Schlick 1936 Meaning and Verification

Philosophical Review
Meaning and Verification

Author(s): Moritz Schlick
Source: The Philosophical Review, Vol. 45, No. 4 (Jul., 1936), pp. 339-369
Published by: Duke University Press on behalf of Philosophical Review
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Number 4 July, I936 Whole

Volume
XLV
Number
268
THE
PHILOSOPHICAL REVIEW
MEANING AND VERIFICATION
I
PHILOSOPHICAL questions, as compared with ordinary

scientific problems, are always strangely paradoxical. But it
seems to be an especially strange paradox that the question concerning the meaning of a proposition should constitute a serious
philosophical difficulty. For is it not the-very nature and purpose
of every proposition to express its own meaning? In fact, when

we are confronted with a proposition (in a language familiar to
us) we usually know its meaning immediately. If we do not, we

can have it explained to us, but the explanation will consist of
a new proposition; and if the new one is capable of expressing
the meaning, why should not the original one be capable of it?
So that a snippy person when asked what he meant by a certain
statement might be perfectly justified in saying, 'I meant exactly
what I said !'.
It is logically legitimate and actually the normal way in
ordinary life and even in science to answer a question concerning
the meaning of a proposition by simply repeating it either more
distinctly or in slightly different words. Under what circumstances,

then, can there be any sense in asking for the meaning of a
statement which is well before our eyes or ears?
Evidently the only possibility is that we have not understood

it. And in this case what is actually before our eyes or ears is
nothing but a series of words which we are unable to handle; we

do not know how to use it, how to 'apply it to reality'. Such a
series of words is for us simply a complex of signs 'without mean-
ing', a mere sequel of sounds or a mere row of marks on paper,

and we have no right to call it 'a proposition' at all; we may
perhaps speak of it as 'a sentence'.

339
340 THE PHILOSOPHICAL REVIEW [VOL. XLV.

If we adopt this terminology we can now easily get rid of our
paradox by saying that we cannot inquire after the meaning of a

proposition, but can ask about the meaning of a sentence, and
that this amounts to asking, 'What proposition does the sentence

stand for?'. And this question is answered either by a proposition
in a language with which we are already perfectly familiar; or
by indicating the logical rules which will make a proposition out

of the sentence, i.e., will tell us exactly in what circumstances
the sentence is to be used. These two methods do not actually

differ in principle; both of them give meaning to the sentence
(transform it into a proposition) by locating it, as it were, within
the system of a definite language; the first method making use
of a language which is already in our possession, the second one

building it up for us. The first method represents the simplest
kind of ordinary 'translation'; the second one affords a deeper
insight into the nature of meaning, and will have to be used in
order to overcome philosophical difficulties connected with the
understanding of sentences.
The source of these difficulties is to be found in the fact that
very often we do not know how to handle our own words; we

speak or write without having first agreed upon a definite logical
grammar which will constitute the signification of our terms.
We commit the mistake of thinking that we know the meaning

of a sentence (i.e., understand it as a proposition) if we are
familiar with all the words occurring in it. But this is not sufficient. It will not lead to confusion or error as long as we remain
in the domain of everyday life by which our words have been
formed and to which they are adapted, but it will become fatal
the moment we try to think about abstract problems by means of
the same terms without carefully fixing their signification for the
new purpose. For every word has a definite signification only
within a definite context into which it has been fitted; in any

other context it will have no meaning unless we provide new
rules for the use of the word in the new case, and this may be
done, at least in principle, quite arbitrarily.

Let us consider an example. If a friend should say to me, 'Take
me to a country where the sky is three times as blue as in
England!' I should not know how to fulfill his wish; his phrase
No. 4.] MEANING AND VERIFICATION 34I
would appear nonsensical to me, because the word 'blue' is used

in a way which is not provided for by the rules of our language.
The combination of a numeral and the name of a color does not
occur in it; therefore my friend's sentence has no meaning,
although its exterior linguistic form is that of a command or a
wish. But he can, of course, give it a meaning. If I ask him,

'What do you mean by "three times as blue"?', he can arbitrarily
indicate certain definite physical circumstances concerning the
serenity of the sky which he wants his phrase to be the description

of. And then, perhaps, I shall be able to follow his directions; his
wish will have become meaningful for me.
Thus, whenever we ask about a sentence, 'What does it mean?',
what we expect is instruction as to the circumstances in which the

sentence is to be used; we want a description of the conditions
under which the sentence will form a true proposition, and of
those which will make it false. The meaning of a word or a combination of words is, in this way, determined by a set of rules
which regulate their use and which, following Wittgenstein, we

may call the rules of their grammar, taking this word in its widest
sense.
(If the preceding remarks about meaning are as correct as I

am convinced they are, this will, to a large measure, be due to
conversations with Wittgenstein which have greatly influenced

my own views about these matters. I can hardly exaggerate my
indebtedness to this philosopher. I do not wish to impute to him
any responsibility for the contents of this article, but I have reason
to hope that he will agree with the main substance of it.)
Stating the meaning of a sentence amounts to stating the rules

according to which the sentence is to be used, and this is the
same as stating the way in which it can be verified (or falsified).
The meaning of a proposition is the method of its verification.
The 'grammatical' rules will partly consist of ordinary definitions, i.e., explanations of words by means of other words, partly
of what are called 'ostensive' definitions, i.e., explanations by
means of a procedure which puts the words to actual use. The

simplest form of an ostensive definition is a pointing gesture com-
bined with the pronouncing of the word, as when we teach a child

the signification of the sound 'blue' by showing a blue object. But
in most cases the ostensive definition is of a more complicated

form; we cannot point to an object corresponding to words like
'because', 'immediate', 'chance', 'again', etc. In these cases we require the presence of certain complex situations, and the meaning
of the words is defined by the way we use them in these different
situations.
It is clear that in order to understand a verbal definition we must
know the signification of the explaining words beforehand, and
that the only explanation which can work without any previous
knowledge is the ostensive definition. We conclude that there is no
way of understanding any meaning without ultimate reference to

ostensive definitions, and this means, in an obvious sense, reference
to 'experience' or 'possibility of verification'.

This is the situation, and nothing seems to me simpler or less
questionable. It is this situation and nothing else that we describe
when we affirm that the meaning of a proposition can be given

only by giving the rules of its verification in experience. (The
addition, 'in experience', is really superfluous, as no other kind
of verification has been defined.)
This view has been called the "experimental theory of meaning";
but it certainly is no theory at all, for the term 'theory' is used
for a set of hypotheses about a certain subject-matter, and there
are no hypotheses involved in our view, which proposes to be
nothing but a simple statement of the way in which meaning is
actually assigned to propositions, both in everyday life and in
science. There has- never been any other way, and it would be a
grave error to suppose that we believe we have discovered a new
conception of meaning which is contrary to common opinion and
which we want to introduce into philosophy. On the contrary, our

conception is not only entirely in agreement with, but even derived
from, common sense and scientific procedure. Although our cri-
terion of meaning has always been employed in practice, it has very

rarely been formulated in the past, and this is perhaps the only
excuse for the attempts of so many philosophers to deny its

feasibility.
The most famous case of an explicit formulation of our criterion
is Einstein's answer to the question, What do we mean when
we speak of two events at distant places happening simultaneously?
No. 4.] MEANING AND VERIFICATION 343
This answer consisted in a description of an experimental method

by which the simultaneity of such events was actually ascertained.
Einstein's philosophical opponents maintained-and some of them
still maintain-that they knew the meaning of the above question

independently of any method of verification. All I am trying to
do is to stick consistently to Einstein's position and to admit no
exceptions from it. (Professor Bridgman's book on The Logic
of Modern Physics is an admirable attempt to carry out this program for all concepts of physics.) I am not writing for those
who think that Einstein's philosophical opponents were right.

