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Authors: Noam Chomsky

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JM:
And that notion really only had its beginning with your work in the fifties – so far as anyone can tell, in any case?
NC:
Well, as it applies to language. But the idea was by then already sort of finished; you had Church's thesis, and concepts of
algorithm and recursive procedure were already well understood before him. You could just then sort of apply it to biological systems, language being the obvious
case.
10
On the intellectual ailments of some scientists
 
JM:
You mentioned that some who would be scientists are too data-oriented – that they are unwilling to abstract and idealize in the ways needed in order to simplify and construct a science. Is the phenomenon that you've quite often remarked upon – that even distinguished chemists [and other scientists] early in the twentieth century wanted to deny that their theoretical work had anything more than an instrumental value – is this an aspect of what happens in studying human languages, that we wish to talk about what people say, and the circumstances in which they say it – their behavior – and not the principles and systems that underlie it and make it possible?
NC:
There's some connection there, but it seems to me a different issue. There was a
strong Machian tradition in the sciences, which was that if you can't see it, it's not there – [that theoretical principles] are just some hypotheses you're making up to make your computations work better. This was true in physics too, like in chemistry, late into the 1920s. Poincaré, for example,
dismissed molecules and said that the only reason we talk about them is that we know the game of billiards, but there's no basis for them – you can't see them, they're just a useful hypothesis for computing things. And this goes on into the 1920s – leading scientists were saying that Kékulé's
structural chemistry or Bohr's atom were simply modes of computation. And their reason was an interesting one: you couldn't reduce [them] to
physics. I've quoted Russell in 1929. Russell knew the sciences quite well, and he says that chemical laws cannot
at present
be reduced to physical laws – the assumption being that the normal course of science is to reduce to physical laws. But as long as they aren't [reduced], it's not real science. Well, we know what happened; they were never reduced. Physics underwent a radical change, and it was
unified with a virtually unchanged chemistry. Well, at that point, it was recognized – well actually, it was never explicitly recognized, it was just tacitly understood – that the entire discussion of the last century or so was crazy; it was just sort of forgotten and nobody talked about it anymore. And the history was forgotten. But it's an interesting history.
 
I've been trying (vainly) to convince philosophers of mind for years that their own discussions today are almost a repetition of what was going on in the natural sciences not that many years ago – up until the 1930s – and we should learn something from that.[C] And that is not the only case in the history of science; there are many such cases. The classic moment in the history of science is such a case – Newton.
Newton himself considered his proposals [primarily, the inverse square law of gravitation] as absurd, because they could not be reduced to physics – namely, the mechanical philosophy [of Descartes], which [he and many others thought] was obviously true. So he regarded his proposals as an absurdity that no sensible person could accept. Yet we have to accept them, because they seem to be true. And that was extremely puzzling to him, and he spent the rest of his life trying to find some way out of it, and so did later scientists. But what he actually showed – and in retrospect, it's understood, while forgetting the history, unfortunately – he showed that the truth of the world is not reducible to what was called “physics,” and physics had to be abandoned and revised. That's the classic moment in the history of science, and it goes on and on like that. The quantum-theoretic interpretation of the chemical bond was another such development. Why should we expect the study of the mental aspects of the world to somehow break from the history of the sciences? Maybe it will, but there's no particular reason to expect it.
JM:
What about that odd phenomenon of behaviorism? Part of the motivation for it clearly had to do with the first of these factors you have been talking about: behaviorists offered to people in power some kind of legitimacy because they portrayed themselves – or wanted to portray themselves – as experts and scientists . . .
NC:
. . . and benign too. We're controlling people's behavior for their own good – kind of like Mill.
JM:
Precisely. But another part of the behaviorist rhetoric was of course their Machian effort to stick to the observable
.
NC:
It's a strange view of science that is not held in the core of the natural sciences anymore, but once was – that science is the study of data. In fact, the whole concept [of behaviorism] is very interesting. In the 1950s, all of the fields of social science and psychology were behavioral science; [and] as soon as you see the word, [you know] something's wrong. Behavior is data – like meter-readings are data in physics. But physics isn't meter-reading science. I mean, you're looking at the data to see if you can find evidence, and evidence is a relational concept; it's evidence for
something. So what you're looking for is evidence for some theory that will explain the data – and explain new data and give you some insight into what's happening, and so on. If you just
keep to the data, you're not doing science, whatever else you're doing. Behavioral science is, in principle, keeping to the data; so you just know that there's something wrong with it – or should know. But it is based on a concept of science that was prevalent even in the core physical sciences for a long time. In the late nineteenth century, physics was regarded by physicists – leading physicists – as mostly a science of measurement and correlation between measured quantity and pressure and general relations about them, a position that reached its sophisticated form in Mach.
