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Necessity Lost
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Necessity Lost
Modality and Logic in Early Analytic
Philosophy
Volume I
Sanford Shieh
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3
Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP,
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For Mihaela
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Contents
Preface xiii
Abbreviations xxi
Introduction 1
Necessity Lost: Frege 2
Necessity Lost: Russell 6
Looking Ahead: Necessity Regained 10
Closing Remarks 12
Part I. Frege
1. The Modalities of Judgment 17
1.1 Frege against Traditional Logic 18
1.1.1 A Brief Sketch of Traditional Logic 18
1.1.2 Kant on Judgment and Logic 20
1.1.3 Problems of Traditional Logic 27
1.1.4 The Fregean Solution 29
1.2 Frege’s Early Conception of Judgment 33
1.3 Frege against Kant in Begriffsschrift 39
1.4 Modality in Frege’s Begriffsschrift 49
2. Amodalism 57
2.1 Two Interpretations of Frege on Modality 58
2.2 Truth is Absolute 61
2.2.1 Against Hilbert and Korselt 62
2.2.2 Thoughts are not Temporal or Spatial 66
2.3 Amodalism 68
2.4 Early Truth Absolutism and Amodalism 71
2.5 Inadequate Grounds for Amodalism 73
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viii contents
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contents ix
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x contents
6.4.3
The Main Problem of Russell’s Account of the
Logical Calculus 266
6.5 Concluding Summary 267
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contents xi
Postscript 404
Bibliography 409
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Preface
I have found that philosophy often calls on me to solve problems, but, almost
equally often, also to figure out why what I’m trying to solve are problems and
why what I’m doing are attempts at solutions. No doubt others find themselves
facing different demands, but, for me these two aspects of philosophizing have
always been inescapable, indeed, not altogether separable.
This book, ultimately, comes from the second of these demands.
Many of the problems and strategies of solution of recent philosophy in the
analytic tradition live in a background constituted of the concepts of necessity,
possibility, and contingency, often in the striking guise of Leibniz’s possible worlds.
My interest is to figure out how modal notions forms such a crucial framework
for posing and answering philosophical questions. I approach this question by
examining the philosophical history of modality in analytic philosophy.
This book is the first result of this examination.
Philosophical history is, of course, philosophy first and history second. The
secondness of history in philosophical history does not, however, mean that it’s
of secondary importance, especially for my purposes.
It is no secret that anachronism is a danger when one tries to understand texts
from other philosophical traditions. It is equally a danger in reading texts that
one thinks of as belonging to an earlier period of a philosophical tradition that
one would like to call one’s own. This danger need not be fatal. Anachronism
could be philosophically fruitful; many would point to P. F. Strawson’s The
Bounds of Sense as a successful philosophical history in spite of the justice it fails
to do to the Critique of Pure Reason.
However, anachronism in reading Gottlob Frege, Bertrand Russell, G. E.
Moore, C. I. Lewis, or Ludwig Wittgenstein sometimes leads to less inspiring
results: projecting onto them the philosophical concerns we have or turning
them into the heroes and villains of a tale whose happy outcome is the way we
do philosophy now, if not the philosophical positions we hold now. There is,
of course, something to be said for making the writings of these philosophers
simpler for us, now, to understand. One may also take such just-so stories of
how contemporary philosophizing came to be as arguments for contemporary
methods and positions, so that the interest of these stories lies, not in the accuracy
of their historical representations, but in the cogency of the arguments that they
embody.
It’s harder to see how one could really learn something from our philosophical
predecessors by such procedures.
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xiv preface
Perhaps, as it has been urged, we can never escape ourselves when we attempt
to understand earlier philosophy. But that doesn’t preclude making the attempt to
become conscious of how our assumptions may stand in the way of philosophical
understanding. It is through such an attempt that we can come to learn something,
from our fore-bearers, and about ourselves. The philosophical interest and
fruitfulness that might result are what I hope for, for this book.
In one way, the beginnings of this project really go back to a Ph.D. dissertation
that I did not write, with a supervisor I did not have.
Burton Dreben was to be that supervisor. I had been interested in Frege ever
since I read Foundations of Arithmetic in a tutorial with Jonathan Barnes. However,
the Frege I encountered in that tutorial seemed quite different from the one Burt
urged on me in our long but somehow never conclusive conversations. Burt’s
Frege, as elaborated in Warren Goldfarb’s classes on early analytic philosophy
and the writings of Tom Ricketts and Joan Weiner, was the one inhabiting
Emerson Hall. Warren, my actual Doktorvater, together with Tom, suggested
that I think through the differences between the picture of Frege I found around
me and the massive landmark interpretation of Frege propounded by Sir Michael
Dummett. Ultimately, though, that plan for a dissertation came to naught.
One reason was that I had come to keep company with Riki Heck and Jason
Stanley. I found them, and later, Ian Proops and Jamie Tappenden, expressing
many of the reservations I had about Burt’s Frege. However, the effect of
thinking more about these reservations was that it became harder and harder
for me to pinpoint what exactly are the disagreements between the two styles
of understanding Frege. Both left me dissatisfied in one way or the other, but I
didn’t have much to say beyond these dis-satisfactions.
Another reason was that the time I had spent with Dummett’s writings on
Frege led me to think about Dummett’s anti-realism and critique of classical
logic. This brought the problem-solving side of my philosophical sensibilities
to the fore, and I ended up devising ways of defending Sir Michael’s anti-realism
and, at the same time, of turning aside the critique of classical logic he used it
for.
I did not come back to Frege for over a decade, quite some time after the
project of which this book is the first issue truly began. There were two proximate
causes. One was Peter Momtchiloff’s asking me if I would be interested in writing
something on the role of modality in analytic philosophy. I am sure he did not
expect that nothing would come of that request for over ten years. I thank him
for his patience over all this time and hope to make it up to him by giving him
Volume II in short order. The other cause was Mike Beaney’s request for a
contribution to his magisterial Handbook of the History of Analytic Philosophy. In
the course and then the aftermath of writing that essay, I came gradually to
see that, to do justice to the topic, much more was required than the book I
had outlined to Peter. Some of what was required is the discussion of Frege in
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preface xv
this book, and this material, I venture to say, might have formed part of that
dissertation I did not write.
As I worked on this book, I was fortunate to have had the help, encouragement,
and philosophical companionship of many friends, colleagues, and teachers.
A handful of these made a decisive difference in the writing of this book.
I have been philosophizing with Juliet Floyd ever since we shared an office.
We have long talked about the great thinkers at the inception of the analytic
tradition—Frege, Russell, Wittgenstein, Harry Sheffer, and C. I. Lewis, and
about the generation after them—Carnap and Quine. Our collaboration on
Future Pasts shaped my conception of the history of analytic philosophy and
the fruitful philosophical prosecution of it. But, more recently, she has been a
tremendous influence on my thinking about the role of modality in early analytic
philosophy; above all else, she was willing to confirm my sense of how to read
Frege and Russell on modality, and to give me the courage to follow that sense
to interpretations that seemed outlandish. She also gave me over and over,
opportunities to talk about my views at the Boston Early Analytic Philosophy
Workshop which she organized.
Robert May and I have been talking about Frege for almost as long as I have
been working on this book. He suggested to me, shortly after we met, that for
my project I should consider Frege’s criticisms of Hilbert. This was das erlösende
Wort, pointing the way to my realizing just how deep in Frege’s philosophy lie
the wellsprings of his opposition to modality. Since then I have regularly stolen
Robert’s ideas about Frege; in particular, I got from him the idea of judgment
as factive, that is, as implying truth, which plays a central role in Part I of this
book. I hope that it will be worth Robert’s while repaying the favor.
