A Critical Study
Ray Jackendoff, Foundations of Language:
Brain, Meaning, Grammar, Evolution. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002.
Pp.477. H/B.
In Foundations of Language, Jackendoff synthesises
his recent thinking on language and its place in the mind/brain into a coherent
and accessible thesis. The book is written for linguists, psychologists and
philosophers, as well as non-specialists; it should prove to be of interest to
all who seriously think about language.
Jackendoff’s broad aim is to get the non-linguist to appreciate that
linguistics (generative grammar and its off-shoots, properly speaking) may
genuinely speak to wider concerns in cognitive science and philosophy, and,
concomitantly, to get the linguist to appreciate that if their discipline is
really a branch of psychology (and thus, ultimately, biology), then a proper
integration of linguistics into the other sciences of the mind/brain should be
pursued rather than foreclosed in the name of autonomy. Jackendoff does not
merely wish for such integration; he actively pursues it with a wealth of data
and elegant theory. The focus of the sequel will be on the aspects of this work
that directly impact on some of the current concerns of philosophers. The book
divides into three parts and, each will be considered in turn. As will become clear,
each of the parts is in a mutually supportive relation with the other two.
The
first part deals with the battery of concepts, distinctions and hypotheses that
constitute the theoretical hard core of generative grammar: nativism, universal
grammar, poverty of stimulus arguments, competence vs. performance, mental
representation, knowledge of rules, etc. For Jackendoff, while the seminal
arguments for the existence of innately structured competencies in syntax,
phonology and semantics remain intact, their traditional elaboration carries an
illicit commitment to mental representationism, as signaled in the
notion that generative linguistics is essentially concerned with the knowledge
a speaker/hearer possesses. Jackendoff seeks to exorcism linguistics of this
representationism.
The
philosophical interest in generative grammar, at least from the time of
Chomsky’s psychologising of linguistics in the mid 1960s, has focused on the
issue of innate knowledge and, correlatively, mental representation - the
putative object of knowledge. This approach has divided philosophers. On the pro
side, generative grammar has been seen as a basis from which traditional
philosophical concerns to do with representation, the mind and knowledge of
meaning may be naturalistically pursued.[1]
On the con side, the ‘Chomskyan revolution’, especially in its eschewal
of performance and social aspects of language and its explicit Cartesianism,
has been seen as philosophically naïve,
beset with deep confusion over the a priori normative and communicative
dimension of language.[2]
Jackendoff, with Alexandrine panache, cuts through this tangle by expunging the
notions of knowledge, information, representation and even
mental from the theoretical
lexicon of the linguist. Of course, a rose by any other name, it will be
thought, would engender the same philosophical controversy. However, Jackendoff
does not merely substitute terms, but removes the underlying representational
connotation. Central to this notational overhaul is the use of ‘f-mind’ in
place of ‘mind’ (and its cognates). The f-mind is understood to be the
high-level structural/functional organisation of the brain. This approach
effects a double dissociation from the philosophical traditions precisely by
removing the object of contention, ‘representation’. There is no naturalisation
program to follow, for there is nothing that is not straightforwardly ‘natural’
to begin with; linguistics does not commit us to entities that suspiciously
straddle the natural and semantic worlds, as it were. Nor is there, a
fortiori, anything to preserve in the face of naturalisation or eliminative
programs. The real issue, for Jackendoff, is whether particular theories of
high-level organisation prove to be explanatorily indispensable, and, if so,
how they might be implemented and integrated into the wider sciences of the
mind/brain. The pressing question, therefore, is whether there is a loss of
explanation if we descend to a more direct study of the brain and eschew
specifically linguistic concepts. Jackendoff argues that, where language is
concerned, abstract descriptions of
phonology, syntax and semantics are indeed necessary to capture the required
generalisations of both linguistic development and mature competence. In this
defense of the integrity of linguistics, the notions of knowledge and
representation are not doing any explanatory work; the work is being
done by the network of concepts and distinctions our theories posit, for this
network belies low-level theorising independently of whether the subject is
taken to know or represent the structure. As goes the mind, so goes
representation, and so goes knowledge.
