Blue Book: Difference between revisions - The Ludwig Wittgenstein Project

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But what do you mean by “redness exists”? My watch exists, if it hasn't been pulled to pieces, if it hasn't been ''destroyed''. What would we call “destroying redness”? We might of course mean destroying all red objects; but would this make it impossible to imagine a red object? Supposing to this one answered: “But surely, red objects must have existed and you must have seen them?” ‒ ‒ ‒ But how do you know that this is so? Suppose I said “Exerting a pressure on your eyeball produces a red image”. Couldn't the way by which you first became acquainted with red have been this? And why shouldn't it have been just imagining a red patch? (The difficulty which you will feel {{BBB TS reference|Ts-309,51}} here will have to be discussed at a later occasion).

We may now be inclined to say: “As the fact which would make our thought true if it existed does not always exist, it is not the fact which we think”. But this just depends upon how I wish to use the word “fact”. Why shouldn't I say: “I believe the fact that the college is on fire”? It is just a clumsy expression for saying: “I believe that the college is on fire”. To say “It is not the fact which we believe”, is itself the result of a confusion. We think we are saying something like: “It isn't the sugar-cane which we eat but the sugar”, “It isn't Mr. Smith who hangs in the gallery, but his picture”.

We may now be inclined to say: “As the fact which would make our thought true if it existed does not always exist, it is not the ''fact'' which we think”. But this just depends upon how I wish to use the word “fact”. Why shouldn't I say: “I believe the fact that the college is on fire”? It is just a clumsy expression for saying: “I believe that the college is on fire”. To say “It is not the fact which we believe”, is itself the result of a confusion. We think we are saying something like: “It isn't the sugar-cane which we eat but the sugar”, “It isn't Mr. Smith who hangs in the gallery, but his picture”.

The next step we are inclined to take is to think that as the object of our thought isn't the fact it is a shadow of the fact. There are different names for this shadow, e.g. “proposition”, “sense of the sentence”.

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I can express our trouble in a different form by saying: “How can we know what the shadow is a shadow of?” ‒ ‒ ‒ The shadow would be some sort of portrait; and therefore I can restate our problem by asking: “What makes a portrait a portrait of Mr. N?” The answer which might first suggest itself is: “The similarity between the portrait and Mr. N”. This answer in fact shows what we had in mind when we talked {{BBB TS reference|Ts-309,52}} of the shadow of a fact. It is quite clear, however, that similarity does not constitute our idea of a portrait; for it is in the essence of this idea that it should make sense to talk of a good or a bad portrait. In other words, it is essential that the shadow should be capable of representing things as in fact they are not.

An obvious, and correct, answer to the question “What makes the portrait the portrait of so-and-so?” is that it is the intention. But if we wish to know what it means “intending this to be a portrait of so-and-so” let's see what actually happens when we intend this. Remember the occasion when we talked of what happened when we expect someone from four to four-thirty. To intend a picture to be the portrait of so-and-so (on the part of the painter, e.g.) is neither a particular state of mind nor a particular mental process. But there are a great many combinations of actions and states of mind which we should call “intending … ” It might have been that he was told to paint a portrait of N, and sat down before N, going through certain actions which we call “copying N's face”. One might object to this by saying that the essence of copying is the intention to copy. I should answer that there are a great many different processes which we call “copying something”. Take an instance. I draw an ellipse on a sheet of paper and ask you to copy it. What characterises the process of copying? For it is clear that it isn't the {{BBB TS reference|Ts-309,53}} fact that you draw a similar ellipse. You might have tried to copy it and not succeeded; or you might have drawn an ellipse with a totally different intention, and it happened to be like the one you should have copied. So what do you do when you try to copy the ellipse? Well, you look at it, draw something on a piece of paper, perhaps measure what you have drawn, perhaps you curse if you find that it doesn't agree with the model or perhaps you say “I am going to copy this ellipse” and just draw an ellipse like it. There are an endless variety of actions and words, having a family likeness to each other, which we call “trying to copy”.