II
Professor C. I. Lewis, in a remarkable address on "Experience
and Meaning" (published in this Review, March I934), has justly

stated that the view developed above (he speaks of it as the
"empirical-meaning requirement") forms the basis of the whole
philosophy of what has been called the "logical positivism of the
Viennese Circle". He criticizes this basis as inadequate chiefly on

the ground that its acceptance would impose certain limitations
upon "significant philosophic discussion" which, at some points,
would make such discussion altogether impossible and, at other

points, restrict it to an intolerable extent.
Feeling responsible as I do for certain features of the Viennese
philosophy (which I should prefer to call Consistent Empiricism),
and being of the opinion that it really does not impose any re-
strictions upon significant philosophizing at all, I shall try to

examine Professor Lewis's chief arguments and point out why
I think that they do not endanger our position-at least as far
as I can answer for it myself. All of my own arguments will be

derived from the statements made in section I.
Professor Lewis describes the empirical-meaning requirement as
demanding "that any concept put forward or any proposition

asserted shall have a definite denotation; that it shall be intelligible
not only verbally and logically but in the further sense that one
can specify those empirical items which would determine the
applicability of the concept or constitute the verification of the

proposition" (1cC. Cit. I25). Here it seems to me that there is no
justification for the words "but in the further sense . . .", i.e., for
the distinction of two (or three?) senses of intelligibility. The

remarks in section I. show that, according to our opinion, 'verbal
and logical' understanding consists in knowing how the proposition
in question could be verified. For, unless we mean by 'verbal understanding' that we know how the words are actually used, the
term could hardly mean anything but a shadowy feeling of being
acquainted with the words, and in a philosophical discussion it
does not seem advisable to call such a feeling 'understanding'.
Similarly, I should not advise that we speak of a sentence as being

'logically intelligible' when we just feel convinced that its exterior
form is that of a proper proposition (if, e.g. it has the form,
substantive-copula--adjective, and therefore appears to predicate

a property of a thing). For it seems to me that by such a phrase
we want to say much more, namely, that we are completely aware
of the whole grammar of the sentence, i.e., that we know exactly
the circumstances to which it is fitted. Thus knowledge of how

a proposition is verified is not anything over and above its verbal
and logical understanding, but is identical with it. It seems to

me, therefore, that when we demand that a proposition be verifiable
we are not adding a new requirement but are simply formulating

the conditions which have actually always been acknowledged as
necessary for meaning and intelligibility.
The mere statement that no sentence has meaning unless we
are able to indicate a way of testing its truth or falsity is not
very useful if we do not explain very carefully the signification

of the phrases 'method of testing' and 'verifiability'. Professor
Lewis is quite right when he asks for such an explanation. He
himself suggests some ways in which it might be given, and I
am glad to say that his suggestions appear to me to be in perfect

agreement with my own views and those of my philosophical
friends. It will be easy to show that there is no serious divergence
between the point of view of the pragmatist as Professor Lewis
conceives it and that of the Viennese Empiricist. And if in some
special questions they arrive at different conclusions, it may be
hoped that a careful examination will bridge the difference.
How do we define verifiability?
In the first place I should like to point out that when we say
that "a proposition has meaning only if it is verifiable" we are
not saying ". . . if it is verified". This simple remark does away

with one of the chief objections; the "here and now predicament",
as Professor Lewis calls it, does not exist any more. We fall into
the snares of this predicament only if we regard verification

itself as the criterion of meaning, instead of 'possibility of veri-
fication' (= verifiability); this would indeed lead to a "reduction

to absurdity of meaning". Obviously the predicament arises
through some fallacy by which these two notions are confounded.
I do not know if Russell's statement, "Empirical knowledge is

confined to what we actually observe" (quoted by Professor Lewis
b0c. cit. I30), must be interpreted as containing this fallacy, but it

would certainly be worth while to discover its genesis.
Let us consider the following argument which Professor Lewis
discusses ( 3I), but which he does not want to impute to anyone:
Suppose it maintained that no issue is meaningful unless it can be
put to the test of decisive verification. And no verification can take
place except in the immediately present experience of the subject. Then
nothing can be meant except what is actually present in the experience
in which that meaning is entertained.
This argument has the form of a conclusion drawn from two

premisses. Let us for the moment assume the second premiss to
be meaningful and true. You will observe that even then the
conclusion does not follow. For the first premiss assures us that
the issue has meaning if it can be verified; the verification does
not have to take place, and therefore it is quite irrelevant whether
it can take place in the future or in the present only. Apart from
this, the second premiss is, of course, nonsensical; for what fact
could possibly be described by the sentence 'verification can take
place only in present experience'? Is not verifying an act or

process like hearing or feeling bored? Might we not just as well
say that I can hear or feel bored only in the present moment?
And what could I mean by this? The particular nonsense involved
in such phrases will become clearer when we speak of the 'ego-
centric predicament' later on; at present we are content to know

that our empirical-meaning postulate has nothing whatever to do
with the now-predicament. 'Verifiable' does not even mean
'verifiable here now'; much less does it mean 'being verified now'.
Perhaps it will be thought that the only way of making sure of
the verifiability of a proposition would consist in its actual verification. But we shall soon see that this is not the case.
There seems to be a great temptation to connect meaning and

the 'immediately given' in the wrong way; and some of the
Viennese positivists may have yielded to this temptation, thereby
getting dangerously near to the fallacy we have just been

describing. Parts of Carnap's Logischer Aufbau der Welt, for
instance, might be interpreted as implying that a proposition about
future events did not really refer to the future at all but asserted
only the present existence of certain expectations (and, similarly,
speaking about the past would really mean speaking about present
memories). But it is certain that the author of that book does
not hold such a view now, and that it cannot be regarded as a
teaching of the new positivism. On the contrary, we have pointed

out from the beginning that our definition of meaning does not
imply such absurd consequences, and when someone asked, "But
how can you verify a proposition about a future event?", we
replied, "Why, for instance, by waiting for it to happen! 'Waiting'
is a perfectly legitimate method of verification".
Thus I think that everybody-including the Consistent Empiricist-agrees that it would be nonsense to say, 'We can mean
nothing but the immediately given'. If in this sentence we replace

the word 'mean' by the word 'know' we arrive at a statement
similar to Bertrand Russell's mentioned above. The temptation
to formulate phrases of this sort arises, I believe, from a certain

ambiguity of the verb 'to know' which is the source of many
metaphysical troubles and to which, therefore, I have often had

to call attention on other occasions (see e.g. Allgemeine Erkenntnislehre 2nd ed. I925, ?I2). In the first place the word may stand
simply for 'being aware of a datum', i.e. for the mere presence
of a feeling, a color, a sound, etc.; and if the word 'knowledge'
is taken in this sense the assertion 'Empirical knowledge is confined to what we actually observe' does not say anything at all,
but is a mere tautology. (This case, I think, would correspond to
what Professor Lewis calls "identity-theories" of the "knowledge-
relation". Such theories, resting on a tautology of this kind, would

be empty verbiage without significance.)
In the second place the word 'knowledge' may be used in one
of the significant meanings which it has in science and ordinary

life; and in this case Russell's assertion would obviously (as
Professor Lewis remarked) be false. Russell himself, as is well
known, distinguishes between 'knowledge by acquaintance' and
'knowledge by description', but perhaps it should be noted that
this distinction does not entirely coincide with the one we have
been insisting upon just now.
* * *
ITI
Verifiability means possibility of verification. Professor Lewis

justly remarks that to "omit all examination of the wide range
of significance which could attach to 'possible verification', would
be to leave the whole conception rather obscure" (loc. cit. 137).

