more than “When there is milk there is white”; it says “Where there is milk there is white”. The concentration on a special part of the scene is thus doubly emphasized, and in this I sense further rumblings of objective reference.

Predications such as “Milk is white” still afford, even so, little reason for imputing objective reference. As already remarked, we might as well continue to use the purported names as occasion sentences and let the objects go. A finite and listed ontology is no ontology.

Predication of individuatives, next, as in “Fido is a dog”, heightens reference in two ways. The concentration on a special part of the scene is emphasized here more strongly still than in “Milk is white”, since Fido is required not merely to

be contained in the scattered part of the world that is made up of dog; he is required to fill one of its discrete blobs. And the more telling point, already noted, is that “dog” transcends the “Fido”-Fido principle; dogs are largely nameless.

Even at this stage, however, the referential apparatus and its ontology are vague. Individuation goes dim over any appreciable time interval. Thus consider the term “dog”. We would recognize any particular dog in his recurrences if we noticed some distinctive trait in him; a dumb animal would do the same. We recognize Fido in his recurrences in learning the occasion sentence “Fido”, just as we recognize further milk and sugar in learning “Milk” and “Sugar”. Even in the absence of distinctive traits we will correctly concatenate momentary canine manifestations as stages of the same dog as long as we keep watching. After any considerable lapse of observation, however, the question of identity of unspecified dogs simply does not arise—not at the rudimentary stage of language learning. It scarcely makes sense until we are in a position to say such things as that in general if any dog undergoes such and such then in due course that same dog will behave thus and so. This sort of general talk about long-term causation

204 W.V.O.QUINE the time dimension, upon relative clauses; and it is only with full individuation

that reference comes fully into its own. With the relative clause at hand, objective reference is indeed full blown. In the relative clause the channel of reference is the relative pronoun “that” or “which”, together with its recurrences in the guise of “it”, “he”, “her”, and so on. Regimented in symbolic logic, these pronouns give way to bound variables of quantification. The variables range, as we say, over all objects; they admit all objects as values. To assume objects of some sort is to reckon objects of that sort among the values of our variables.