Syntactic structure, for example, is not represented in or by the
f-mind, it is simply part of it: the structure is internally individuated by
the set of distinctions the syntactic component of the f-mind may realise,
where these differences are reflected in the component’s interfaces with other
cognitive components of, principally, phonology and semantics. Equally, the
linguistic f-mind does not represent anything ‘external’, for there is nothing
out there to represent. Nouns, inflectional heads, empty categories
(phonologically unrealised pronominal-like elements), etc. are not to be found
in the world. Indeed, phonology is not even in the world (acoustics is simply
not phonology), nor are words themselves in that they consist of clusters of
features drawn from the three components. To say, therefore, that a speaker S knows
a language is, if intended theoretically, just to say that S’s f-mind realises
such and such structures that support such and such interfaces between syntax,
phonology and semantics. The details are to be filled in by developing theories
of these three components. If intended non-theoretically, the idiom is fine,
but we should not be led into thinking that there must be some ‘object’
of the knowledge.
Jackendoff does not explore the philosophical response this reconstrual
is likely to attract, although in Part III he considers issues to do with
conceptual analysis and theories of meaning that have been assumed to
presuppose a representational understanding of the mind. Still, in broad terms,
Jackendoff’s stance may be understood as an attempt to elaborate a genuinely
naturalistic framework, one constrained to ‘best’ explain identifiable
phenomena free of a priori or metaphysical stipulations as to what
language or mind or reference must be.
Those
philosophers who have always spurned the insights of the generative program,
the con party, as it were, would perhaps welcome Jackendoff’s approach
as showing that linguistics does not really encroach on epistemological and
representational issues: ‘As we have always said, these issues are normative,
not descriptive or theoretical’. Such a reaction would grievously miss
Jackendoff’s point. Let me quote him: “If one wishes to join the conversation
about the nature of language, one must recognize and acknowledge this
complexity [the interfacing of detailed phonological, syntactic and semantic
structure]… one may not willfully ignore it and still be expected to be allowed
in the game” (p.18). Thus, Jackendoff is not inviting the philosopher to ignore
linguistics because, pace Chomsky, it has nothing to say to him. On the
contrary, with Chomsky,
Jackendoff is admonishing the philosopher (and the psychologist, the
psycholinguist, etc.) to constrain their theories to be flush with the
structure of the linguistic f-mind. For example, the popular philosophical
conception that linguistic understanding consists in some capacity for
propositional communication or a set of complex social conventions, must
be assessed by its ability to answer the most rudimentary of questions. Why do
competent English speakers recognise that himself in Bob expects to
wash himself is co-referential with Bob, while in Bill wonders who Bob
expects to wash himself, the reflexive is co-referential with neither Bill
nor Bob? What convention might govern this? How might one be inducted
into this practice? How did you recognise that the stated relations hold, even
though the sentences were new to you? Such questions arise with every
construction and philosophy has not been forthcoming with answers. The moral
here is not that the study of language should just amount to the investigation
of the cognitive structure behind reflexives, wh-movement, etc., but
that an account of language that does not factor in such structure will be
demonstrably inadequate. Far from the f-conception letting philosophy off the
hook, then, it challenges it to find a proper place for notions of knowledge
and representation in theories of linguistic competence.
What of the pro party of philosophers, those who see generative
grammar as promising to ground notions of representation and linguistic
knowledge? Jackendoff’s clear message is that the promise is empty. As with any
other real phenomenon, the scientific study of language is not constrained by
our intuitive conception of what the phenomenon is. It bears notice that some
well recognise the simple fact that words and grammatical properties are not to
be found in our environment. How, then, might they be represented? It is said
by some that our minds are still representational, for language is an abstract
or Platonic object; psychological questions (f-factors, as it were) arise only
when we turn to the question of how a given brain manages to represent a given
language.[3]
(This understanding is much more prevalent than is explicit talk of Platonism;
the ready appeal to propositions betrays it.) Jackendoff briefly considers this
sort of notional externalism in Part III, but the appropriate answer is to be
found throughout the book. The ‘Platonist’ position only makes sense if a “hard
line” is taken on the competence/performance distinction, i.e., if it is a
matter of principle that the conception of what the speaker/hearer knows is ideal,
independent of factors of implementation and interface with other f-components.