For our purpose it suffices to distinguish between two of the many
ways in which the word 'possibility' is used. We shall call them
'empirical possibility' and 'logical possibility'. Professor Lewis

describes two meanings of verifiabilityy' which correspond exactly
to this difference; he is fully aware of it, and there is hardly anything left for me to do but carefully to work out the distinction
and show its bearing upon our issue.
I propose to call 'empirically possible' anything that does not
contradict the laws of nature. This is, I think, the largest sense
in which we may speak of empirical possibility; we do not restrict
the term to happenings which are not only in accordance with

the laws of nature but also with the actual state of the universe
(where 'actual' might refer to the present moment of our own

lives, or to the condition of human beings on this planet, and so
forth). If we chose the latter definition (which seems to have
been in Professor Lewis's mind when he spoke of "possible
experience as conditioned by the actual", loc. cit. I41) we should

not get the sharp boundaries we need for our present purpose.
So 'empirical possibility' is to mean 'compatibility with natural
laws'.
348 THE PHILOSOPHICAL REVIEW [VOL. XLV,

Now, since we cannot boast of a complete and sure knowledge
of nature's laws, it is evident that we can never assert with
certainty the empirical possibility of any fact, and here we may
be permitted to speak of degrees of possibility. Is it possible for
me to lift this book? Surely!-This table? I think so!-This
billiard table? I don't think so !-This automobile? Certainly

not!-It is clear that in these cases the answer is given by ex-
perience, as the result of experiments performed in the past. Any

judgment about empirical possibility is based on experience and
will often be rather uncertain; there will be no sharp boundary

between possibility and impossibility.
Is the possibility of verification which we insist upon of this
empirical sort? In that case there would be different degrees of

verifiability, the question of meaning would be a matter of more
or less, not a matter of yes or no. In many disputes concerning
our issue it is the empirical possibility of verification which is

discussed; the various examples of verifiability given by Professor
Lewis, e.g., are instances of different empirical circumstances in
which the verification is carried out or prevented from being carried out. Many of those who refuse to accept our criterion of
meaning seem to imagine that the procedure of its application in
a special case is somewhat like this: A proposition is presented

to us ready made, and in order to discover its meaning we have
to try various methods of, verifying or falsifying it, and if one
of these methods works we have found the meaning of the

proposition; but if not, we say it has no meaning. If we really had
to proceed in this way, it is clear that the determination of meaning
would be entirely a matter of experience, and that in many cases

no sharp and ultimate decision could be obtained. How could we
ever know that we had tried long enough, if none of our methods
were successful? Might not future efforts disclose a meaning

which we were unable to find before?
This whole conception is, of course, entirely erroneous. It speaks

of meaning as if it were a kind of entity inherent in a sentence
and hidden in it like a nut in its shell, so that the philosopher

would have to crack the shell or sentence in order to reveal the
nut or meaning. We know from our considerations in section I
that a proposition cannot be given 'ready made'; that meaning
does not inhere in a sentence where it might be discovered, but
that it must be bestowed upon it. And this is done by applying

to the sentence the rules of the logical grammar of our language,
as explained in section I. These rules are not facts of nature
which could be 'discovered', but they are prescriptions stipulated

by acts of definition. And these definitions have to be known to
those who pronounce the sentence in question and to those who

hear or read it. Otherwise they are not confronted with any
proposition at all, and there is nothing they could try to verify,
because you can't verify or falsify a mere row of words. You
cannot even start verifying before you know the meaning, i.e.,
before you have established the possibility of verification.

In other words, the possibility of verification which is relevant
to meaning cannot be of the empirical sort; it cannot be established
post festum. You have to be sure of it before you can consider
the empirical circumstances and investigate whether or no or
under what conditions they will permit of verification. The empirical circumstances are all-important when you want to know if a
proposition is true (which is the concern of the scientist), but
they can have no influence on the meaning of the proposition
(which is the concern of the philosopher). Professor Lewis has

seen and expressed this very clearly (loc. cit. I42, first six lines),
and our Vienna positivism, as far as I can answer for it, is in
complete agreement with him on this point. It must be emphasized
that when we speak of verifiability we mean logical possibility of
verification, and nothing but this.
I call a fact or a process 'logically possible' if it can be described,
i.e., if the sentence which is supposed to describe it obeys the rules

of grammar we have stipulated for our language. (I am expressing
myself rather incorrectly. A fact which could not be described
would, of course, not be any fact at all; any fact is logically

possible. But I think my meaning will be understood.) Take some
examples. The sentences, 'My friend died the day after tomorrow';
'The lady wore a dark red dress which was bright green'; 'The
campanile is i00 feet and I50 feet high'; 'The child was naked,
but wore a long white nightgown', obviously violate the rules
which, in ordinary English, govern the use of the words occurring

in the sentences. They do not describe any facts at all; they are
meaningless, because they represent logical impossibilities.

It is of the greatest importance (not only for our present issue
but for philosophical problems in general) to see that whenever
we speak of logical impossibility we are referring to a discrepancy
between the definitions of our terms and the way in which we

use them. We must avoid the severe mistake committed by some
of the former Empiricists like Mill and Spencer, who regarded

logical principles (e.g. the Law of Contradiction) as laws of
nature governing the psychological process of thinking. The non-
sensical statements alluded to above do not correspond to thoughts

which, by a sort of psychological experiment, we find ourselves
unable to think; they do not correspond to any thoughts at all.
When we hear the words, 'A tower which is both ioo feet and
I50 feet high', the image of two towers of different heights may
be in our mind, and we may find it psychologically (empirically)

impossible to combine the two pictures into one image, but it is
not this fact which is denoted by the words 'logical impossibility'.
The height of a tower cannot be i00 feet and i50 feet at the
same time; a child cannot be naked and dressed at the same timenot because we are unable to imagine it, but because our definitions
of 'height', of the numerals, of the terms 'naked' and 'dressed',

are not compatible with the particular combinations of those words
in our examples. 'They are not compatible with such combinations'
means that the rules of our language have not provided any use
for such combinations; they do not describe any fact. We could
change these rules, of course, and thereby arrange a meaning for

the terms 'both red and green', 'both naked and dressed'; but if
we decide to stick to the ordinary definitions (which reveal themselves in the way we actually use our words) we have decided
to regard those combined terms as meaningless, i.e., not to use

them as the description of any fact. Whatever fact we may or
may not imagine, if the word 'naked' (or 'red') occurs in its
description we have decided that the word 'dressed' (or 'green')
cannot be put in its place in the same description. If we do not
follow this rule it means that we want to introduce a new definition of the words, or that we don't mind using words without
No. 4.] MEANING AND VERIFICATION 35I

meaning and like to indulge in nonsense. (I am far from con-
demning this attitude under all circumstances; on certain