JM:
What about recent forms of that, found in connectionism and the like?
NC:
They're manifestations of it, I think. Somehow, we've got to start from the simplest thing we understand – like a neural connection – and make up some story that will account for everything. It's like corpuscularian physics in the seventeenth century, which made similar
assumptions. People like Boyle and Newton and others recognized, plausibly, that there must be some elementary building blocks of matter – corpuscles – and they must be like the bricks out of which you build buildings. So we'll assume that. And then they try to show how you can account for everything in terms of different arrangements of the corpuscles.
Nowadays, Newton's concern for alchemy is regarded as some sort of aberration, but it was not; it was very rational. It's perfectly correct that if nature consists of simple building blocks, differently arranged, you should be able to turn lead into gold. You just have to figure out how to do it; nothing irrational about that. In fact, in some sense, he's right; there are elementary things – not what he was talking about – but, yes, something like
that. And connectionism seems to me about at the level of corpuscularianism in physics. Do we have any reason to believe that by taking these few things that we think – probably falsely – that we understand, and building up a complex structure from them, we're going to find anything? Well, maybe, but it's highly unlikely. Furthermore, if you take a look at the core things they're looking at, like connections between neurons, they're
far
more complex. They're abstracting radically from the physical reality, and who knows if the abstractions are going in the right direction? But, like any other proposal, you evaluate it in terms of its theoretical achievements and empirical consequences. It happens to be quite easy in this case, because they're almost nonexistent.[C]
JM:
There's a new growth in connectionism that amounts to trying to pursue topics that they think of as evolutionary. I guess there was always that sort of
connection between certain views of evolution and
behaviorism . . .
NC:
Skinner, for example, was very explicit about it. He pointed out, and he was right, that the logic of radical behaviorism was about the same as the
logic of a pure form of selectionism that no serious biologist could pay attention to, but which is [a form of] popular biology – selection takes
any
path. And parts of it get put in behaviorist terms: the right paths get reinforced and extended, and so on. It's like a sixth grade version of the theory of evolution. It can't possibly be right. But he was correct in pointing out that the logic of behaviorism is like that [of naïve adaptationism], as did Quine. They're both correct that they're similar, and both wrong – for the same
reasons.
11
The place of language in the mind
 
JM:
To get back to business . . . can we talk about the place of language in the mind?
NC:
OK.
 
JM:
It's not a peripheral system; you've mentioned that it has some of the characteristics of a central system. What do you mean by that?
NC:
Well, peripheral systems are systems that are input systems and output systems. So, the
visual system receives data from the outside and transmits some information to the inside. And the articulatory system takes some information from the inside and does some things, and has an effect on the outside world. That's what input and output systems are. Language makes use of those systems, obviously; I'm hearing what you say and I'm producing something. But that's just something being done
with
language. There's some internal system that you and I pretty much share that enables the noises that I make to get into your auditory system and the internal system that you have is doing something with those noises and understanding them pretty much the way my own internal system is creating them. And those are systems of knowledge; those are fixed capacities. If that's not an internal system, I don't know what the word means.
JM:
OK; there are other systems, such as facial recognition. That also is not a peripheral system. It gets information from the visual system
.
NC:
Well, the facial recognition system is an input system, but of course it makes use of internal knowledge that you have about how to interpret faces. People interpret faces very differently from other objects. Show a person a face upside down; he or she can't recognize it.
JM:
So it's not sufficient (to be a central system) that it get information from some other system
.
NC:
All kinds of internal processing is going on – thinking, whatever that is. And most of it is totally unconscious and beyond the reach of consciousness.