Jackendoff resists this position. One of the key effects of the tripartite
(phonology, syntax, semantics) interface architecture Jackendoff offers in Part
II is that there is no clear separation of competencies - all three effect one
another. If this is so, then the putative Platonic object is very queer indeed.
Are we to imagine that the set of stress patterns and syllabic structures
associable with English are waiting to be realaised? Are the structures of
gesture that comprise the set of possible sign languages similarly awaiting
realisation? Further, Jackendoff marshals much data that suggests that
performance shares the shape of the architecture, i.e., the competence
architecture is actually predictive and explanatory of performance factors -
the difference between competence and performance is only “soft”, a
methodological distinction that may potentially give way. This, suffice it say,
is a bold empirical claim. My present point is only that Platonism is quite
unstable if how we understand and use language is so flush with what
we are supposed to represent. This counter-riposte, though, is somewhat
academic, for it is difficult not to see Platonism as a fifth wheel employed to
provide a notional represented
asked for by the ‘representations’. ‘It is better’, Jackendoff would
say, ‘to have done with both.’ It is certainly difficult to see what possible
explanatory role a Platonic object might play.
Curiously, Jackendoff’s notational overhaul of generative grammar is
somewhat presented as if the anti-representational substance behind the
substitutions is not appreciated by Chomsky. This is quite wrong. Jackendoff
only tangentially mentions
Chomsky’s long-standing use of the ‘I-‘
prefix, which Jackendoff himself employed in previous work, to signal that the
prefixed term (‘language’, ‘concept’, ‘belief’, etc.) is marking an internal
aspect of cognitive structure rather than a representational notion. Indeed,
Chomsky’s general internalism, vigorously defended in recent writings,
is, as far as one can see, equivalent in both detail and import to Jackendoff’s
‘f-mind’ approach. Chomsky, for sure, continues to speak of ‘knowledge’ and
‘representation’, but there is no substance behind these notions that eludes
the ‘I-‘ prefix.
There is much else in Part I. There is a limpid discussion of the
poverty of stimulus considerations, which Jackendoff extends to words. That is,
just as much of syntactic structure must be innately encoded because there is
not the data/stimulus for the child to acquire it, so the child’s acquisition
of a lexicon cannot be explained by the data available to the child. Once set
out, this result is obvious, given Jackendoff’s position that words just are
clusters of features drawn from syntax, phonology and semantics. This threatens
to slam the door shut on the not uncommon philosophical position that concedes
that syntax might be innate, internally structured, but keeps to the notion
that words are learnt by a training regime of ostentation and negative feedback
(e.g., Davidson’s (1997) model of triangulation.) Jackendoff also mounts
a splendid defense of the f-conception against challenges from “cognitive
neuroscience” (read, neural networks). This discussion is commendably
fair-minded. Further, a lovely new analogy is the comparison of universal
grammar (UG) with a universal “tool-kit”; that is, the resources of UG may be selectively
employed to effect different mappings between syntax and the other f-components
to produce distinct languages on the ‘surface’. This analogy should at last
sink the mistaken idea that UG is a descriptive notion that picks out a set of
features common to all languages. Although the notion of a tool-kit might
appear not to sit well with the principles and parameters UG model
(P&P) of mainstream generative grammar, still less the earlier metric based selection model of the standard
theory (Chomsky, 1965), the core anti-descriptive message is shared. After
all, P&P does not entail that there will be descriptive universals.[4]
Nor is UG guided by the search for universals; Chomsky has long argued that
results are forthcoming from the study of one language. Jackendoff’s discussion
would have benefited from this kind of comparison. One point of genuine discord
is that, as noted above, Jackendoff does view Chomsky as “unfortunately”
adopting a “hard line” on the competence/performance distinction. This leads us
to Part II.