occasions-as in Alice in Wonderland-it may be the only sensible
attitude and far more delightful than any treatise on Logic. But
in such a treatise we have a right to expect a different attitude.)
The result of our considerations is this: Verifiability, which is

the sufficient and necessary condition of meaning, is a possibility
of the logical order; it is created by constructing the sentence in
accordance with the rules by which its terms are defined. The
only case in which verification is (logically) impossible is the
case where you have made it impossible by not setting any rules
for its verification. Grammatical rules are not found anywhere in
nature, but are made by man and are, in principle, arbitrary; so
you cannot give meaning to a sentence by discovering a method

of verifying it, but only by stipulating how it shall be done. Thus
logical possibility or impossibility of verification is always self-
imposed. If we utter a sentence without meaning it is always

our own fault.
The tremendous philosophic importance of this last remark will

be realized when we consider that what we said about the meaning
of assertions applies also to the meaning of questions. There are,
of course, many questions which can never be answered by human
beings. But the impossibility of finding the answer may be of

two different kinds. If it is merely empirical in the sense defined, if
it is due to the chance circumstances to which our human existence
is confined, there may be reason to lament our fate and the weakness of our physical and mental powers, but the problem could
never be said to be absolutely insoluble, and there would always be

some hope, at least for future generations. For the empirical circumstances may alter, human facilities may develop, and even
the laws cf nature may change (perhaps even suddenly and in

such a way that the universe would be thrown open to much more
extended investigation). A problem of this kind might be called
practically unanswerable or technically unanswerable, and might
cause the scientist great trouble, but the philosopher, who is concerned with general principles only, would not feel terribly excited
about it.
But what about those questions for which it is logically im-

possible to find an answer? Such problems would remain insoluble
under all imaginable circumstances; they would confront us with
a definite hopeless Ignorabimus; and it is of the greatest importance for the philosopher to know whether there are any such
issues. Now it is easy to see from what has been said before that
this calamity could happen only if the question itself had no meaning. It would not be a genuine question at all, but a mere row of
words with a question-mark at the end. We must say that a question is meaningful, if we can understand it, i.e., if we are able to
decide for any given proposition whether, if true, it would be

an answer to our question. And if this is so, the actual decision
could only be prevented by empirical circumstances, which means
that it would not be logically impossible. Hence no meaningful

problem can be insoluble in principle. If in any case we find an
answer to be logically impossible we know that we really have

not been asking anything, that what sounded like a question was
actually a nonsensical combination of words. A genuine question

is one for which an answer is logically possible. This is one of
the most characteristic results of our empiricism. It means that
in principle there are no limits to our knowledge. The boundaries
which must be acknowledged are of an empirical nature and,
therefore, never ultimate; they can be pushed back further and

further; there is no unfathomable mystery in the world.
* * *
The dividing line between logical possibility and impossibility
of verification is absolutely sharp and distinct; there is no gradual

transition between meaning and nonsense. For either you have
given the grammatical rules for verification, or you have not;
tertium non datur.
Empirical possibility is determined by the laws of nature, but
meaning and verifiability are entirely independent of them. Every-
thing that I can describe or define is logically possible-and

definitions are in no way bound up with natural laws. The proposition 'Rivers flow uphill' is meaningful, but happens to be false
because the fact it describes is physically impossible. It will not
deprive a proposition of its meaning if the conditions which I

stipulate for its verification are incompatible with the laws of
nature; I may prescribe conditions, for instance, which could be

fulfilled only if the velocity of light were greater than it actually
is, or if the Law of Conservation of Energy did not hold, and
so forth.
An opponent of our view might find a dangerous paradox or
even a contradiction in the preceding explanations, because on the

one hand we insisted so strongly on what has been called the
"empirical-meaning requirement", and on the other hand we assert most emphatically that meaning and verifiability do not depend
on any empirical conditions whatever, but are determined by purely
logical possibilities. The opponent will object: if meaning is a
matter of experience, how can it be a matter of definition and logic?
In reality there is no contradiction or difficulty. The word 'experience' is ambiguous. Firstly, it may be a name for any so-called
'immediate data'-which is a comparatively modern use of the
word-and secondly we can use it in the sense in which we speak

e.g., of an 'experienced traveller', meaning a man who has not
only seen a great deal but also knows how to profit from it for
his actions. It is in this second sense (by the way, the sense the
word has in Hume's and Kant's philosophy) that verifiability must

be declared to be independent of experience. The possibility of
verification does not rest on any 'experiential truth', on a law of

nature or any other true general proposition, but is determined
solely by our definitions, by the rules which have been fixed for
our language, or which we can fix arbitrarily at any moment.

All of these rules ultimately point to ostensive definitions, as we
have explained, and through them verifiability is linked to ex-
perience in the first sense of the word. No rule of expression presupposes any law or regularity in the world (which is the con-
dition of 'experience' as Hume and Kant use the word), but it

does presuppose data and situations, to which names can be at-
tached. The rules of language are rules of the application of

language; so there must be something to which it can be applied.
Expressibility and verifiability are one and the same thing. There
is no antagonism between logic and experience. Not only can the
logician be an empiricist at the same time; he must be one if he
wants to understand what he himself is doing.

IV
Let us glance at some examples in order to illustrate the con-
sequences of our attitude in regard to certain issues of traditional

philosophy. Take the famous case of the reality of the other side
of the moon (which is also one of Professor Lewis's examples).

None of us, I think, would be willing to accept a view according
to which it would be nonsense to speak of the averted face of our
satellite. 'Can there be the slightest doubt that, according to our

explanations, the conditions of meaning are amply satisfied in this
case?
I think there can be no doubt. For the question, 'What is the
other side of the moon like?', could be answered, for instance,
by a description of what would be seen or touched by a person

located somewhere behind the moon. The question whether it be
physically possible for a human being-or indeed any other living
being-to travel around the moon does not even have to be raised
here; it is entirely irrelevant. Even if it could be shown that a

journey to another celestial body were absolutely incompatible with
the known laws of nature, a proposition about the other side of
the moon would still be meaningful. Since our sentence speaks

of certain places in space as being filled with matter (for that is
what the words 'side of the moon' stand for), it will have meaning
if we indicate under what circumstances a proposition of the
form, 'this place is filled with matter', shall be called true or false.
The concept 'physical substance at a certain place' is defined by
our language in physics and geometry. Geometry itself is the grammar of our propositions about 'spatial' relations, and it is not very
difficult to see how assertions about physical properties and spatial
relations are connected with 'sense-data' by ostensive definitions.
This connection, by the way, is not such as to entitle us to say
that physical substance is 'a mere construction put upon sense-
data', or that a physical body is 'a complex of sense-data'-unless

we interpret these phrases as rather inadequate abbreviations of
the assertion that all propositions containing the term 'physical

body' require for their verification the presence of sense-data.
And this is certainly an exceedingly trivial statement.