An obvious, and correct, answer to the question “What makes the portrait the portrait of so-and-so?” is that it is the ''intention''. But if we wish to know what it means “intending this to be a portrait of so-and-so” let's see what actually happens when we intend this. Remember the occasion when we talked of what happened when we expect someone from four to four-thirty. To intend a picture to be the portrait of so-and-so (on the part of the painter, e.g.) is neither a particular state of mind nor a particular mental process. But there are a great many combinations of actions and states of mind which we should call “intending … ” It might have been that he was told to paint a portrait of N, and sat down before N, going through certain actions which we call “copying N's face”. One might object to this by saying that the essence of copying is the intention to copy. I should answer that there are a great many different processes which we call “copying something”. Take an instance. I draw an ellipse on a sheet of paper and ask you to copy it. What characterises the process of copying? For it is clear that it isn't the {{BBB TS reference|Ts-309,53}} fact that you draw a similar ellipse. You might have tried to copy it and not succeeded; or you might have drawn an ellipse with a totally different intention, and it happened to be like the one you should have copied. So what do you do when you try to copy the ellipse? Well, you look at it, draw something on a piece of paper, perhaps measure what you have drawn, perhaps you curse if you find that it doesn't agree with the model or perhaps you say “I am going to copy this ellipse” and just draw an ellipse like it. There are an endless variety of actions and words, having a family likeness to each other, which we call “trying to copy”.

Suppose we said “that a picture is a portrait of a particular object consists in its being derived from that object in a particular way”. Now it is easy to describe what we should call “processes of deriving a picture from an object” (roughly speaking, processes of projection). But there is a peculiar difficulty about admitting that any such process is what we call “intentional representation”. For describe whatever process (activity) of projection we may, there is a way of reinterpreting this projection. Therefore ‒ ‒ ‒ one is tempted to say ‒ ‒ ‒ such a process can never be the intention itself. For we could always have intended the opposite by re-interpreting the process of projection. Imagine this case: We give someone an order to walk in a certain direction by pointing, or drawing an arrow which points in the direction. Suppose drawing arrows is the language in which generally we {{BBB TS reference|Ts-309,54}} give such an order. Couldn't such an order be interpreted to mean that the man who gets it is to walk in the direction opposite to that of the arrow? This could obviously be done by adding to our arrow some symbols which we might call ~~“an interpretation”~~. It is easy to imagine a case in which, say, to deceive someone, we might make an arrangement that an order should be carried out in the sense opposite to its normal one. The symbol which adds the interpretation to our original arrow could, for instance, be another arrow. Whenever we interpret a symbol in one way or another, the interpretation is a new symbol added to the old one.

Suppose we said “that a picture is a portrait of a particular object consists in its being derived from that object in a particular way”. Now it is easy to describe what we should call “processes of deriving a picture from an object” (roughly speaking, processes of projection). But there is a peculiar difficulty about admitting that any such process is what we call “intentional representation”. For describe whatever process (activity) of projection we may, there is a way of reinterpreting this projection. Therefore ‒ ‒ ‒ one is tempted to say ‒ ‒ ‒ such a process can never be the intention itself. For we could always have intended the opposite by re-interpreting the process of projection. Imagine this case: We give someone an order to walk in a certain direction by pointing, or drawing an arrow which points in the direction. Suppose drawing arrows is the language in which generally we {{BBB TS reference|Ts-309,54}} give such an order. Couldn't such an order be interpreted to mean that the man who gets it is to walk in the direction opposite to that of the arrow? This could obviously be done by adding to our arrow some symbols which we might call “''an interpretation''”. It is easy to imagine a case in which, say, to deceive someone, we might make an arrangement that an order should be carried out in the sense opposite to its normal one. The symbol which adds the interpretation to our original arrow could, for instance, be another arrow. Whenever we interpret a symbol in one way or another, the interpretation is a new symbol added to the old one.

Now we might say that whenever we give someone an order by showing him an arrow, and don't do it “automatically”, we mean the arrow in one way or another. And this process of meaning, of whatever kind it may be, can be represented by another arrow (pointing in the same or the opposite sense to the first). In this picture which we make of “meaning and saying” it is essential that we should imagine the processes of saying and meaning to take place in two different spheres.

Now we might say that whenever we give someone an order by showing him an arrow, and don't do it “automatically”, we ''mean'' the arrow in one way or another. And this process of meaning, of whatever kind it may be, can be represented by another arrow (pointing in the same or the opposite sense to the first). In this picture which we make of “meaning and saying” it is essential that we should imagine the processes of saying and meaning to take place in two different spheres.