But there's plenty of evidence that it's going on. The evidence, of course, is always from the outside. Even if you're doing brain imaging, you're getting evidence of the effects of the internal object; but that evidence pretty conclusively shows that plenty of mental internal operations are going on, using systems of knowledge, interpretation, planning,
action, and so on. And language just seems to be one of them. It may well be the one that binds them all together. In fact, that's been proposed in a clear form by people like
Elizabeth Spelke (
2003
,
2004
,
2007
) at
Harvard. She's a major cognitive developmental psychologist, who argues that in her work (with children, mainly) that as language
capacities appear to be developing they're always there, but they don't manifest themselves until certain ages. As they begin to manifest themselves, you get interactions among different other kinds of cognitive activity. There are primitive forms of recognition of, say, where you are and where you ought to go that are shared right through the mammalian kingdom and they are used by children. There are more sophisticated ones that are used by adults. So a young child can learn about the difference between a blue wall and a red wall, as can a rat. But if you want to learn about the difference between, say, to my left and to my right, or some more complicated thing that is much more complex – well, she argues that these more complex capacities seem to be integrated at about the time that the language capacities are manifested, and therefore she suggests, plausibly, that the language capacities facilitate this kind of interaction – which certainly makes sense.
The archeological-anthropological record suggests similar conclusions. As mentioned before, there is what is sometimes called a “
great leap forward” in human evolution in a period roughly 50,000–100,000 years ago, when the archeological record suddenly changes
radically. There are all sorts of indications of a creative imagination, planning, sophisticated use of tools, art, symbolic representation, and taking careful note of external events, such as phases of the moon, things like that. And it looks as though that is about the time that whatever put language together emerged. So it's not an unreasonable speculation that they're connected. If some hominid has a language capacity, it can plan, it can think, it can interpret, it can imagine other situations – alternative situations that aren't around – and make choices among them, or have attitudes toward them. At some stage it can convey some of that to others. All of that could well be the source of whatever brings together the other various capacities, which probably existed – at least, in some rudimentary, unsophisticated form – brought them together and gave rise to this evidence of sudden complex, creative activity.
JM:
It's almost certain that language has the place of constituting or providing much more complicated, much more complex, highly structured forms of conceptual ‘objects’ – offering a conceptual range that is just not available to other types of creatures. But it sounds as if language, having that kind of capacity – and being given the capacity of coordinating, and perhaps even integrating information from other systems – that . . .
NC:
And also innovating. Language doesn't just bring together information; it's no recording device. We know this by introspection – you can think about what the world would be like if you chose this course and not that course. In fact, you can imagine things that can't even be physically realized. There's a range of possible creative activities available to you – to some extent, you have that available from other internal systems too; with vision, you can imagine pictures, that sort of thing – but it's far richer when you can actually formulate internal expressions. You have propositional attitudes; descriptions of possible organizations and interactions between people; possible physical events, and so on. And that's available to you if you have internal language; we all know it, just by introspection. We all have that capacity. And presumably our hominid ancestors at that point had the same capacity.
One thing we're pretty certain about is that existing humans are virtually identical in this respect. Which means that whatever it was that gave us this capacity – it couldn't have happened later than about fifty thousand
years ago, which is about when the trek from Africa starts. In fact, it's likely that whatever happened led to the trek from Africa. Hominids physically very much like us were there for hundreds of thousands of years – as far as the archeological record shows. And it began with a small group, one of many small breeding groups. And that one suddenly exploded all over the world. It's hard to imagine that that's not related to the same developments that led to the human capacity to innovate.
JM:
But if language has this role in the mind, is there any need for what Jerry Fodor used to think of as a ‘central processor’? Isn't it sort of taking over the role of the homunculus – being that, whatever it is, that coordinates and brings together all kinds of information, makes decisions, and so on . . .
NC:
Is it
the
central processor? How could you know? Probably not, I would guess. There are ways of integrating, say, sound, and smell, and sight, that you wouldn't even know how to describe in language. And they're certainly part of life. I imagine that there have to be central processors for that.
One suggestion that Jerry [Fodor] proposes which seems to me to require more evidence is that there is a language of thought.
And the question is
whether the language of thought is any different from whatever our universal, internal language is. As far as I can see, we can't tell anything about the language of thought other than it's a reflection of whatever our language is. And if it's true – as it is likely – that the existing and, indeed, the attainable languages are only superficially different, then the core that they share has a good claim to be the language of thought – so far as I can see.
JM:
What, then, about the sciences? They seem to have a syntax that is far different from the syntax of natural languages
.
NC:
Not only that, but they seem to operate in different ways. There is a debate about this.