In the case of the moon we might perhaps say that the meaning-

requirement is fulfilled if we are able to 'imagine' (picture men-
tally) situations which would verify our proposition. But if we
should say in general that verifiability of an assertion implies possibility of 'imagining' the asserted fact, this would be true only in a
restricted sense. It would not be true in so far as the possibility
is of the empirical kind, i.e., implying specific human capacities.
I do not think, for instance, that we can be accused of talking
nonsense if we speak of a universe of ten dimensions, or of beings

possessing sense-organs and having perceptions entirely different
from ours; and yet it does not seem right to say that we are able
to 'imagine' such beings and such perceptions, or a ten-dimensional

world. But we must be able to say under what observable circumstances we should assert the existence of the beings or sense-
organs just referred to. It is clear that I can speak meaningfully
of the sound of a friend's voice without being able actually to

recall it in my imagination.-This is not the place to discuss the
logical grammar of the word 'to imagine'; these few remarks may
caution us against accepting too readily a psychological explanation of verifiability.
We must not identify meaning with any of the psychological

data which form the material of a mental sentence (or 'thought')
in the same sense in which articulated sounds form the material
of a spoken sentence, or black marks on paper the material of a
written sentence. When you are doing a calculation in arithmetic

it is quite irrelevant whether you have before your mind the
images of black numbers or of red numbers, or no visual picture
at all. And even if it were empirically impossible for you to do

any calculation without imagining black numbers at the same time,
the mental pictures of those black marks could, of course, in no

way be considered as constituting the meaning, or part of the
meaning, of the calculation.
Carnap is right in putting great stress upon the fact (always
emphasized by the critics of 'psychologism') that the question of

meaning has nothing to do with the psychological question as to
the mental processes of which an act of thought may consist. But
I am not sure that he has seen with equal clarity that reference
to ostensive definitions (which we postulate for meaning) does not

involve the error of a confusion of the two questions. In order
to understand a sentence containing, e.g., the words 'red flag', it

is indispensable that I should be able to indicate a situation where
I could point to an object which I should call a 'flag', and whose
color I could recognize as 'red' as distinguished from other colors.
But in order to do this it is not necessary that I should actually
call up the image of a red flag. It is of the utmost importance to
see that these two things have nothing in common. At this moment
I am trying in vain to imagine the shape of a capital G in German
print; nevertheless I can speak about it without talking nonsense,

and I know I should recognize it if I saw the letter. Imagining a
red patch is utterly different from referring to an ostensive defini-
tion of 'red'. Verifiability has nothing to do with any images that

may be associated with the words of the sentence in question.
* * *
No more difficulty than in the case of the other side of the

moon will be found in discussing, as another significant example,
the question of 'immortality', which Professor Lewis calls, and
which is usually called, a metaphysical problem. I take it for
granted that 'immortality' is not supposed to signify never-ending

life (for that might possibly be meaningless on account of infinity being involved), but that we are concerned with the question of survival after 'death'. I think we may agree with Pro-
fessor Lewis when he says about this hypothesis: "Our understanding of what would verify it has no lack of clarity." In
fact, I can easily imagine e.g. witnessing the funeral of my own
body and continuing to exist without a body, for nothing is easier

than to describe a world which differs from our ordinary world
only in the complete absence of all data which I would call parts
of my own body.
We must conclude that immortality, in the sense defined, should

not be regarded as a 'metaphysical problem', but is an empirical
hypothesis, because it possesses logical verifiability. It could be
verified by following the prescription: 'Wait until you die!' Professor Lewis seems to hold that this method is not satisfactory
from the point of view of science. He says (I43):
The hypothesis of immortality is unverifiable in an obvious sense.
. if it be maintained that only what is scientifically verifiable has

meaning, then this conception is a case in point. It could hardly be
verified by science; and there is no observation or experiment which
science could make, the negative result of which would disprove it.
I fancy that in these sentences the private method of verification

is rejected as being unscientific because it would apply only to
the individual case of the experiencing person himself, whereas

a scientific statement should be capable of a general proof, open
to any careful observer. But I see no reason why even this should
be declared to be impossible. On the contrary, it is easy to describe

experiences such that the hypothesis of an invisible existence of
human beings after their bodily death would be the most acceptable
explanation of the phenomena observed. These phenomena, it is
true, would have to be of a much more convincing nature than

the ridiculous happenings alleged to have occurred in meetings
of the occultists-but I think there cannot be the slightest doubt
as to the possibility (in the logical sense) of phenomena which
would form a scientific justification of the hypothesis of survival
after death, and would permit an investigation by scientific

methods of that form of life. To be sure, the hypothesis could
never be established as absolutely true, but it shares this fate
with all hypotheses. If it should be urged that the souls of the
deceased might inhabit some supercelestial space where they would

not be accessible to our perception, and that therefore the truth
or falsity of the assertion could never be tested, the reply would

be that if, the words 'supercelestial space' are to have any meaning
at all, that space must be defined in such a way that the impossibility of reaching it or of perceiving anything in it would
be merely empirical, so that some means of overcoming the difficulties could at least be described, although it might be beyond
human power to put them into use.
Thus our conclusion stands. The hypothesis of immortality is
an empirical statement which owes its meaning to its verifiability,

and it has no meaning beyond the possibility of verification. If it
must be admitted that science could make no experiment the

negative result of which would disprove it, this is true only in
the same sense in which it is true for many other hypotheses of
similar structure-especially those that have sprung up from other
motives than the knowledge of a great many facts of experience

which must be regarded as giving a high probability to the
hypothesis.
*
The question about the 'existence of the external world' will be

discussed in the next section.
Let us now turn to a point of fundamental importance and the

deepest philosophic interest. Professor Lewis refers to it as the
"egocentric predicament", and he describes as one of the most

characteristic features of logical positivism its attempt to take
this predicament seriously. It seems to be formulated in the
sentence (I28), "Actually given experience is given in the first
person", and its importance for the doctrine of logical positivism
seems to be evident from the fact that Carnap, in his Der logische
Aufbau der Welt, states that the method of this book may be called
"methodological solipsism". Professor Lewis thinks, rightly, that
the egocentric or solipsistic principle is not implied by our general
principle of verifiability, and so he regards it as a second principle
which, together with that of verifiability, leads, in his opinion, to

the main results of the Viennese philosophy.
If I may be permitted to make a few general remarks here
I should like to say that one of the greatest advantages and
attractions of true positivism seems to me to be the antisolipsistic
attitude which characterizes it from the very beginning. There is
as little danger of solipsism in it as in any 'realism', and it seems
to me to be the chief point of difference between idealism and
positivism that the latter keeps entirely clear of the egocentric

predicament. I think it is the greatest misunderstanding of the
positivist idea (often even committed by thinkers who called themselves positivists) to see in it a tendency towards solipsism or a
kinship to subjective idealism. We may regard Vaihinger's
Philosophy of As If as a typical example of this mistake (he calls

his book a "System of Idealistic Positivism"), and perhaps the
philosophy of Mach and Avenarius as one of the most consistent
attempts to avoid it. It is rather unfortunate that Carnap has
advocated what he calls "methodological solipsism", and that in

his construction of all concepts out of elementary data the "eigenpsychische Gegenstainde" (for-me entities) come first and form the
basis for the construction of physical objects, which finally lead

to the concept of other selves; but if there is any mistake here
it is chiefly in the terminology, not in the thought. "Methodological

solipsism" is not a kind of solipsism, but a method of building up
concepts. And it must be borne in mind that the order of con-
struction which Carnap recommends-beginning with "for-me

entities"-is not asserted to be the only possible one. It would
have been better to have chosen a different order, but in principle
Carnap was well aware of the fact that original experience is