Part
II is given over to a presentation of Jackendoff’s tripartite parallel
interface model of the architecture of the linguistic f-mind. The basic idea is
quite simple. The three parts of the model are phonology, syntax and semantics.
These components may be looked upon as independent generative systems, i.e.,
they possess their own primitive cognitive items and formation rules; the
application of the latter to the former produces cognitive structures that
serve to realise the different aspects of our linguistic competence. The model
is parallel in that each of the components is linked to, or interfaced with,
the other two. There is not, however, a chaotic free for all. The interfaces
are constituted by ‘interface rules’ that may be viewed as conditions on what
one component can see of another. For example, assume that the syntax
component generates empty categories to serve, inter alia, as understood
subjects of infinitives. (i) may serve as a rough example:
(i) The boat was sunk (by s) PRO to
collect the insurance.
‘PRO’ serves, pronominally, as the understood
subject who collects the insurance; after all, the boat cannot collect
insurance. Further, whoever collects the insurance is who sank the boat, but no
such subject is given; thus, the sentence also requires an agent of the sinking
to bind PRO. This all quite complicated, and is demanded by the semantics of
the sentence, but none of it makes it to the surface, as it were. In short,
these items must be visible to the semantics component, but, they must
not be visible to phonology. For example, (ii) is gibberish:
(ii) The boat was sunk by Bob he to collect the
insurance.
Otherwise put, what semantics demands is
distinct from what phonology demands from syntax. The difference, though, is
not exclusive. The syntax and semantic components may be able to see, say,
properties of stress that effect interpretation of modifiers (e.g., ‘French
TEACHER’ - a teacher of French - and ‘FRENCH teacher’ - a teacher who is
French), but they will not see features of, say, voiced or aspirant
as realised by a particular vowel sound. The fundamental idea, then, is that
the cognitive structure that underlies a given sentence may be viewed as a
complex set of relations between products of the three components.[5]
Jackendoff
defends his model on three fronts. He suggests how it may cater for the extant
data; how it may explain data which has traditionally been problematic
(especially constructional idioms: e.g., gave X what for as opposed to kick
the bucket); and how it may productively bear on questions of performance
and parsing, a point raised above. Much of this discussion recapitulates
Jackendoff’s (1997) The Architecture of the Language Faculty, and may be read as an introduction to it.
Jackendoff’s position is genuinely novel and raises a host of problems for
recent theories of generative grammar, especially as regards the lexicon and
idioms. In one respect, however, the focus of Jackendoff’s fire is unfairly
directed at the linguist when it could with equal potency be aimed at the
philosopher.
The
chief motivation behind the tripartite model is to challenge what Jackendoff
dubs syntacocentrism, the thesis that all generativity in language is
due to syntax, with phonology and semantics merely being interpreting
mechanisms that work on the infinite products of syntax. This conception has
certainly dominated generative linguistics up to late government and binding.