There are people like Sue Carey, for example, who tried to show that our scientific capacities are just the natural development of our ordinary commonsense capacities for reasoning, exploration, and so on. I'm not convinced. I've got a feeling that science involves quite different capacities of mind.
There's really no serious evidence on these things. But if you just look at the history of the sciences, it looks also as if there was also a great
leap forward, but much later, and – unlike the one that came about through language – presumably requiring no biological change. It's not that there weren't precursors, but around the seventeenth century, the attitude toward investigating and understanding the world just changed radically. Right around the time of
Newton, there was a dramatic change – so dramatic, that Newton – who basically helped create it – couldn't accept it. The previous assumption – without anybody actually saying it exactly – was that the world was intelligible. God made it perfect, and if we're smart enough, we can see how he did it, and it will be intelligible to us. All we have to do is work hard. The core psychological effect of Newton's discoveries, I think, is that that's not true. It involves what are to us, intuitively, mysterious forces. That's why Newton resisted his own conclusions, which effectively undermined what was called the “mechanical philosophy” – the idea that the world works like a machine, with gears, levers, and things pushing each other, kind of like a medieval clock. It should be something like that. But what he showed is that it just isn't true.
JM:
Is this the end of folk physics and folk psychology?
NC:
This is the end of folk physics. Folk psychology is not refuted. It just doesn't work for physics. The Cartesian mechanics was a sketch of something that was a kind of folk physics. It's our commonsense understanding of how the world works. If I hit that over there, it will move. But I can't
move that thing just by moving my arm. It's intuitively obvious that I can't move it by moving my arm; but it just happens to be false. The idea that there are principles of action and reaction,
interaction, growth, development, and so on, that are just not of the mechanical type – over time, it caused a real shift in the standards of intelligibility for science. It's not the world that's going to be intelligible; we give that up. But the
theories have to be intelligible. So we want intelligible theories of the world that we can work with and that meet our epistemological criteria, which are just other aspects of our cognitive system. And then science goes off on quite a different course. It's not that people give up the commonsense models; talk to a mathematician studying some abstract topic in topology, and in his study, he's probably drawing pictures and thinking about them, and so on. But you know that there's a gap, and that your intuitive,
commonsense understanding of the world is simply not a guide to what the world is. That's an important change, and it leads in other directions. It's only happened in small areas of science. Nevertheless, it's quite clear that the other picture of the world – the scientific one – is quite different from the commonsense.
It goes until very recent times. Until the 1920s, chemistry wasn't considered part of the core sciences, but a means of calculation, because it just had these pictures and diagrams and so on, from which you could get very good approximations to the results of experiments. But it was regarded by many leading scientists as a mode of calculation only; it can't be real. It wasn't reducible to physics as then understood. That was because, for reasons that were later discovered, physics just didn't have the conceptual tools needed to incorporate it.
Physics underwent another radical change and became even more unintelligible from the commonsense point of view – although the theory, of course, is intelligible. And then chemistry becomes part of the natural sciences. And so it continues.
If you take a look today at the debates that are going on about ‘psychological
reality’: can the mind be following the rules, and so on and so forth – you'll see that they're very similar to the debates going on in the 1920s as to whether chemistry can be ‘real.’ What do you mean, chemistry is following laws? Show me how to explain what you observe in terms of Newtonian mechanics, or something else I understand.
JM:
That particular dispute – whether the mind is following rules or laws, or whether they're ‘psychologically real’ – has been around at least since
Helmholtz, with his idea that the mind somehow carries out inferences, and does so in the case of vision, audition, and faculties like that
.
NC:
Yes, these ideas keep coming back; it was a Cartesian issue too, in a way.
1
The modern debates about psychological reality in linguistics and cognitive processing – computer metaphors, and so on – they're very similar to the arguments about chemistry and the Bohr atom back in the 1920s. Now it's “How can you explain it in neurophysiological terms?” You can't. But you couldn't explain chemistry in physical terms, as physics was understood then. The conclusion at the time was that there's some problem with chemistry. Later, it was understood that there was some problem with
physics. Do we know more about neurophysiology today than people did about physics back in the 1920s? Far from it; quite the opposite. You have to know that you're looking at the right things. And there's nothing in the way of any depth of theory. There's a slogan – that the mind is neurophysiology at a more abstract level. But chemistry wasn't physics at a more abstract level, as it turned out. Rather, a new physics came along, which was chemistry at a different level. And we don't know that that won't happen in the study of mind.

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