"without a subject" (see Lewis loc. cit. I45).
The strongest emphasis should be laid on the fact that primitive
experience is absolutely neutral or, as Wittgenstein has occasionally put it, that immediate data "have no owner". Since the
genuine positivist denies (with Mach etc.) that original experience
"has that quality or status, characteristic of all given experience,
which is indicated by the adjective 'first person"' (loc. Cit. I45),

he cannot possibly take the 'egocentric predicament' seriously; for
him this predicament does not exist. To see that primitive experience is not first-person experience seems to me to be one of
the most important steps which philosophy must take towards the
clarification of its deepest problems.
The unique position of the 'self' is not a.basic property of all

experience, but is itself a fact (among other facts) of experience.
Idealism (as represented by Berkeley's "esse = percipi" or by
Schopenhauer's "Die Welt ist meine Vorstellung") and other

doctrines with egocentric tendencies commit the great error of
mistaking the unique position of the ego, which is an empirical
fact, for a logical, a priori truth, or, rather, substituting the one for
the other. It is worth while to investigate this matter and analyse

the sentence which seems to express the egocentric predicament.
This will not be a digression, for without the clarification of this
point it will be impossible to understand the basic position of our
empiricism.
How does the idealist or the solipsist arrive at the statement
that the world, as far as I know it, is 'my own idea', that ultimately
I know nothing but the 'content of my own consciousness'?
Experience teaches that all immediate data depend in some way

or other upon those data that constitute what I call 'my body'.
All visual data disappear when the eyes of this body are closed;
all sounds cease when its ears are stuffed up; and so on. This
body is distinguished from the 'bodies of other beings' by the

fact that it always appears in a peculiar perspective (its back or
its eyes, for instance, never appear except in a looking glass);
but this is not nearly so significant as the other fact that the
quality of all data is conditioned by the state of the organs of
this particular body. Obviously these two facts-and perhaps

originally the first one-form the only reason why this body is
called 'my' body. The possessive pronoun singles it out from among
other bodies; it is an adjective which denotes the uniqueness
described.
The fact that all data are dependent upon 'my' body (particularly
those parts of it which are called 'sense-organs') induces us to
form the concept of 'perception'. We do not find this concept in

the language of unsophisticated, primitive people; they do not
say, 'I perceive a tree', but simply, 'there is a tree'. 'Perception'
implies the distinction between a subject which perceives and an
object which is perceived. Originally the perceiver is the senseorgan or the body to which it belongs, but since the body itselfincluding the nervous system-is also one of the perceived things,
the original view is soon 'corrected' by substituting for the per-
ceiver a new subject, which is called 'ego' or 'mind' or 'consciousness'. It is usually thought of as somehow residing in the body,
because the sense-organs are on the surface of the body. The

mistake of locating consciousness or mind inside the body ('in
the head'), which has been called "introjection" by R. Avenarius,

is the main source of the difficulties of the so-called 'mind-body
problem'. By avoiding the error of introjection we avoid at the
same time the idealistic fallacy which leads to solipsism. It is easy
to show that introjection is an error. When I see a green meadow
the 'green' is declared to be a content of my consciousness, but it

certainly is not inside my head. Inside my skull there is nothing
but my brain; and if there should happen to be a green spot in
my brain, it would obviously not be the green of the meadow,
but the green of the brain.
No. 4.] MEANING AND VERIFICATION 36i
But for our purpose it is not necessary to follow this train of

thought; it is sufficient to restate the facts clearly.
It is a fact of experience that all data depend in some way or

other upon the state of a certain body which has the peculiarity
that its eyes and its back are never seen (except by means of a
mirror). It is usually called 'my' body; but here, in order to avoid

mistakes, I shall take the liberty of calling it the body 'M'. A
particular case of the dependence just mentioned is expressed by
the sentence, 'I do not perceive anything unless the sense-organs

of the body M are affected'. Or, taking a still more special case,
I may make the following statement:
'I feel pain only when the body M is hurt.' (P)

I shall refer to this statement as 'proposition P'.
Now let us consider another proposition (Q):

'I can feel only my pain.' (Q)
The sentence Q may be interpreted in various ways. Firstly, it
may be regarded as equivalent to P, so that P and Q would just

be two different ways of expressing one and the same empirical
fact. The word 'can' occurring in Q would denote what we have
called 'empirical possibility', and the words 'I' and 'my' would
refer to the body M. It is of the utmost importance to realize
that in this first interpretation Q is the description of a fact of

experience, i.e., a fact which we could very well imagine to be
different.
We could easily imagine (here I am closely following ideas

expressed by Mr. Wittgenstein) that I experience a pain every
time the body of my friend is hurt, that I am gay when his face
bears a joyful expression, that I feel tired after he has taken a
long walk, or even that I do not see anything when his eyes are
closed, and so forth. Proposition Q (if interpreted as being
equivalent to P) denies that these things ever happen; but if they

did happen, Q would be falsified. Thus we indicate the meaning
of Q (or P) by describing facts which make Q true, and other
facts that would make it false. If facts of the latter kind occurred
our world would be rather different from the one in which we are
actually living; the properties of the 'data' would depend on other
human bodies (or perhaps only one of them) as well as upon the
body M.
This fictitious world may be empirically impossible, because

incompatible with the actual laws of nature-though we cannot
at all be sure of this-but it is logically possible, because we were
able to give a description of it. Now let us for a moment suppose
this fictitious world to be real. How would our language adapt itself
to it? It might be done in two different ways which are of interest
for our problem.
Proposition P would be false. As regards Q, there would be

two possibilities. The first is to maintain that its meaning is still
to be the same as that of P. In this case Q would be false and
could be replaced by the true proposition,
'I can feel somebody else's pain as well as my own.' (R)

R would state the empirical fact (which for the moment we
suppose to be true) that the datum 'pain' occurs not only when
M is hurt, but also when some injury is inflicted upon some
other body, say, the body '0'.
If we express the supposed state of affairs by the proposition

R, there will evidently be no temptation and no pretext to make
any 'solipsistic' statement. My body-which in this case could mean
nothing but 'body M'-would still be unique in that it would
always appear in a particular perspective (with invisible back,
etc.), but it would no longer be unique as being the only body

upon whose state depended the properties of all other data. And
it was only this latter characteristic which gave rise to the egocentric view. The philosophic doubt concerning the 'reality of
the external world' arose from the consideration that I had no
knowledge of' that world except by perception, i.e., by means of

the sensitive organs of my body. If this is no longer true, if the
data depend also on other bodies 0 (which differ from M in
certain empirical respects, but not in principle), then there will
be no more justification in calling the data 'my own'; other individuals 0 will have the same right to be regarded as owners or
proprietors of the data. The sceptic was afraid that other bodies
o might be nothing but images owned by the 'mind' belonging to
the body M, because everything seemed to depend on the state
of the latter; but under the circumstances described there exists

perfect symmetry between 0 and M; the egocentric predicament
has disappeared.
You will perhaps call my attention to the fact that the circumstances we have been describing are fictitious, that they do
not occur in our real world, so that in this world, unfortunately,
the egocentric predicament holds its sway. I answer that I wish

to base my argument only on the fact that the difference between
the two words is merely empirical, i.e., proposition P just
happens to be true in the actual world as far as our experience
goes. It does not even seem to be incompatible with the known
laws of nature; the probability which these laws give to the falsity
of P is not zero.
Now if we still agree that proposition Q is to be regarded
as identical with P (which means that 'my' is to be defined as

referring to M), the word 'can' in Q will still indicate empirical
possibility. Consequently, if a philosopher tried to use Q as the