Is it then correct to say that no arrow could be the meaning, as every arrow could be meant the opposite way? ‒ ‒ ‒ Suppose we write down the scheme of saying and meaning by a column of arrows one below the other. {{BBB TS reference|Ts-309,55}}

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 But what do you mean by “redness exists”? My watch exists, if it hasn't been pulled to pieces, if it hasn't been ''destroyed''. What would we call “destroying redness”? We might of course mean destroying all red objects; but would this make it impossible to imagine a red object? Supposing to this one answered: “But surely, red objects must have existed and you must have seen them?” ‒ ‒ ‒ But how do you know that this is so? Suppose I said “Exerting a pressure on your eyeball produces a red image”. Couldn't the way by which you first became acquainted with red have been this? And why shouldn't it have been just imagining a red patch? (The difficulty which you will feel {{BBB TS reference|Ts-309,51}} here will have to be discussed at a later occasion).
-We may now be inclined to say: “As the fact which would make our thought true if it existed does not always exist, it is not the fact which we think”. But this just depends upon how I wish to use the word “fact”. Why shouldn't I say: “I believe the fact that the college is on fire”? It is just a clumsy expression for saying: “I believe that the college is on fire”. To say “It is not the fact which we believe”, is itself the result of a confusion. We think we are saying something like: “It isn't the sugar-cane which we eat but the sugar”, “It isn't Mr. Smith who hangs in the gallery, but his picture”.
+We may now be inclined to say: “As the fact which would make our thought true if it existed does not always exist, it is not the ''fact'' which we think”. But this just depends upon how I wish to use the word “fact”. Why shouldn't I say: “I believe the fact that the college is on fire”? It is just a clumsy expression for saying: “I believe that the college is on fire”. To say “It is not the fact which we believe”, is itself the result of a confusion. We think we are saying something like: “It isn't the sugar-cane which we eat but the sugar”, “It isn't Mr. Smith who hangs in the gallery, but his picture”.
 The next step we are inclined to take is to think that as the object of our thought isn't the fact it is a shadow of the fact. There are different names for this shadow, e.g. “proposition”, “sense of the sentence”.
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 I can express our trouble in a different form by saying: “How can we know what the shadow is a shadow of?” ‒ ‒ ‒ The shadow would be some sort of portrait; and therefore I can restate our problem by asking: “What makes a portrait a portrait of Mr. N?” The answer which might first suggest itself is: “The similarity between the portrait and Mr. N”. This answer in fact shows what we had in mind when we talked {{BBB TS reference|Ts-309,52}} of the shadow of a fact. It is quite clear, however, that similarity does not constitute our idea of a portrait; for it is in the essence of this idea that it should make sense to talk of a good or a bad portrait. In other words, it is essential that the shadow should be capable of representing things as in fact they are not.
-An obvious, and correct, answer to the question “What makes the portrait the portrait of so-and-so?” is that it is the intention. But if we wish to know what it means “intending this to be a portrait of so-and-so” let's see what actually happens when we intend this. Remember the occasion when we talked of what happened when we expect someone from four to four-thirty. To intend a picture to be the portrait of so-and-so (on the part of the painter, e.g.) is neither a particular state of mind nor a particular mental process. But there are a great many combinations of actions and states of mind which we should call “intending … ” It might have been that he was told to paint a portrait of N, and sat down before N, going through certain actions which we call “copying N's face”. One might object to this by saying that the essence of copying is the intention to copy. I should answer that there are a great many different processes which we call “copying something”. Take an instance. I draw an ellipse on a sheet of paper and ask you to copy it. What characterises the process of copying? For it is clear that it isn't the {{BBB TS reference|Ts-309,53}} fact that you draw a similar ellipse. You might have tried to copy it and not succeeded; or you might have drawn an ellipse with a totally different intention, and it happened to be like the one you should have copied. So what do you do when you try to copy the ellipse? Well, you look at it, draw something on a piece of paper, perhaps measure what you have drawn, perhaps you curse if you find that it doesn't agree with the model or perhaps you say “I am going to copy this ellipse” and just draw an ellipse like it. There are an endless variety of actions and words, having a family likeness to each other, which we call “trying to copy”.