I met Gary Ebbs when he was junior faculty at Harvard, and we have been
discussing our common preoccupations—anti-realism, early analytic philosophy,
and the dialogue between Quine and Carnap—ever since. I learn something
from every one of our conversations; but, in the case of this book, there were
several pivotal discussions. One was on Russell’s material implication, where his
questions about how the idea made any sense prompted me to a much better
understanding of Russell’s conception of logic. Another discussion sharpened
my view of Russell’s rejection of British absolute idealism. Two others were on
Frege: Gary got me to articulate much more fully why Frege resisted senses
that presented referents relative to contextual factors, and to clarify for myself
what of the conception of judgment I discern in Frege is truly essential.
Ian Proops has been a great friend since graduate school. I have learned a
tremendous amount from his writings on Russell and on the Tractatus, especially
where I disagree. More recently, he has given me expert advice on Kant. Ian
is never doctrinaire in conversation, and his thorough command of the texts
inevitably keeps me on the straight and narrow. If we’ve not had the chance to
talk about Russell over the years, this book would certainly be the poorer.
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xvi preface
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preface xvii
I’m also grateful for his persistence in finding my conception of early analytic
philosophy intelligible and useful.
I wish to recall two exemplary philosophers who are no longer with us.
Sir Michael Dummett was extremely kind in taking the time to discuss with
me my ideas about what his anti-realism really is. I doubt he was ever fully
convinced, but perhaps that is as much a reflection of his philosophical integrity
as it is of my philosophical shortcomings. No doubt it has always been easier to
place a label on some position one wishes, for some reason, to reject, than it is to
do the work of understanding it. The lesson that I eventually came to learn from
my discussions with Sir Michael is that this has been the fate of his ever-evolving
conceptions of anti-realism. Anti-realism has been stuffed into a pigeonhole
entitled “verificationism,” so that the subtlety of thinking and the courage to
face philosophical difficulties that one would encounter in Sir Michael’s writings
can be that much more easily avoided.
It was a privilege to have gotten to know Ruth Marcus and to have spent time
with her thinking about her work and mine over the course of some three years.
She was, as anyone who knew her or knows her writings would expect, unstinting
in her criticism of what she found wanting. But she was equally unstinting in
her openness to the possibility of perspectives other than her own, so long as
they are, as she puts it, serious about philosophy.
I have also benefited from the support of many institutions.
First among these to which I wish to express my gratitude is the Society for the
Study of the History of Analytical Philosophy. Sandra Lapointe, its founder and
president, has created a truly vibrant intellectual community. The regular annual
conferences and sessions at the American Philosophical Association meetings
have made it possible for all those interested in the philosophical history of the
analytic tradition to present their ideas and receive helpful feedback. I would
like also to thank the host institutions of the annual conferences I attended, and
the philosophers there who provided support: Joan Weiner, Mark Kaplan, and
Kirk Ludwig, in addition to Gary, at Indiana University, Mathieu Marion at
Université de Quebec à Montréal, and Richard Zach at the University of Calgary.
The School of Sociology and Philosophy at Beijing Normal University, under
the leadership of Professor Jiang Yi, has organized several conferences and
workshops that have brought analytic philosophy and its history much more to
the attention of Chinese scholars. Two especially fruitful ones that I attended
were the Beijing International Conference on Wittgenstein and Contemporary
Philosophy, and the workshop on the translation of Mike Beaney’s Handbook
into Chinese. I would also like to thank Professor Jiang for inviting me to give
a course of lectures on Wittgenstein’s Tractatus in 2016.
I thank the organizers of two conferences for affording me the occasion to
present my views of on Russell’s conception of logic and C. I. Lewis’s criticism
of it. These are Jean-Philippe, Steeves Demazeux, Quentin Kammer, Timur
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xviii preface
Uçan, and Henri Wagner for the Colloquium “La relativisation de l’a priori,”
at Université Bordeaux Montaigne, and Eric Loomis, Ted Poston, and Richard
Fumerton for the Orange Beach Epistemology Workshop. In addition, I thank
the European Society for Analytic Philosophy for organizing its 2017 Congress
of Analytic Philosophy, at which I participated in an especially stimulating panel
with Robert May and Mark Textor.
I’m grateful to the National Endowment for the Humanities for awarding me a
Fellowship Grant, #FB-58111-15, that made possible a year of concentrated work
on this book.
I thank my colleagues, past and present, at Wesleyan University for the
fine intellectual setting they’ve created. I have had interesting philosophical
discussions with Lori Gruen, Steve Angle, Joe Rouse, Steve Horst, and Kent
Bendall. I’m especially grateful to Lori for her steadfast encouragement of my
work. Wesleyan University itself has also played a continuing role in supporting
my research. In particular, I wish to single out two academic deans, Joyce
Jacobsen and Andy Curran, for their timely help.
In preparing this book for publication, I used open-source software written by
volunteers who generously committed their time and expertise without remu-
neration. I’m, in the first instance, grateful to Riki Heck, for writing the original
OUP Royal LATEX document class, and for introducing me to the program LYX,
of whose development team he is a member, and using which I wrote and typeset
this book. I also thank Bennett Helm for making helpful changes to the OUP
Royal class that made my own customizations that much easier to carry out.
In addition, I thank Ivan Valbusa, the author of the biblatex-philosophy LATEX
package, and Alex Ball, the author of the biblatex-oxref package, for helping me
with customizing their code. Finally, I’m grateful to members of the tex.stack-
exchange.org community who patiently answered my seemingly endless series of
questions.
I’m sad that neither my parents nor my parents-in-law lived to hold a copy of
this book in their hands. It is small consolation, but consolation nevertheless, to
feel that they had been happy to know how much I appreciated their unflagging
support throughout the years.
Finally, and most importantly, I could not have finished this book without
my wife, Mihaela Fistioc. She has been vastly patient with my singular lack of
progress over the years, and somehow saw her way to continue encouraging me
to keep going. Although she claims to know little about the parts of philosophy
to which much of this book belongs, the acuity of her questions prompted me to
rethink and rewrite central arguments throughout the book. On Kant, about
which she knows much more than I ever will, her questions and suggestions put
me in possession of the key to my account of Frege’s reaction to the table of
judgment. Her stern editorial advice has significantly improved the readability
of this work, although, it is to be feared, not nearly enough to satisfy her high
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preface xix
standards. But, important though these may be, they are, in the end, secondary.
The warmth of her love, and the humor and the fun with which she has invested
our life, are what make it at all worthwhile.
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Abbreviations
The following abbreviations are for frequently cited primary sources. Full details
of these works are in the Bibliography.
In the following list, I provide English titles for Frege’s works, with the excep-
tion of German collections of his writings and correspondence.