Curiously, though, the syntacocentric epithet better describes the dominant
philosophical conception of a compositional level of logical form than it does
generative grammar of the past decade. The recent incarnations of the
generative tradition certainly retain the notion of a unique level of syntactic
structure that interfaces with semantics. This level is dubbed LF. But to think
that there is a finished LF product is not, eo ipso, to think that semantics is
not independently generative. Under the minimalist construal of LF
(e.g., Chomsky, 1995, and Hornstein, 1995), semantic principles cannot license
syntactic items at all. That is, LF is not the syntactic level that
determines formal features of meaning,
it is just the level that interfaces with semantics, where the conditions on a
syntactic structure meeting the interface are internal to the features of the
lexical items that make up the structure, not what thought, if any, might be
expressible by it. This is part of what Chomsky means when he says that LF
might code for “gibberish”: semantics has to take care of itself, which is
precisely what Jackendoff urges. What minimalism insists on is that there is a single
interface between syntax and semantics, but it does not say that the two sides
may not be independently generative. (This point is obscured by the common
assumption that the interpreting semantics is truth conditional; yet there is
nothing in the syntax that so much as suggests that this must be so.) On the
other hand, the philosophical conception of logical form amounts to the idea
that, in some sense or other, there is a specification available of the formal
features of lexical and phrasal meaning that, with the items under
interpretation, compositionally determines (generates) sentential meaning or
truth conditions. This bald idea, of course, is independent of any particular
view of syntax (e.g., for Quine and Davidson, logical form is relative to a
choice of the logic of the metalanguage), yet on the assumption of the
f-conception, the logical form thesis would simply be syntacocentrism, i.e., it
would be a level of formal features that determines all generativity and which,
under interpretation produces full meanings, as it were. It is this sort of
idea that Jackendoff seeks to refute by his tripartite model. The suggestion,
then, is that Jackendoff runs together logical form with LF; Jackendoff’s
critique is not wasted, however. I should say that most philosophers and not a
few linguists think of LF as a ‘psychologically real’ logical form, i.e., LF is
the object of non-generative semantic interpretation. This thought is
problematised by both minimalist methodology and Jackendoff’s model. The problems Jackendoff
presents for syntacocentrism, therefore, are at least as pressing for
philosophy as they are for generative linguistics. There is a further problem
with the philosopher’s logical form: the notion that logical form, via a truth
conditional semantics, presents the structure of reality. LF has no such
ambitious role. Moreover, as should be evident from Part I, Jackendoff rejects
any such idea. This stance is buttressed in Part III.
Part III is concerned with issues in semantics
and conceptual/lexical analysis. Its two principal burdens are to remove all
traces of intentionality or representationism from the theory of
semantics/thought and to defend and articulate a decompositional notion of
lexical meaning. As to the first desideratum, the discussion will perhaps appear naïve to most
philosophers not otherwise sympathetic. Jackendoff glosses the
referential/truth idioms with an as the subject conceives the world
rider, an approach easily lampooned as more hy-phen-a-ted-anti-realism.
Jackendoff, however, is not proposing any metaphysical thesis, still less an
anti-realist one. As far as one can tell, his metaphysics is respectably
scientifically realist. His claim, rather, is that thought and meaning do not
constitutively answer to the way the world is anyway; a fortiori,
one cannot read the way the world is from the conceptual structure underlying
sentence meaning, only the way the world is
for us with our
particular f-minds. This is a radical break from the long tradition in
philosophy - from Frege and Russell and (early) Wittgenstein to Quine and
Davidson - that does its metaphysics via its semantics. The break, though,
enables us to sanction the full range of ‘objects’ and properties our thought
apparently tells us there are without concomitantly committing ourselves to
semantics’ ability to answer questions about the structure of reality. As far
as the scientific study of thought is concerned, this ontology is a projection
of the f-mind, it is not an external parameter which constrains the
investigation of the f-mind. Spun the other way: if we want to know what
reality is like, we have to do science, not semantics. So, for example,
semantics cannot tell us whether there are events or not (whatever precisely
that means), it can only say that our thought employs the category of events,
independent of whether or not events exist in some other respect. In this
light, ‘concrete’ events and objects are
on a par with fictional and abstract objects, directions, senses of humour,
purposes, etc.[6] Again, it is not an apt philosophical
response to say that Jackendoff is just doing psychology. Indeed he is,
yet for those who would talk about aboutness there is an obligation to show how the notion is essential
to the explanation of linguistic competence; it is not enough to propound or
reject naturalisation projects. This is Jackendoff’s challenge. It is, however,
perhaps in the nature of the matter that
no consensus will be reachable here in the foreseeable future. Greater
immediate advance may be expected from Jackendoff’s discussion of lexical
meaning.