+An obvious, and correct, answer to the question “What makes the portrait the portrait of so-and-so?” is that it is the ''intention''. But if we wish to know what it means “intending this to be a portrait of so-and-so” let's see what actually happens when we intend this. Remember the occasion when we talked of what happened when we expect someone from four to four-thirty. To intend a picture to be the portrait of so-and-so (on the part of the painter, e.g.) is neither a particular state of mind nor a particular mental process. But there are a great many combinations of actions and states of mind which we should call “intending … ” It might have been that he was told to paint a portrait of N, and sat down before N, going through certain actions which we call “copying N's face”. One might object to this by saying that the essence of copying is the intention to copy. I should answer that there are a great many different processes which we call “copying something”. Take an instance. I draw an ellipse on a sheet of paper and ask you to copy it. What characterises the process of copying? For it is clear that it isn't the {{BBB TS reference|Ts-309,53}} fact that you draw a similar ellipse. You might have tried to copy it and not succeeded; or you might have drawn an ellipse with a totally different intention, and it happened to be like the one you should have copied. So what do you do when you try to copy the ellipse? Well, you look at it, draw something on a piece of paper, perhaps measure what you have drawn, perhaps you curse if you find that it doesn't agree with the model or perhaps you say “I am going to copy this ellipse” and just draw an ellipse like it. There are an endless variety of actions and words, having a family likeness to each other, which we call “trying to copy”.
-Suppose we said “that a picture is a portrait of a particular object consists in its being derived from that object in a particular way”. Now it is easy to describe what we should call “processes of deriving a picture from an object” (roughly speaking, processes of projection). But there is a peculiar difficulty about admitting that any such process is what we call “intentional representation”. For describe whatever process (activity) of projection we may, there is a way of reinterpreting this projection. Therefore ‒ ‒ ‒ one is tempted to say ‒ ‒ ‒ such a process can never be the intention itself. For we could always have intended the opposite by re-interpreting the process of projection. Imagine this case: We give someone an order to walk in a certain direction by pointing, or drawing an arrow which points in the direction. Suppose drawing arrows is the language in which generally we {{BBB TS reference|Ts-309,54}} give such an order. Couldn't such an order be interpreted to mean that the man who gets it is to walk in the direction opposite to that of the arrow? This could obviously be done by adding to our arrow some symbols which we might call “an interpretation”. It is easy to imagine a case in which, say, to deceive someone, we might make an arrangement that an order should be carried out in the sense opposite to its normal one. The symbol which adds the interpretation to our original arrow could, for instance, be another arrow. Whenever we interpret a symbol in one way or another, the interpretation is a new symbol added to the old one.
+Suppose we said “that a picture is a portrait of a particular object consists in its being derived from that object in a particular way”. Now it is easy to describe what we should call “processes of deriving a picture from an object” (roughly speaking, processes of projection). But there is a peculiar difficulty about admitting that any such process is what we call “intentional representation”. For describe whatever process (activity) of projection we may, there is a way of reinterpreting this projection. Therefore ‒ ‒ ‒ one is tempted to say ‒ ‒ ‒ such a process can never be the intention itself. For we could always have intended the opposite by re-interpreting the process of projection. Imagine this case: We give someone an order to walk in a certain direction by pointing, or drawing an arrow which points in the direction. Suppose drawing arrows is the language in which generally we {{BBB TS reference|Ts-309,54}} give such an order. Couldn't such an order be interpreted to mean that the man who gets it is to walk in the direction opposite to that of the arrow? This could obviously be done by adding to our arrow some symbols which we might call “''an interpretation''”. It is easy to imagine a case in which, say, to deceive someone, we might make an arrangement that an order should be carried out in the sense opposite to its normal one. The symbol which adds the interpretation to our original arrow could, for instance, be another arrow. Whenever we interpret a symbol in one way or another, the interpretation is a new symbol added to the old one.
-Now we might say that whenever we give someone an order by showing him an arrow, and don't do it “automatically”, we mean the arrow in one way or another. And this process of meaning, of whatever kind it may be, can be represented by another arrow (pointing in the same or the opposite sense to the first). In this picture which we make of “meaning and saying” it is essential that we should imagine the processes of saying and meaning to take place in two different spheres.
+Now we might say that whenever we give someone an order by showing him an arrow, and don't do it “automatically”, we ''mean'' the arrow in one way or another. And this process of meaning, of whatever kind it may be, can be represented by another arrow (pointing in the same or the opposite sense to the first). In this picture which we make of “meaning and saying” it is essential that we should imagine the processes of saying and meaning to take place in two different spheres.
 Is it then correct to say that no arrow could be the meaning, as every arrow could be meant the opposite way? ‒ ‒ ‒ Suppose we write down the scheme of saying and meaning by a column of arrows one below the other. {{BBB TS reference|Ts-309,55}}