Writings of Frege
BLC “Boole’s Logical Calculus and the Concept-Script,” 1880
BLI Basic Laws of Arithmetic, Vol. I, 1893
BLII Basic Laws of Arithmetic, Vol. II, 1903
BS Begriffsschrift, a Formula Language of Pure Thought modelled on that of
Arithmetic, 1879
CP Collected Papers on Mathematics, Logic, and Philosophy, 1984
CSR “Comments on Sense and Reference,” 1892–5
CT “Compound Thoughts,” 1923–6
FA The Foundations of Arithmetic: A Logico-Mathematical Enquiry into the
Concept of Number, 1884
FGI “On the Foundations of Geometry: First Series,” 1903
FGII “On the Foundations of Geometry: Second Series,” 1906
IL “Introduction to Logic,” 1906
L1 “Logic,” 1879–91
L2 “Logic,” 1897
LM “Logic in Mathematics,” 1914
N “Negation,” 1918–19
NS Nachgelassene Schriften, 1969
PCN “On Mr. Peano’s Conceptual Notation and My Own,” 1897
PMC Philosophical and Mathematical Correspondence, 1980
PW Posthumous Writings, 1979
SK “Sources of Knowledge of Mathematics and the Mathematical Natural
Sciences,” 1924–5
SR “On Sense and Reference,” 1892
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xxii abbreviations
T “Thought,” 1918–19
WB Wissenschaftlicher Briefwechsel, 1969
Writings of Moore
Nec “Necessity,” 1900
NJ “The Nature of Judgment,” 1899
PE Principia Ethica, 1903
RevFG “Critical Notice of Russell, An Essay on the Foundations of Geometry,”
1899
TF “Truth and Falsity,” 1901
Writings of Russell
AEE “Les axiomes propres a Euclide: Sont-ils empiriques?” 1898
AMR “An Analysis of Mathematical Reasoning,” 1898
CR “The Classification of Relations,” 1899
FG An Essay on the Foundations of Geometry, 1897
FIAM “The Fundamental Ideas and Axioms of Mathematics,” 1899
IMP Introduction to Mathematical Philosophy, 1919
IO “L’idée d’ordre et la position absolue dans l’espace et le temps,” 1901
IPST “Is Position in Time and Space Absolute or Relative?” 1901
MTCA1 “Meinong’s Theory of Complexes and Assumptions (I),” 1904
MTCA3 “Meinong’s Theory of Complexes and Assumptions (III),” 1904
NP “Necessity and Possibility,” 1905
NT1 “The Nature of Truth,” 1905
NT2 “The Nature of Truth,” 1906
NT3 “On the Nature of Truth,” 1906
NTF “On the Nature of Truth and Falsehood,” 1910
OKEW Our Knowledge of the External World, as a Field for Scientific Method in
Philosophy, 1914
PLA3 “The Philosophy of Logical Atomism: Lectures V & VI,” 1919
PLA4 “The Philosophy of Logical Atomism: Lectures VII & VIII,” 1919
PM Principia Mathematica, 1910
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abbreviations xxiii
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xxiv abbreviations
for the German text in footnotes. Frege’s unpublished writings and correspon-
dence are cited in the text with the pagination of, respectively, Posthumous Writings
(PW ) and Philosophical and Mathematical Correspondence (PMC ); the German text
in footnotes are cited with the pagination of, respectively, Nachgelassene Schriften
(NS ) and Briefwechsel (WB).
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Introduction
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2 introduction
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4 introduction
the judgment that Saturn is a planet is to recognize that the object Saturn does
indeed fall under the concept of being a planet. Judgment is primarily knowing
what is the case, and truth is involved in judgment only secondarily: recognizing
the truth of a thought supervenes on recognizing the obtaining of what that
thought represents. By recognizing that Saturn falls under the concept of being
a planet, one thereby also recognizes the truth of the thought that Saturn is a
planet; alternatively, recognizing that this thought has the property of truth is
at bottom just recognizing that Saturn falls under the concept of being a planet.
Thus, truth is not a fundamental property of thoughts, but rather that property
of thoughts which one recognizes in virtue of recognizing the obtaining of what
thoughts represent. Finally, one of the fundamental functions of a thought is
to enable the acquisition of knowledge, which is to say, judgment. This is the
meaning of Frege’s claim that judgment is taking a step from a thought to a
truth-value: making a judgment is going beyond a mere representation of what
is the case to recognizing that what is represented actually obtains.
This conception is incompatible with the view that truth and falsity are relative
to time, space, or circumstance. If truth and falsity were relative, then a thought
would not be determined as true or false except with respect to a time, a
place, or a circumstance. From Frege’s perspective, what this purported thought
represents, by itself, without a time, place or circumstance, is not something that
one can recognize to obtain, or recognize not to obtain. Hence this purported
thought fails to provide what is required for judgment; it fails to fulfill the primary
function of thoughts and so is, at best, a defective thought, if it is a thought at all.
It is an apparent thought. The truth and falsity of genuine thoughts, in contrast,
are absolute.
In Chapter 4, I indicate how Frege explains away certain intuitions that seem to
support the relativity of truth. Intuitively it seems that a sentence like ‘France is a
monarchy’ is false in 2018 but true in 1788. Frege’s opponent would explain this
intuition by holding that this sentence expresses a thought that is false in 2018
and true in 1788. The opponent’s claim, then, is that only given a time is this
supposed thought true or false. Thus, only given a time is there such a thing as
recognizing what is represented as obtaining, or as not obtaining. From Frege’s
perspective, the only way to make sense of this idea is to take what is represented
to be something about 1788. The sentence ‘France is a monarchy’ is true in 1788,
not because it expresses a thought that is true relative to this time, but rather
because it expresses a thought about this time, and that thought is absolutely
true. An analogous account provides a Fregean explanation of sentences that
appear to be true or false relative to alternative circumstances. For Frege, the
reality underlying the purported relativization of truth to time and circumstance
is the embedding of time and circumstance in thought. On the basis of these
accounts, which explain away the appearance of truth-relativization, I show how
Frege would explain sentences that appear to ascribe necessity or possibility to
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thoughts. The illusion that such sentences describe modal properties is dispelled
using the logical notions of generalization and conditionalization.
What Frege is committed to rejecting is clearly only one conception of modal-
ity. What of other conceptions? What, for example, of historically important
accounts of necessity as analyticity or as apriority? In Chapter 4, I show that
neither analyticity nor apriority is philosophically fundamental for Frege. In The
Foundations of Arithmetic (1884), Frege explicitly formulates his own versions of
Kant’s analytic/synthetic and a priori/a posteriori distinctions, explaining them
in logical terms. Thus, analyses of modality as analyticity or as apriority are
also at bottom explanations of modality in terms of logical notions. Incidentally,
Frege’s account of the Kantian distinctions allows not only for synthetic a priori
truths, but also for necessary a posteriori and contingent a priori truths.
Now, there are still other analyses of modality, not in terms of truth in al-
ternative circumstances, or analyticity, or apriority. There is, indeed, also the
view that necessity and possibility are primitive, unanalyzable concepts. Frege’s
writings give us no basis for deciding whether he would have accepted or rejected
these conceptions of modality. However, the idea that modality is primitive takes
center stage in Volume II: neither Lewis nor Wittgenstein reject the absoluteness
of truth, but take primitive notions of possibility and necessity to lie at the
foundations of logic.
In Chapter 5, I discuss what logic is for Frege. Apart from displaying the non-
modal nature of Frege’s conception of logic, this account prepares the ground
for understanding Wittgenstein’s criticisms of Frege, to be presented in Volume
II. For Frege, logic consists of standards of correctness governing all reasoning,
and is a system of truths, some of which are primitive and the remainder
of which are justified on the basis of the primitive truths. Frege conceives
of logic as determining the correctness of the justification of judgments by
inference from other judgments. In order to avoid an infinite regress, inferential
justification must rest on judgments that are not themselves inferentially justified.
These endpoints of justification divide into three kinds of judgments: those
justified by sense-perception, those justified by pure intuition of space, and those
justified by what Frege calls “the logical source of knowledge.”7 This last kind of
judgments are the primitive truths of logic. Frege suggests that primitive logical
truths are non-inferentially justified in that, in some sense, they provide their
own justifications—they are self-justifying. The central questions about Frege’s
conception of logic are: what is it for a thought to be self-justifying, and how do
we know which thoughts are self-justifying? On my reading, Frege entertains
the view that a thought is self-justifying just in case it is true in virtue of its
logical structure. However, he also has reasons for holding that there are no
non-circular arguments for demonstrating that a thought is self-justifying. Thus,
7
Frege’s phrase is “logischen . . . Erkenntnisquelle,” and it occurs in a letter to Hilbert written
in 1899 (WB: 63).