basis of a kind of solipsism, he would have to be prepared to see
his whole construction falsified by some future experience. But
this is exactly what the true solipsist refuses to do. He contends
that no experience whatever could possibly contradict him, because it would always necessarily have the peculiar for-me
character, which may be described by the 'egocentric predicament'.
In other words, he is well aware that solipsism cannot be based
on Q as long as Q is, by definition, nothing but another way of

expressing P. As a matter of fact, the solipsist who makes the
statement Q attaches a different meaning to the same words; he
does not wish merely to assert P, but he intends to say something

entirely different. The difference lies in the word 'my'. He does
not want to define the personal pronoun by reference to the body
M, but uses it in a much more general way. What meaning does
he give to the sentence Q?
Let us examine this second interpretation which may be given

to Q.
The idealist or solipsist who says, 'I can feel only my own pain',
or, more generally, 'I can be aware only of the data of my own
consciousness', believes that he is uttering a necessary, self-evident
truth which no possible experience can force him to sacrifice. He
will have to admit the possibility of circumstances such as those we
described for our fictitious world; but, he will say, even if I feel
pain every time when another body 0 is hurt, I shall never say, 'I
feel O's pain', but always, 'My pain is in O's body'.

We cannot declare this statement of the idealist to be false; it
is just a different way of adapting our language to the imagined
new circumstances, and the rules of language are, in principle,
arbitrary. But, of course, some uses of our words may recommend
themselves as practical and well adapted; others may be condemned as misleading. Let us examine the idealist's attitude from
this point of view.
He rejects our proposition R and replaces it by the other one:

'I can feel pain in other bodies as well as in my own.' (S)
He wants to insist that any pain I feel must be called my pain, no
matter where it is felt, and in order to assert this he says:
'I can feel only my pain.' (T)
Sentence T is, as far as the words are concerned, the same as Q.

I have used slightly different signs by having the words 'can' and
'my' printed in italics, in order to indicate that, when used by the
solipsist, these two words have a signification which is different
from the signification they had in Q when we interpreted Q as
meaning the same as P. In T 'my pain' no longer means 'pain in
body M', because, according to the solipsist's explanation, 'my

pain' may also be in another body 0; so we must ask: what does
the pronoun 'my' signify here?
It is easy to see that it does not signify anything; it is a super-
fluous word which may just as well be omitted. 'I feel pain' and 'I
feel my pain' are, according to the solipsist's definition, to have
identical meaning; the word 'my', therefore, has no function in the
sentence. If he says, 'The pain which I feel is my pain', he is

uttering a mere tautology, because he has declared that whatever
the empirical circumstances may be, he will never allow the pro-
nouns 'your' or 'his' to be used in connection with 'I feel pain',

but always the pronoun 'my'. This stipulation, being independent
of empirical facts, is a logical rule, and if it is followed, T becomes
a tautology; the word 'can' in T (together with 'only') does not
denote empirical impossibility, but logical impossibility. In other
words it would not be false, it would be nonsense (grammatically
forbidden) to say 'I can feel somebody else's pain'. A tautology,
being the negation of nonsense, is itself devoid of meaning in the

sense that it does not assert anything, but merely indicates a rule
concerning the use of words.
We infer that T, which is the second interpretation of Q,

adopted by the solipsist and forming the basis of his argument, is
strictly meaningless. It does not say anything at all, does not ex-
press any interpretation of the world or view about the world; it
just introduces a strange way of speaking, a clumsy kind of

language, which attaches the index 'my' (or 'content of my
consciousness') to everything without exception. Solipsism is nonsense, because its starting-point, the egocentric predicament, is
meaningless.
The words 'I' and 'my', if we use them according to the solipsist's prescription, are absolutely empty, mere adornments of
speech. There would be no difference of meaning between the three
expressions, 'I feel my pain'; 'I feel pain'; and 'there is pain'.
Lichtenberg, the wonderful eighteenth-century physicist and philosopher, declared that Descartes had no right to start his philo-
sophy with the proposition 'I think', instead of saying 'it thinks'.
Just as there would be no sense in speaking of a white horse unless
it were logically possible that a horse might not be white, so no
sentence containing the words 'I' or 'my' would be meaningful unless we could replace them by 'he' or 'his' without speaking non-
sense. But such a substitution is impossible in a sentence that would

seem to express the egocentric predicament or the solipsistic philosophy.
R and S are not different explanations or interpretations of a

certain state of affairs which we have described, but simply
verbally different formulations of this description. It is of fundamental importance to see that R and S are not two propositions,
but one and the same proposition in two different languages. The
solipsist, by rejecting the language of R and insisting upon the
language of S, has adopted a terminology which makes Q tautological, transforms it into T. Thus he has made it impossible to
verify or falsify his own statements; he himself has deprived them
of meaning. By refusing to avail himself of the opportunities
(which we showed him) to make the statement 'I can feel somebody else's pain' meaningful, he has at the same time lost the
opportunity of giving meaning to the sentence 'I can feel only my

own pain'.
The pronoun 'my' indicates possession; we cannot speak of the

'owner' of a pain-or any other datum-except in cases where the
word 'my' can be used meaningfully, i.e., where by substituting
'his' or 'your' we would get the description of a possible state of
affairs. This condition is fulfilled if 'my' is defined as referring to
the body M, and it would also be fulfilled if I agree to call 'my
body' any body in which I can feel pain. In our actual world these
two definitions apply to one and the same body, but that is' an
empirical fact which might be different. If the two definitions did
not coincide and if we adopted the second one we should need a
new word to distinguish the body M from other bodies in which
I might have sensations; the word 'my' would have meaning in a

sentence of the form 'A is one of my bodies, but B is not', but it
would be meaningless in the statement 'I can feel pain only in my

bodies', for this would be a mere tautology.
The grammar of the word 'owner' is similar to that of the word

'my': it makes sense only where it is logically possible for a thing
to change its owner, i.e., where the relation between the owner and
the owned object is empirical, not logical ('external', not 'internal'). Thus one could say 'Body M is the owner of this pain', or
'that pain is owned by the bodies M and 0'. The second proposition
can, perhaps, never be truthfully asserted in our actual world
(although I cannot see that it would be incompatible with the laws
of nature), but both of them would make sense. Their meaning

would be to express certain relations of dependence between the
pain and the state of certain bodies, and the existence of such a
relation could easily be tested.
The solipsist refuses to use the word 'owner' in this sensible
way. He knows that many properties of the data do not depend

at all upon any states of human bodies, viz., all those regularities
of their behavior that can be expressed by 'physical laws'; he
knows, therefore, that it would be wrong to say 'my body is the
owner of everything', and so he speaks of a 'self', or 'ego', or
'consciousness', and declares this to be the owner of everything.
(The idealist, by the way, makes the same mistake when he asserts
that we know nothing but 'appearances'.) This is nonsense because

the word 'owner', when used in this way, has lost its meaning. The
solipsistic assertion cannot be verified or falsified, it will be true
by definition, whatever the facts may be; it simply consists in the

verbal prescription to add the phrase 'owned by Me' to the names
of all -objects, etc.
Thus we see that unless we choose to call our body the owner
or bearer of the data-which seems to be a rather misleading
expression-we have to say that the data have no owner or bearer.