Jackendoff argues for a decompositional theory of lexical/conceptual
meaning. The basic idea is that our
range of concepts are generative in much the same way as our sentential
competence is: the range is determined by the combinatorial options defined
over basic innate features or functions; the job of lexical semantics is to
discover our words’ decomposition into such features. Jackendoff’s discussion
borrows from Pustejovsky’s (1995) work
and may be read, in part, as an introduction to it. Such a position is
controversial and has been strenuously attacked by Fodor and others.[7]
Jackendoff’s defense should put the debate onto a different footing. In the first place, Jackendoff dismisses some
standard queries that are taken to be devastating: What is the full set of
basic features? How would one determine what is and is not a member of the set?
How would one tell when a decomposition is complete? Jackendoff’s response is
just to say that these are not a priori questions, they are empirical
ones to be answered by the confirmed theories at which we arrive. Just as
physicists do not, as chemists before them did not, throw out basic elements
because fundamental problems attach to the notion, so the semanticist should
not throw out basic features because of outstanding problems.
A
more serious problem, which Fodor has long stressed, is that there appear to be
no successful cases of decomposition. Jackendoff’s response is to say that
Fodor is quite right given his conception of decomposition as definition,
i.e., an analytical equivalence between
the target concept/word and a phrase or sentence. Note that on this
understanding, the above problems are pressing; for any word or phrase, surely
we can ask if it enters into the definientia of other words or phrases. But, Jackendoff asks, why should we think
that the salient question is whether or not a language non-trivially translates
itself? The idea that it may does indeed appear to be false, yet it still might
be that, at the level of the f-mind, lexical items and concepts decompose into
basic features, features which have no clear phrasal individuation. This is
just what Jackendoff, following Pustejovsky, proposes (the features may be
looked upon as a system of categorical differentiation based on notions of
constitution, origin, form, purpose, etc., with words realising different
permutations of the characteristics falling under each category.) Indeed,
Jackendoff suggests that some concepts may be linked to perceptual models or
paradigms of objects or actions that have
no phrasal correlate in principle. Jackendoff also explains in detail how such
clusters of features compose into lager units to form the underlying structures
of meaningful phrases and sentences. This position is a serious empirical
hypothesis that offers an explanation of a range of semantic phenomenon; e.g.,
how prepositions pattern to indicate spatial, directional and possession
relations. These explanations are not dented by refutations of definitions, and
the proposed non-decompositional alternatives appear unable to explain the data
the decompositional theory explains.
There is much else in the book not touched on here; the brief of the
foregoing is only to highlight those aspects that should be of greatest
interest to philosophers. In broadest terms, though, the chief virtue of
Jackendoff’s splendid volume is its exemplifying the interdisciplinary effort
that is necessary if we are to gain a deeper understanding of linguistic cognition.
Notes
[1] See, e.g., Katz (1966), Harman (1973), and Moravcsik (1975). The contemporary incarnation of this tradition is illustrated by Larson and Ludlow (1993), Larson and Segal (1995), Laurence (1996), and many others.
[2] See, e.g., Searle (1974), Bennett (1976), Dummett (1989), Wright (1989), and, by implication, many others.
[3] See, e.g., Katz (1981), Higginbotham
(1989, 2001) and (perhaps) Soames (1984).
[4] The P&P model of UG views the set of possible languages as, in effect, the values of the set of possible permutations on a finite set of innate parameters. Transparently, no subset of parameter settings will be visible in every language.
[5] Jackendoff also
tentatively suggests that the tripartite model may answer Chomsky’s concerns
over the evolution of language: it is easier to understand the co-evolution of
three components than the evolution of one ‘perfect’ component.
[6] See Ludlow (1999) for a strenuous effort to keep to a ‘metaphysics via semantics’ methodology while also commending an internalist ‘Chomskyan’ position on language. The result, however, is a Kantian empirical (constructionist) realism which is perfectly in sympathy with the view that thoughts do not represent the way the world is anyhow.
[7] See Fodor (1998), and Fodor and Lepore (1998).
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