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6 introduction
there are no justifications by inference for the claim that a thought is a primitive
law of logic. So, if we know that some thought is a primitive logical truth, the
source of this knowledge is not inference, but something like sense-perception or
pure intuition of space.
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another originally undivided experience, just a slice cut from one cake cannot
be identical to a slice cut from another cake. So a concept abstracted from
one experience cannot apply to any aspect of reality that appears in the other
experience. It follows that Bradley has no coherent account of the supposed
concepts that he claims to be involved in judgment. Following this criticism,
Moore formulates an alternative theory of judgment according to which the object
of a judgment is not abstracted from immediate experience, but an entity—called
a proposition—composed of mind-independent concepts that the judgment is
about.
On the basis of this conception of proposition, Moore then criticizes Kant’s
theory of necessity. Moore takes Kant to hold that necessity applies only to
strictly universal and non-empirical judgments. Against this Moore argues that
all judgments, even particular empirical ones such as that expressed by the
sentence ‘something red exists now’, are necessarily true if they are true at
all. This argument has received little attention. I show that it begins with an
argument for the absoluteness of the truth of propositions. The premises of
this sub-argument are drawn from the Moore–Russell theory of propositions,
and include in particular the claim that facts are true propositions. From the
absoluteness of the truth of propositions Moore then infers that if any judgment
whatsoever is true, then it is necessarily true.
Russell understands the conclusion of Moore’s argument somewhat differently
from the way Moore does. As Russell sees it, if every true proposition is
necessarily true, then necessity marks no distinction among true propositions.
The same holds for possibility. Hence there is no such thing as necessary truth
or possible truth, distinct from truth tout court. As Russell puts it in The Principles
of Mathematics (1903),
there seems to be no true proposition of which there is any sense in saying that it
might have been false. . . . What is true, is true; what is false, is false; and concerning
fundamentals, there is nothing more to be said. (PoM : §430, 454)
So, at the beginning of his post-Idealist philosophy, Russell, just like Frege,
rejects modality because of the absoluteness of truth, and holds truth to be
absolute on the basis of a central philosophical commitment. While for Frege
the absoluteness of truth is founded on his conceptions of judgment, truth, and
thought, for Russell it rests on the theory of propositions central to his and
Moore’s rejection of idealism.
Russell and Moore’s rejection of idealism is not based solely on Moore’s
criticisms of Bradley’s theory of judgment. Another basis is Russell’s argument
against what he takes to be Bradley’s theory of relations. A standard view is that
there is nothing more to Russell and Moore’s rejection of idealism than these
arguments. In particular, it is generally thought that neither Russell nor Moore
made any effort to read Bradley charitably, to try to see how Bradley might
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8 introduction
have reasons which at least seem cogent for holding his theories of judgment
and relations. But in fact, as I argue in Chapter 8, Russell offers a diagnosis
of Bradley’s arguments as tacitly relying on a modal principle of sufficient
reason: if, although a situation actually obtains, it is possible for that situation
not to have obtained, then there must be a reason why it does actually obtain.
However, if one rejects, as Russell does, any distinction between what might be
the case and what actually is the case, then Bradley’s modal principle of sufficient
reason collapses, and with it Bradley’s justification for idealism. So Russell’s
opposition to modality doesn’t merely follow from his rejection of idealism, but
also completes his rejection of idealism.
In Chapter 9, I discuss Russell’s conception of logic. For Russell, the axioms
of logic are rules of inference involving the relation of implication. This is a
carryover from Russell’s idealist period, in which he took mathematical axioms
to be rules of inference based on implications. The main difference from the
idealist view is that implication is no longer a relation of necessary connection.
With the banishment of modality, Russell replaces necessary connection with
generality: the axioms of logic are generalizations stating which propositions
stand in a relation called material implication. These generalizations are rules
of inference in virtue of determining which inferences from propositions to
propositions are logically valid.
Material implication is one of the most notorious features of Russell’s view
of logic. Russell accepts a number of counter-intuitive claims about material
implication, for instance, “false propositions imply all propositions, and true
propositions are implied by all propositions” (PoM : §16, 15). Nowadays these
claims are often labeled the “paradoxes of material implication,” and they have
received well-known criticisms from C. I. Lewis and W. V. Quine. I take up
Lewis’s criticisms in Volume II, but in Chapter 9 of this volume I show how
Russell would be able to resist Quine’s criticisms. The ground of this resistance
is Russell’s argument in Principles for the conclusion that implication is not
definable. I claim that this conclusion means that there is no analysis of what
implication consists in. From Russell’s perspective, a criticism like Quine’s
requires an analysis of implication in terms of truth and falsity, an analysis which
Russell’s indefinability argument shows to be viciously circular.
A critical consequence of the unanalyzability of implication is that there is,
ultimately, no non-circular demonstration that propositions stand in the relation
of implication. So, ultimately, we do not attain our knowledge of implication,
which includes our knowledge of the axioms of logic, by inferential justification.
It follows, Russell holds, that our knowledge of which propositions imply what
others is something akin to sense-perception, in that it is non-inferential. Russell
describes it as “acquaintance,” or “perceiving with a mental telescope” (PoM : xv).
He suggests that this mental perception proceeds by reflection on what forms of
inference are indispensable in deductive reasoning. Thus Russell’s acceptance of
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the “paradoxes of material implication” derives from the fact that he takes these
“paradoxes” to follow from certain indispensable forms of deductive inference.
This account of Russell’s thesis of the unanalyzability of implication points
to an affinity between Frege’s and Russell’s conceptions of logic. Both argue that
our identification of which thoughts or propositions are the first principles of
deductive reasoning is not inferentially justified, and so issues from a source that
is like sense-perception or pure intuition.
It may seem that, by the time Russell co-authored Principia Mathematica with A.
N. Whitehead, he no longer accepts the unanalyzability of implication, because
in that work implication is given a definition. However, I argue that definition
in Principia is no longer analysis, as it is in Principles. Rather, definition in
Principia is an ancestor of Rudolf Carnap’s notion of explication: the precise
delineation of some aspect of a pre-theoretical notion for theoretical purposes,
where the result of incorporating the sharpened notion in theory is judged by
pragmatic considerations (see Carnap 1950: 3). Thus, Russell continues to hold
that there is no analysis of what implication consists in. However, reflection on
our practice of deductive reasoning enables us to detect certain indispensable
features of implication and, for the purpose of obtaining a simpler formulation
of logic, we can replace implication with an ersatz that has these features.
In Chapter 10, I discuss an expansion of the grounds of Russell’s opposition
to modality after Principles. In “Necessity and Possibility,” Russell mounts an
argument against an array of what he calls “feelings” about modality. These
are intuitive ideas that we have about necessity and possibility—for instance,
a statement is necessary if it can be shown to be true by logic alone—which
also underlies various analyses of modal notions—in this case, necessity is
analyticity. Russell’s argument is that, when one makes these intuitions and
analyses precise, one finds that not only do they conflict with one another, but
some of them don’t even succeed in drawing a distinction between necessity and
contingency. Moreover, some of the results of making them precise turn out to
be only epistemologically, not logically, significant. With this argument, Russell
goes beyond rejecting the analysis of modality in terms of truth-relativization.
The argument gives us reason to think that our intuitive ideas about necessity
and possibility do not reflect a single coherent pair of concepts. Even if this
evidence is not conclusive, it’s unclear whether anything would be lost to logic
and philosophy if we simply abandoned modal concepts altogether in favor of
any of the reconstructions of modal intuitions that proves useful in logic.