This neutrality of experience-as against the subjectivity claimed
for it by the idealist-is one of the most fundamental points of
true positivism. The sentence 'All experience is first-person ex-
perience' will either mean the simple empirical fact that all data
are in certain respects dependent on the state of the nervous system
of my body M, or it will be meaningless. Before this physiological
fact is discovered, experience is not 'my' experience at all, it is
self-sufficient and does not 'belong' to anybody. The proposition

'The ego is the centre of the world' may be regarded as an expres-
sion of the same fact, and has meaning only if it refers to the
body. The concept of 'ego' is a construction put upon the same
fact, and we could easily imagine a world in which this concept
would not have been formed, where there would be no idea of an
insurmountable barrier between what is inside the Me and what

is outside of. it. It would be a world in which occurrences like
those corresponding to proposition R and similar ones were the

rule, and in which the facts of 'memory' were not so pronounced
as they are in our actual world. Under those circumstances we
should not be tempted to fall into the 'egocentric predicament', but
the sentence which tries to express such a predicament would be
meaningless under any circumstances.
* * *
After our last remarks it will be easy to deal with the so-called
problem concerning the existence of the external world. If, with
Professor Lewis (143), we formulate the 'realistic' hypothesis

by asserting, "If all minds should disappear from the universe, the
stars would still go on in their courses", we must admit the impossibility of verifying it, but the impossibility is merely empirical.
And the empirical circumstances are such that we have every

reason to believe the hypothesis to be true. We are as sure of it
as of the best founded physical laws that science has discovered.

As a matter of fact, we have already pointed out that there are
certain regularities in the world which experience shows to be

entirely independent of what happens to human beings on the
earth. The laws of motion of the celestial bodies are formulated
entirely without reference to any human bodies, and this is the
reason why we are justified in maintaining that they will go on in
their courses after mankind has vanished from the earth. Experience shows no connection between the two kinds of events.
We observe that the course of the stars is no more changed by the
death of human beings than, say, by the eruption of a volcano, or

by a change of government in China. Why should we suppose that
there would be any difference if all living beings on our planet,
or indeed everywhere in the universe, were extinguished? There
can be no doubt that on the strength of empirical evidence the
existence of living beings is no necessary condition for the existence of the rest of the world.
The question 'Will the world go on existing after I am dead?'

has no meaning unless it is interpreted as asking 'Does the existence of the stars etc. depend upon the life or death of a human
being?', and this question is answered in the negative by experience. The mistake of the solipsist or idealist consists in rejecting
this empirical interpretation and looking for some metaphysical

issue behind it; but all their efforts to construct a new sense of
the question end only in depriving it of its old one.

It will be noticed that I have taken the liberty of substituting
the phrase 'if all living beings disappeared from the universe' for
the phrase 'if all minds disappeared from the universe'. I hope it
will not be thought that I have changed the meaning of the issue
by this substitution. I have avoided the word 'mind' because I take
it to signify the same as the words 'ego' or 'consciousness', which
we have found to be so dark and dangerous. By living beings I
meant beings capable of perception, and the concept of perception

had been defined only by reference to living bodies, to physical
organs. Thus I was justified in substituting 'death of living beings'
for 'disappearance of minds'. But the arguments hold for any
empirical definition one may choose to give for 'mind'. I need only
point out that, according to experience, the motion of the stars

etc. is quite independent of all 'mental' phenomena such as feeling
joy or sorrow, meditating, dreaming, etc.; and we may infer that
the course of the stars would not be affected if those phenomena

should cease to exist.
But is it true that this inference could be verified by experience?
Empirically it seems to be impossible, but we know that only logical
possibility of verification is required. And verification without a

'mind' is logically possible on account of the 'neutral', impersonal
character of experience on which we have insisted. Primitive experience, mere existence of ordered data, does not presuppose a
'subject', or 'ego', or 'Me', or 'mind'; it can take place without any
of the facts which lead to the formation of those concepts; it is
not an experience of anybody. It is not difficult to imagine a uni-
verse without plants and animals and human bodies (including the
body M), and without the mental phenomena just referred to: it
would certainly be a 'world without minds' (for what else could
deserve this name?), but the laws of nature might be exactly the
same as in our actual world. We could describe this universe in,

terms of our actual experience (we would only have to leave out
all terms referring to human bodies and emotions); and that is

sufficient to speak of it as a world of possible experience.
The last considerations may serve as an example of one of the
main theses of true positivism: that the naive representation of
the world, as the man in the street sees it, is perfectly correct; and
that the solution of the great philosophical issues consists in returning to this original world-view, after having shown that the
troublesome problems arose only from an inadequate description

of the world by means of a faulty language.
* * *
MORITZ SCHLICK
THE UNIVERSITY OF VIENNA

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Philosophical Review

Meaning and Verification

Number 4 July, I936 Whole

PHILOSOPHICAL questions, as compared with ordinary

of every proposition to express its own meaning? In fact, when

us) we usually know its meaning immediately. If we do not, we

distinctly or in slightly different words. Under what circumstances,

Evidently the only possibility is that we have not understood

nothing but a series of words which we are unable to handle; we

ing', a mere sequel of sounds or a mere row of marks on paper,

perhaps speak of it as 'a sentence'.

340 THE PHILOSOPHICAL REVIEW [VOL. XLV.

paradox by saying that we cannot inquire after the meaning of a

that this amounts to asking, 'What proposition does the sentence

by indicating the logical rules which will make a proposition out

the sentence is to be used. These two methods do not actually

of a language which is already in our possession, the second one

very often we do not know how to handle our own words; we

We commit the mistake of thinking that we know the meaning

within a definite context into which it has been fitted; in any

done, at least in principle, quite arbitrarily.

No. 4.] MEANING AND VERIFICATION 34I

would appear nonsensical to me, because the word 'blue' is used

although its exterior linguistic form is that of a command or a

wish. But he can, of course, give it a meaning. If I ask him,

serenity of the sky which he wants his phrase to be the description

Thus, whenever we ask about a sentence, 'What does it mean?',

what we expect is instruction as to the circumstances in which the

which regulate their use and which, following Wittgenstein, we

(If the preceding remarks about meaning are as correct as I

conversations with Wittgenstein which have greatly influenced

Stating the meaning of a sentence amounts to stating the rules

means of a procedure which puts the words to actual use. The

bined with the pronouncing of the word, as when we teach a child

342 THE PHILOSOPHICAL REVIEW [VOL. XLV.

in most cases the ostensive definition is of a more complicated

of the words is defined by the way we use them in these different

way of understanding any meaning without ultimate reference to

to 'experience' or 'possibility of verification'.

questionable. It is this situation and nothing else that we describe

when we affirm that the meaning of a proposition can be given

actually assigned to propositions, both in everyday life and in

conception of meaning which is contrary to common opinion and

which we want to introduce into philosophy. On the contrary, our

terion of meaning has always been employed in practice, it has very

excuse for the attempts of so many philosophers to deny its

is Einstein's answer to the question, What do we mean when

we speak of two events at distant places happening simultaneously?

No. 4.] MEANING AND VERIFICATION 343

This answer consisted in a description of an experimental method

still maintain-that they knew the meaning of the above question

who think that Einstein's philosophical opponents were right.

Professor C. I. Lewis, in a remarkable address on "Experience

and Meaning" (published in this Review, March I934), has justly

Viennese Circle". He criticizes this basis as inadequate chiefly on

would make such discussion altogether impossible and, at other

philosophy (which I should prefer to call Consistent Empiricism),

strictions upon significant philosophizing at all, I shall try to

as I can answer for it myself. All of my own arguments will be