This argument enables Russell to maintain his anti-modal stance even after
a major change in his philosophy: the rejection of Moore–Russell propositions
some time after 1906. One consequence of this rejection is that, since there are
no propositions, one can no longer take facts to be true propositions. So a key
premise of Moore’s argument for the absoluteness of truth is gone. But, given
the argument from “Necessity and Possibility,” the absoluteness of truth is no
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10 introduction
longer required. Hence, for the rest of Russell’s career, he continues to banish
modality from logic and philosophy.
Lewis
Nowadays Lewis is best-known for having formulated the first systems of modern
modal logic, which he called systems of strict implication. However, while the
logic of strict implication is well-understood, its philosophical grounding is not.8
The standard account is that the entire basis of Lewis’s rejection of Russell’s logic
consists of the counter-intuitive “paradoxes” of material implication mentioned
above. Lewis’s notion of strict implication is intended to do no more than match
our intuitions about implication.
The problem with this standard interpretation is that the argument it attributes
to Lewis is not effective against Russell. The reason is that the definition of
implication which Russell uses in Principia is intended solely to simplify the
formulation of logic while capturing the most important feature of implication:
no true proposition implies a false one. The justification of this definition of
implication is purely pragmatic, so, the fact that the definition fails to match our
intuitions about implication is beside the point.
On my interpretation, Lewis’s fundamental criticism of Russell is based on a
little-noticed pragmatic element in Russell’s conception of logic. Russell acknowl-
edges that logic has to be useful in reasoning: we have to be able to acquire
knowledge by starting from propositions known to be true and deducing, using
logic, propositions we don’t already know to be true. This requires that the
implications described by the axioms of logic have a kind of apriority: they
have to be knowable without knowing the truth or falsity of the propositions
that they describe as standing in the relation of implication. The problem that
Lewis sees in this Russellian pragmatic requirement is that if one reasoned in
8
The best discussions of the philosophical bases of strict implication are Curley (1975) and
Murphey (2006).
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accordance with material implication, then one would not be able to demon-
strate that Russell’s logical axioms have the kind of apriority that underlies the
usefulness of logic. In order to account for this apriority, implication has to be
understood in ancient Aristotelian modal terms: a proposition implies another
if it is impossible for the first to be true and the second to be false. This is
Lewis’s notion of strict implication. The upshot is that if Russell is to certify
his supposed logical axioms as having the kind of apriority required by logic,
he would have to reason in accordance with principles other than those logical
axioms. So Russell’s axioms do not govern all reasoning. But logic does govern
all reasoning. So Russell’s axioms have to be supplemented to count as logic,
but the supplementation consists of modal axioms—precisely what Russell is
committed to avoiding.
Wittgenstein
I focus on two aspects of Wittgenstein’s Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus (1922):9 the
so-called picture theory of propositions, and the criticism of Frege and Russell’s
conception of logic.
In much of the existing work on the Tractatus, it seems to be assumed that
Wittgenstein had already adopted the picture theory in the “Notes on Logic”
that he dictated in the fall of 1913. But this is not so. I show that there is
considerably more philosophical development in Wittgenstein’s thinking than
has been realized. In the “Notes on Logic” manuscripts, we find no more than
the view that propositions are facts which represent facts in the world by the
stipulation of correlations between representing and represented facts. Not
long after formulating this theory of propositions, Wittgenstein realized that it is
defective. Specifically, it fails to provide a satisfactory account of the distinction
between true and false propositions. This realization is recorded in the first of the
notebooks that Wittgenstein kept while serving as an officer of the Austrian army
in World War I. It is in this notebook that Wittgenstein proposed accounting for
false propositions by considering how pictures can be false. However, in the
wartime notebooks, the analogy between propositions and pictures doesn’t solve
the problem of falsity. It is only in the Tractatus that Wittgenstein formulated
a solution, and the solution depends on construing picturing modally: a fact
may function as a picture only if it is the realization of a possibility, where that
possibility is also a possibility for the things pictured. This possibility for the
pictured things may or may not be realized; if realized, then the picture is true,
and if not realized, the picture is false. In this way, possibility finally resolves the
problem of falsity and, in this solution, possibility is a primitive notion which
underlies truth and falsity.
9
I follow the standard practice of citing this book by remark number.
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12 introduction
Closing Remarks
In contemporary analytic philosophy modal concepts, especially the Leibnizian
notion of possible worlds, play a central role. The metaphysics and semantics of
modality—the nature and reality of possible worlds and the truth conditions of
modal discourse—are core philosophical subjects and topics of ongoing research.
10
“wir . . . ohne die logischen Sätze auskommen können.”
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closing remarks 13
11
For a particularly clear expression of this view, see Rosen (2001). See also Brandom (2008)
for a fuller elaboration.
12
This view of positivism and the rejection of modality is in fact flawed in a number of ways. For
one thing, Rudolf Carnap, one of the most prominent thinkers of logical positivism, not only took
modality seriously, but was one of the first logicians to formulate a system of quantified modal logic.
The most important critic of modality in mid-twentieth century analytic philosophy was actually
Quine, but Quine was also a critic of positivism, and his rejection of modal notions had nothing
to do with the criterion of cognitive significance. As I show in Shieh (2013), Quine’s rejection of
modality is closely intertwined with the conception of modality in Carnap’s logical empiricism; both
Carnap’s conception and Quine’s critique are far more complex and philosophically subtle than
the argument against modality standardly attributed to the positivists.
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14 introduction
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PART I
Frege
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1
The Modalities of Judgment
The only explicit discussion of necessity and possibility in Frege’s writings occurs
in §4 of his first book, Begriffsschrift. My aim in this chapter is to spell out, from
that discussion, Frege’s views about modality in Begriffsschrift. I begin with the
philosophical context required for fully understanding Begriffsschrift §4.
One part of this context, outlined in §1.1, consists of the view of judgment
informing Kant’s philosophical conception of the logical theory of his time. Kant
conceives of making a judgment as involving the formation of a representa-
tion and the adoption of an attitude towards that representation. There are,
Kant claims, certain fundamental ways of forming representations, ways that
correspond to the logical structures of judgments. In addition, Kant holds that
there are three attitudes one can adopt towards a representation; each of these
attitudes determines a modality of judgment.
The other part of this context derives from Frege’s greatest achievement in
Begriffsschrift: the formulation of modern higher-order quantificational logic
to replace the traditional logic of his time, which remained largely what Kant
took to be logic.1 As we will see in §1.1, Frege’s logic overcomes a number of
shortcomings of traditional logic. His solutions to the problems of traditional
logic, I show in §1.3, rule out Kant’s view that judgment involves the production
of a representation. As a result, Frege holds that the formation of representations,
which he calls contents, is not required for judgment. Rather, judgment consists
fundamentally of acknowledging the truth of a representation, however formed.
1
Frege was not the first to attempt to go beyond traditional logic. In the nineteenth century,
George Boole formulated an algebraic approach to interpreting and solving problems in logic—see in
particular The Laws of Thought (1854). Among the logicians who worked on Boole’s algebra of logic
program is Charles S. Peirce, who, starting in his “Description of a Notation for the Logic of Relatives”
(1870), also moved towards a version of quantification theory. There is no evidence in Begriffsschrift
that Frege had thought much, if at all, about the Boolean tradition. However, Begriffsschrift received a
critical review by Ernst Schröder (1880), one of the most prominent members of the Boolean school,
claiming that Frege’s logic is no more than a version of a part of Boole’s logic. This prompted
Frege to a study of the Booleans, culminating in a long essay, “Boole’s Calculating Logic and
the Begriffsschrift” (1880), in which Frege pointed out a number of difficulties for Boolean logic
that Frege’s logic resolves. Frege’s reaction to Boolean logic is discussed in §4.1 below. For more
information on Peirce, see Brady (2000) and Hilpinen (2004); for more on the algebra of logic
tradition, see the references in note 2 of §4.1.
My rendering of the title of this essay reflects the convention I adopt of using ‘Begriffsschrift’
to refer to the book, and ‘Begriffsschrift’, unitalicized, to mention the (closely related) languages
defined and used in that book and in Frege’s Basic Laws of Arithmetic (1893). The language(s) are
sometimes called ‘concept-script’ in English.
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2
This notion originated with H. P. Grice, see Grice (1991). For a survey of theories and
controversies surrounding implicature, see Davis (2014).
3
This sketch follows the excellent introductory account Smith (1989). See also Kapp (1975),
W. Kneale and M. Kneale (1984: chapters 1–2), and Beaney (1996: chapter 1).
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terms hold of many things. Subjects may be either individual or universal, but
predicates can only be universals. An assertion either affirms or denies the
predicate of the subject. Moreover, if the subject of an assertion is a universal
term, then the predicate may be affirmed of the subject either universally or in
part. Similarly, a predicate may be denied either universally or in part. Thus,
there are four types of assertions: universal affirmations—‘all S is P ’, universal
denials—‘no S is P ’, particular affirmations—‘some S is P ’, and particular
denials—‘some S is not P ’. We can think of each of these types as assertions
having a common logical form, since whether a syllogistic argument is valid or
not is determined by the types of assertions that are its premises and conclusion.
The two premises of a syllogistic argument have exactly one term—called
the middle term—in common. The other two terms in the premises are called
the extreme terms, and the conclusion of the syllogistic argument is composed
of the extreme terms. The predicate of the conclusion is called the major term
and the subject of the conclusion the minor term. The premise containing the
major term is the major premise, and the premise containing the minor term is the
minor premise. Clearly there are three ways in which the middle term can occur
in the premises of a syllogistic argument: as subject terms of both premises, as
predicate terms of both premises, or as subject of one and predicate of the other.
Each of these arrangements of the middle term is a figure (σχῆμα) of syllogistic
argument.
We can illustrate this terminology by reference to what is perhaps the most
familiar example of a valid form of syllogistic argument, the one named Barbara
by medieval logicians:
In Barbara, all the premises and the conclusion are universal affirmations, the
middle term is B, the major term is C , the minor term is A, the first premise is
minor, and the second premise is major.
Aristotle’s theory of logic consists of a systematic specification of those com-
binations of the four types of assertions in each of the figures that constitute
valid syllogistic arguments. This specification begins from an identification of
those forms of syllogistic argument whose validity requires no proof, and then
provides proofs of the validity of the remaining valid forms. In the course of
these proofs Aristotle makes use of conversions: inferences from three types of
assertions to assertions with subject and predicate interchanged; for example,
from “no B is an A” to “no A is a B.” In so doing, Aristotle appears tacitly to
acknowledge valid non-syllogistic forms of argument.
By Kant’s time, logic was generally recognized as including more than Aristo-
tle’s syllogistic theory. In Kant’s courses on logic, for example, four non-syllogistic
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The other two forms of inference are called disjunctive inferences or disjunctive
syllogisms. These have a “disjunctive proposition” (disjunktiver Satz) as major
premise, where the disjunction is understood exclusively, so that the propositions
disjoined are represented as mutually incompatible and jointly exhaustive. The
two forms of disjunctive inference differ on whether the minor premise affirms
or denies one of the disjuncts. They are called:
One final aspect of what Kant takes to be logic consists of what he calls “immedi-
ate inferences” (see JL: 17ff, 231ff, 383ff, 544ff, 609ff). These are descendants in
medieval logic of Aristotle’s conversions, and consists of valid arguments from
one premise to a conclusion.
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Another random document with
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geluk mocht hebben, kwamen ook de tijgers, die van de kleine tot de
groote hetzelfde deden en … eindelijk de slangen, die, na ook met haar
tong haar plicht gedaan te hebben, langzaam wegkropen. Met dit alles
ging geruimen tijd voorbij, en eerst met het aanbreken van den dag was
aan den optocht een einde gekomen, zoodat de man met zijn
geweeklaag kon ophouden.
Toen het goed dag was geworden, zag hij een vreemde gestalte naar
zich toekomen. Het was Wau-oeta, die een vreemdsoortigen pijl in de
hand had. „Zoo, waart gij het”, zei ze, „die al dat lawaai van nacht
maakte en mij uit den slaap hield?” „Ja”, antwoordde de man, „ik was
het”. „Wel”, zei Wau-oeta, „kijk eens langs je arm, van je schouder tot je
hand”. Hij keek, en zag dat hij met een soort schimmel 82 bedekt was. Hij
keek ook naar zijn anderen arm en zag precies hetzelfde. Toen hij van
Wau-oeta gehoord had, dat het deze schimmel was, die hem zoo
ongelukkig op de jacht maakte, wreef hij zijn armen goed af.
De pijl van Wau-oeta zag er, zooals ik zei, zeer vreemd [161]uit. Hij was
in drie of vier stukken gebroken 83 en ieder stuk was gespleten. Wau-
oeta ruilde dezen pijl voor den zijnen en verzocht hem, den hare te
willen probeeren om naar een lange liaan te schieten, die op grooten
afstand naar beneden hing, en .… ja, de pijl trof doel. Toen hij weêr den
pijl op den boog zette, vroeg Wau-oeta hem in de lucht te willen
schieten, en .… onbegrijpelijk, in welke richting hij ook zijn pijl
wegschoot, telkens als hij de aarde bereikte, raakte hij een dier: eerst
een Doroquara, en zoo voort in dezelfde volgorde, als waarin de vogels
hem aan zijn voet hadden gepikt, tot den powies* toe. En het vreemde
was, dat als hij schoot, hij zelf den pijl niet kon zien.
Onze vriend keerde nu naar zijn twee vrouwen terug, en natuurlijk werd
nu zijn naam, dien hij reeds wegens het dooden van Tobe-horo-anna
had, nog veel grooter. Iedereen werd echter nieuwsgierig, om te weten,
waar hij die kennis vandaan had gekregen en probeerde hem uit te
hooren, maar hij weigerde, trouw aan zijn gegeven woord, iets te
zeggen. Zijn schoonbroêrs dachten: laten wij onzen tijd afwachten, en
toen er een groot paiwarri-feest zou plaats hebben, haalden zij hem
over, dit bij te wonen; en … het is al weêr dezelfde geschiedenis: drank
werd zijn verderf. Zijn tong kwam los en hij vertelde alles wat er
gebeurd was. Den [162]volgenden morgen, toen hij weêr geheel was
bijgekomen, wilde hij, als gewoonlijk, zijn pijl grijpen, die Wau-oeta hem
gegeven had, maar zijn vroegere pijl lag er weêr voor in de plaats—en
van dat oogenblik was hij al zijn geluk weêr kwijt.
Maar dit aardsche paradijs veranderde, toen aan onze kusten schepen
vol strijders verschenen, aan wier hoofd stond een man, genaamd
Paira-oende of Paira-oendepo, d.w.z. Letterhoutstomp. Hij was een
blanke, die de algemeene opmerkzaamheid tot zich trok door zijn
vreemd uiterlijk; zijn mond bevond zich nl. ter plaatse, waar bij gewone
menschen de borst moet zijn. 84
Lang geleden, voor nog Paramaribo was gesticht 90, bevond zich ter
plaatse, waar nu het Fort Zeelandia ligt, de hoofdplaats der
Arowakken 91. Een zekere Arimoribo was hun opperhoofd; hij woonde
op de plaats van het tegenwoordige Gouvernementshuis. Een in de
nabijheid in de Suriname-rivier mondende kreek werd Parimoribo
genoemd (d.i. kreek van Arimoribo 92).
Het ontbrak Arimoribo niet aan krijgsvolk. Op zijn wenk greep heel de
stam naar de wapenen. Dit mocht [166]echter niet gebeuren, wanneer
niet de piaiman was geraadpleegd en de beschermgeesten goed
gestemd schenen. Tijdens een groot feest nu begon onder de
bedwelming der feestvreugde de gebruikelijke schildwacht, een op een
staak gestoken houten raaf 93, eensklaps te weeklagen, welk
onheilspellend teeken de vreugde voor een onbeschrijfelijk misbaar
deed plaats maken. Allen sprongen op en ziet .… op de rivier naderden
schepen met zeilen van ongekende grootte. Zulke dingen hadden de
Indianen nog nooit gezien. Meer verbaasd dan bevreesd vroegen zij
zich af, wat voor wezens dat wel konden zijn, die met zulke reusachtige
vleugels zich over het water heen bewogen. Het moesten reusachtige
vleermuizen zijn, besloten ten slotte de wijzen onder hen. Maar die
vleermuizen naderden en spoedig bleek het, dat zij soldaten en ook
vuurwapenen met zich meevoerden. Voor de eerste maal maakten de
Indianen met blanke menschen kennis.
Het sprak van zelf, dat de piaimannen onmiddellijk aan het werk gingen,
want er was immers geen krachtiger middel van tegenweer dan de piai-
kunst. Vóór alles moest deze worden aangewend; en zóó krachtig
slaagde deze, dat drie schepen tot zinken werden gebracht. Hoewel de
Indianen ook van hun pijlen gebruik maakten, moesten zij zich, toen
hun voorraad verschoten was, in de bosschen terugtrekken. Van dien
tijd dagteekent het, dat de Indianen zich in onderaardsche woningen
gingen verschuilen, zooals er nog heden ten dage te Onoribo en Topibo
aan de Para 94 bestaan. Deze woningen bestonden echter reeds in oude
tijden, toen de vaderen hunner [167]vaderen het land bewoonden 95 en
de seizoenen niet waren zooals zij thans zijn 96. Want telkens als de
droge tijd intrad, heerschte er een zóó ontzettende koude over de
wereld, dat iedereen er van bibberde en de voorvaderen der Arowakken
zich genoodzaakt zagen, bedoelde holen te graven, teneinde zich tegen
de koude te beschermen 97. Wat kwamen deze nu aan het nageslacht
als kostbare schuilplaatsen te stade!
Jorobodie was een dracht van niet meer dan drie weken, die zich
wonderbaarlijk snel ontwikkelde, en wiens optreden algemeen ontzag
inboezemde. Hij toog ten strijde tegen de blanken, die niets tegen hem
vermochten, en versloeg hen. Geen vuur deerde hem, geen staal trof
hem, geen gewicht was zwaar genoeg, om hem te doen zinken. Alle
banden werden door hem verbroken en toen de blanken hem eindelijk
in een vat hadden gesloten, en hem aan het water hadden
prijsgegeven, deed hij een tijger tot [168]zich naderen, stak hem door
een gaatje zijn staart toe en zoo werd hij overal heengesleept, waar hij
maar wilde. Nooit werd een zonderlinger vaartuig door zulk een dier, en
nog wel onbeteugeld, voortgetrokken.
Zooals het mannen betaamt, wien men een buitengewone roeping
toedicht, was ook Jorobodie in ieder opzicht een wonder van kracht en
slimheid 99. Zijn voedsel bestond uitsluitend uit krabben, en dit sober
voedsel maakte hem tot den man van kracht, den trots zijner natie.
Wee! den Caraïb, die hem aandurfde! Wie slechts de hand uitstak, was
een man des doods! Zijn groote verdienste voor de Arowakken bestond
echter hierin, dat hij de schrik der blanken was. Deze toch waren
toenmaals hunne grootste vijanden 100, die hen niet alleen tot slaven
maakten, maar hen ook naar zee voerden, waar zij, na met teer
bestreken te zijn, levend verbrand werden.
Dit alles hield echter op, toen de menschen slecht werden. Geen kwaad
toch kan ongestraft blijven. Toen bijv. eens een Indiaan van den kapitein
een boot had geleend en deze niet terug bracht, werd hij gestraft. Hij
veranderde n.l. in een duizendpoot*, en werd vader van die millioenen
veelbeenige stekelige dieren, die nu door iedereen zoozeer gevreesd
worden. [169]
Het ergste van alles voor de Indianen was wel, dat die ellendige
blanken zich aan dit alles niet storen wilden, zoodat zij het laatste
overblijfsel van den gelukstaat verloren deden gaan. Welk een schat
was voor hen in die omstandigheden een man van zulk een overwicht
als Jorobodie was!
Maar helaas! hij kwam ten val en wel door een vrouw, die hij geschaakt
had 102 en waardoor hij den haat zijner natie op den hals haalde. Het
aannemen van een spin, hem door zijn vrouw aangeboden, richtte
Jorobodie ten gronde, want nauwelijks had hij deze met de woorden
„zoek uwen weg”, door haar uitgesproken, aangenomen of Jorobodie
was niet meer.
No. 40. Uitdrijven van een priester uit den Indiaanschen hemel.
Penalo ame weipiompo. Eertijds enz. voor nog de grootvader van mijn
grootmoeder geboren was, werden de oevers der Boven-Marowijne
door talrijke Indianen bewoond. Maar hun aantal slonk bij den dag, wijl
zij veel te lijden hadden van allerlei booze geesten, die zich niet door
piaien lieten verdrijven. Vele Roodhuiden verlieten dan ook de behekste
streken, ten einde zich te begeven naar Mazwano, een plaats, die zij
reeds menigmaal in hunne droomen hadden bezocht. Ontelbare
Roodhuiden woonden daar in kampen, die elken morgen schitterend
verlicht werden door de morgenzon.
In het midden stond het wonderkamp van Tamoesi*. De [171]grond was
wit als het glinsterende witte kwartszand der savanne. Wit was ook de
kleur van de wateren, die door dit aardsche Paradijs vloeiden.
De Indiaansche God zag er geweldig uit. Zijn huid had, zooals van zelf
spreekt, een roode kleur. Hij was versierd met vederen, franjes en
kralen. In zijn hand hield Hij een ongehoord groote malaka*, waarin zich
de geesten bevonden van alle wezens; de steel was als een Boa
bewerkt.
Wanneer Tamoesi aan het piaien was, kon het geluid dagreizen ver
gehoord worden. Priesters en andere Booze Geesten vluchtten dan
ijlings naar de duistere wateren, zoodat de omtrek der Mazwano steeds
rein en wit bleef. Daar toch heerschte slechts gelukzaligheid. Men dronk
en danste er den geheelen dag. Overal liepen beeldschoone vrouwen
den mannen achterna. Ziekten en sterfgevallen kwamen er nooit voor,
terwijl Tamoesi van tijd tot tijd nederdaalde, ten einde met zijn geliefde,
roode kinderen feest te vieren. Geen wonder, dat de Indianen, die na
het doorstaan van vele duistere gevaren dit lustoord wisten te bereiken,
geen lust gevoelden tot hun familie terug te keeren.
Bij het aanschouwen van dit, in zijn oogen zoo vreeselijk Paradijs, kon
de Priester niet nalaten een zucht te slaken. De piaimannen lieten hem
evenwel geen tijd tot bedenken. „Welkom vriend, in de Mazwano”,
riepen zij hem toe, „gij zult hier een heerlijk leventje hebben”.
Toen hij den volgenden morgen wakker werd, voelde de Pater iets
naast zich in de hangmat. Hij keek en daar lag een beeldschoon
Indiaansch meisje. Vlug (volgens de verteller uiterst vlug) sprong hij op
en wilde hij wegvluchten. Maar de piaimannen grepen hem aan, en
riepen hem toe: „Nu kent gij de genoegens van het Paradijs; wilt gij hier
blijven?”
De mannen van het dorp liepen hen echter tegemoet, en den Pater
herkennende, riepen zij uit: „Wij hebben U wel gewaarschuwd, niet naar
de Mazwano te gaan; maar gij hebt ons niet willen gelooven”.
„Gij hebt gelijk”, antwoordde de Priester, en hij vertelde alles wat hem
daar was overkomen; toen hij eindelijk was gekomen aan het
Indiaansche meisje, dat hij bij zijn ontwaken in de hangmat gevonden
had, barstten zij allen in een schaterlach uit. Hun verstand ging het te
boven, dat iemand z o o i e t s kon weigeren.
No. 41. Uitdrijving der Indianen uit den Hemel der Paters.
Penalo ame weipiompo. Eertijds, voor nog mijn grootvader geboren was
enz. was een Roodhuid bezig, boomen om te hakken, teneinde een
kostgrond aan te leggen. Het werk vermoeide hem, zoodat het zweet
hem langs het lichaam liep, en de mooie roode koesoewe*, waarmede
hij zich had ingesmeerd, geheel werd weggewasschen. Hij zuchtte luide
en verwenschte zijn ongelukkig lot. Doch ziet, als uit de lucht
verschenen twee mannen, die hem medelijdend aanzagen. „Waarom
zucht gij zoo”, vroegen zij hem. „Ach”, luidde het antwoord, „ziet gij niet,
hoe hard ik moet werken? En als ik des nachts wil uitrusten, gonzen de
muskieten mij om de ooren; ik ben de ongelukkigste Indiaan van mijn
stam.”
„Wel”, zeiden de vreemdelingen, „we zijn met uw lot begaan, kom met
ons meê; want we zijn juist op weg naar een plaats, waar niemand
behoeft te werken.”
Zij werden gedoopt en herdoopt. Eindelijk bereikten zij den zetel van
den Tamoesi der Blanken. Hij was zóó oud als de Roodhuiden nog nooit
een mensch hadden gezien. Een lange, witte baard hing tot aan zijn
voeten, maar Zijn hoofd was kaal. Hij zat op een soort van hobbelstoel,
prachtig versierd met tijger-, boa- en stinkvogelkoppen. Aan Zijn zijde
lag een groot kruisbeeld. Zijn lichaam was gehuld in een langen rok,
zooals de Paters ze thans dragen.
Zij gingen verder. Langs den weg lagen eenige Indianen te slapen. De
Roodhuiden knikten elkander veelbeteekenend toe, doch zwegen. Zij
kwamen vervolgens bij plaatsen, waar visschen van zelf uit de
masoewa’s* aan de barbakot gingen hangen. Pijlen, door niemand
afgeschoten, snorden door de lucht en troffen wegvluchtende Tapirs en
Agoeti’s, die, na hun eigen vleesch in stukken te hebben gesneden,
zich zelf kookten en roosterden. Enkele Indiaansche vrouwen lagen
naast de matapi’s*, maar de cassave-wortels schrapten zich zelf,
persten zich zelf uit, en sprongen dan in de pannen, om gebakken te
worden.
De Indianen waren verrukt; en dat vooral, toen Tamoesi aan elk een
mooie vrouw schonk, en hij op staanden voet een huwelijk voltrok. Af en
toe gingen zij herbergen binnen; en elken keer kwamen zij er vroolijk
weêr uit. Eindelijk begon een der Roodhuiden met onvaste schreden te
loopen, daarbij onbetamelijke liedjes zingende en probeerende,
Tamoesi op heel familiare wijze te omhelzen.
Tamoesi gaf nu bevel, alle sodawater, limonade, kassiri enz. bij Hem te
brengen. Van alles dronk hij een kalebas vol, maar, daar Hij geen
verstand van zulke dingen had, verklaarde Hij, dat alles in orde was, en
dat de ververschingen zeer goed smaakten! En toch, zoowel het
sodawater als de limonade en de kassiri waren even rijk aan alkohol als
zuivere jenever. Geen wonder dan ook, dat de Roodhuiden zich
bedronken; de verleiding was te groot voor hen. De Priesters en andere
Blanken dronken met mate, zoodat zij nooit dronken werden.
Tamoesi gebood daarom den Roodhuiden, dat zij onmiddellijk den
Hemel moesten verlaten. Alle Caraïben, Arowakken, Warrau’s enz.
vertrokken, en aan de poort riep Tamoesi hen nog na: „Door uw
dronkenschap hebt gij het Paradijs verloren; thans zult ge werken en
het zweet, dat uit uw lichaam stroomt, zal wegwasschen de koesoewé*,
waarmeê ge u besmet. Maar, als ge niet meer drinkt, zal de poort weêr
voor u geopend worden.”
In oude tijden kwamen de Indianen veel talrijker voor dan thans. Zij
leefden tevens gelukkiger, want er was overvloed van wild, terwijl het in
de rivieren en kreken krioelde van visschen.
Zij vonden daar alles in rep en roer, daar Kenaima’s* zich in den omtrek
vertoond hadden.
Maar de Caraïben, vermoeid van hun langen tocht, hadden rust noodig
en de piaiman gelastte, dat, terwijl tien man sliepen, de overigen
zouden waken. Daartoe moesten zij langwerpige kijkgaten in de
wanden der hut maken.
Wat de kapitein ook deed, het Indiaansche opperhoofd liet zich niet
bepraten. Hij vertrok dan ook en keerde na eenigen tijd met den koning
terug. Deze begon niet terstond met de Indianen te onderhandelen,
doch liet hen eerst flink drinken. Toen allen dan ook smoordronken
waren, vroeg hij hun: „geef mij dit land ten geschenke”. En zij
antwoordden: „Neem het vriend, maar geef ons drank”.
Onder de blanken ontstond nu een hevige paniek. Zij vluchtten naar alle
richtingen; overal floten onzichtbare pijlen 108, door onzichtbare strijders
afgeschoten, door de lucht, waardoor vele soldaten gedood werden.
Het gebeurde werkelijk zoo, want toen de blanken, vol woede over den
dood hunner kameraden, de kreek wilden opvaren, werden hunne
oogen verduisterd door het toovermiddel, zoodat zij de monding van het
kreekje niet konden zien.
Wij, Arowakken hebben in den strijd met de Kalienja’s het laatste woord
gehad. Eens was het, dat wij onze vijanden in een hinderlaag wisten te
lokken. Boven een waterval hadden wij drijvende boomstammen
geplaatst, waarachter een deel onzer strijders verborgen was, terwijl de
overigen zich langs den oever verscholen hadden.
Op een lange reis naar het land der steenen bijlen* kwam een groote
boot, geheel gevuld met Indianen, van een landingsplaats. Deze
bevond zich in het gebied van den vleermuizenstam, zoodat de oude
man, die het gezelschap leidde, zijn bende op het hart drukte, hunne
hangmatten niet tusschen de boomen op te hangen (zooals de Indianen
in den drogen tijd gewoon zijn te doen), omdat de vleermuizen er
buitengewoon groot waren. Hij ried den mannen daarom aan, een
gesloten tijdelijke hut te bouwen, dus een aan alle kanten gesloten
banab*. Een der jongeren, die wat vadsig was uitgevallen, had er geen
lust in, de anderen met den bouw van de schuilplaats te helpen. Hij
beweerde, dat hij het niet geloofde, dat de vleermuizen, al waren zij ook
nog zoo groot, hem vóór het aanbreken van den dag iets zouden doen.
Tegen de redeneeringen van den ouden man in, weigerde hij in de hut
te kruipen, en nadat hij zijn hangmat tusschen twee boomen had