On the naturalist foundations of any truly general theory of signs

1 Introduction

Charles Peirce’s semiotic, in contrast with Saussure’s semiology, was designed not primarily as a theory of language, but as a truly general theory of signs. Long before Peirce, Augustine had already demonstrated that signs and semiosis could be manifested as either natural or conventional (Augustine 1984). But Peirce developed his theory far beyond the point where Augustine concluded his deliberations. In doing so, Peirce blurred the distinction between the natural and the conventional or cultural; signs can and do appear virtually anywhere. In addition, Peirce made significant advances in the logic of relations, expanding the purview of logic to include the analysis of systems as well as classes. All of these ideas provide valuable resources for anyone engaged in the task of attempting to understand the nature and possibilities of multicultural dialogue. For the argument that I hope to develop here, Peirce supplies both the inspiration and a launching point; but I do not intend to restrict my remarks exclusively to an interpretation of his writings.

Naturalist perspectives are quite typically contrasted with those that are conceived as being “socially constructivist.” But if my argument is valid, this contrast will need to be dramatically softened, perhaps eliminated altogether. The cost of such a strategy, to be sure, cannot be the denial that we engage in socially inspired acts of imagination and construction; nor can it result in a blindness to the fact of difference, that is, to the divergent practices and points of view that are rooted in human sociality (rather than in biology). What is required instead for such an argument to succeed is a carefully nuanced view of the relationship between biology and sociality, between nature and culture. That is precisely the sort of perspective for which Peirce’s semiotic theory provides the framework and impetus.

In addition to the truly general nature of that theory, resulting from Peirce’s refusal to reduce all forms of meaningful semiosis to language narrowly conceived, I appeal in these remarks to his perspective on a “logic of systems,” one that exposes the continuity-in-difference that links various items within a system.^[1] Such continuity cannot be reduced to the sameness that becomes the point of emphasis in any inquiry guided by a traditional logic of classes. Something is identified as being a member of a certain class if it shares some feature with the other members of that class. But the relation that defines a logical system is of a very different kind. Indeed, any type of meaningful relation might define a system. In his development of the logic of relations, Peirce often used gift-giving as an example of such a relationship, one that constitutes a system rather than a class. Analyzing what is involved when “X gives Y to Z” is very different from establishing those characteristics that define givers, gifts, and recipients as members of their respective classes. Such an analysis requires instead that one understands the distinctive purpose that governs such a relationship.^[2]

2 On the continuity of nature and culture

I propose to turn my attention first to the relationship between nature and culture, hoping to expose the naturalist foundations of certain social and cultural practices. In the first place, as I have already indicated, it is perfectly natural for humans to create cultures, and to live and flourish within them. Just as bees make honey, beavers build dams, and birds leave their nests to fly, humans are instinctively predisposed to create and use symbols, including languages, and to reason with them accordingly. To be sure, we know that other animal species are also quite capable of using signs; chimpanzees seem to be able to develop a vocabulary consisting of several hundred items. The distinguishing factor is that humans do not simply use signs as tools, but that they recognize them as being signs. Thinking with and thinking about a sign represent very different cognitive capacities. It is the human ability to enter into this metacognitive space that marks Homo symbolicus as being special and distinctive among all other species.^[3]

One of the most dramatic portrayals of this ability is presented in Walker Percy’s Peircean meditation on the report supplied by Ann Sullivan about her experiences as young Helen Keller’s teacher (Percy 2000: 34–45). For some time, Helen was able to respond to a variety of signals in much the same way that a dog or a chimpanzee might be trained to do. But on the occasion when she realized that one particular signal was the symbol for water, a breakthrough of immeasurable significance took place. Helen moved into a world now perfused with meaning, one filled with signs as well as with things, a world that she entered when instead of simply using signs she was able to contemplate them as such.

For Peirce, feelings were vague thoughts, and so like all thoughts they should be regarded as signs. Now, it is also obviously the case that animals have feelings; I have observed my pet dog on different occasions as she became angry (when feeling threatened by another dog during a walk) or anxious (whenever I took her to the veterinarian). The difference between me and my pet is that when I become angry or anxious, I have the ability to step back and ask myself why this is so, what these signs mean. I might even be inclined to talk to a therapist or a friend about my feelings in order to further probe their meaning. This is not something, I am quite convinced, that my dog would ever be inclined to do.

In addition to the fact that it is natural to be cultural, it is also the case that biology as well as culture plays an important role in determining our interpretations of signs and symbols. With the radical “turn to language” that occurred in philosophy during the twentieth century – inspired by Wittgenstein, Heidegger, and others – I think that it has become easy to ignore these biological factors. To be sure, the language that I speak and the culture in which I have been immersed will play a significant role in determining how I will interpret a particular sign or symbol. Meaning is not something pre-formed that is then expressed in language; rather, meaning is constituted by language as the very the ground of its possibility. Someone from Nanjing will experience the world differently than someone from Boston, for reasons that have a great deal to do with their linguistic habits and capacities. This seems both obvious and inevitable. The question that I am raising is about how we measure the significance and degree of such a difference, and whether or not we can discern a continuity-in-difference.

Attention to biology allows us to account for such a continuity and, moreover, to predict that there will necessarily be one in virtually all cases of comparative interpretation. My construal of a sign’s meaning will certainly be shaped in a dramatic way by the fact that I am an American, born and having lived all of my life in the northeastern part of the United States, a native speaker of English, a registered Democrat, and an active Roman Catholic. But my interpretive behavior will be significantly influenced by my “hardware” as well as by my “software,” that is, by the fact that I am Homo sapiens, a biped who walks upright, with eyes fixed on the front rather than the sides of my head, also with an opposable thumb on each of my hands, a brain constructed like the ones that humans possess, and with hormones of a certain kind coursing through my bloodstream. All of these are factors influencing my semiotic interactions.

My argument here is that thinking in language is a mode of interpretation that supervenes on without abrogating nonlinguistic forms of semiosis.^[4] It is clear to me that my five-month-old granddaughter is continuously engaging in semiotic interactions with other persons and with her environment. As she learns to speak, her interpretations and the nature of these interactions will be dramatically transformed. Yet to observe this is not to insist that interpretation begins for her only at the moment when she starts to understand and speak words. It was always already happening, even before she takes her own personal “linguistic turn.”

Adopting Peirce’s naturalism, I want to say something more than simply that our human bodies play a role in how we ascertain the meanings of certain signs. In addition, our bodies are signs. Moreover, we think and interpret with our bodies. The first of these claims is so obviously true that it is quite commonplace to talk metaphorically about “body language.” I can tell you with my words that I am not angry or jealous even as you can discern from my gestures, facial expression, or other bodily behavior that the truth is otherwise. I may not even be aware of that truth, which is why we must agree with Peirce (along with his fellow pragmatists Royce, Dewey, and Mead) that what we know about ourselves is achieved not through simple introspection, but by means of interpretations and inferences quite similar to the way in which we come to know about others. My granddaughter will achieve selfhood and self-knowledge only as a result of continuous contact and interaction with other selves.

If our bodies are also signs, it stands to reason that our interpretive behavior can take a variety of forms quite different from speaking or writing. Once again, semiosis cannot be reduced to language. Since feelings are vague thoughts, my feeling-response to some powerful symbol is a part of what that symbol means for me. Likewise, thoughts can be embodied in action. As a practitioner of taijiquan for the last 35 years, I have often experienced while engaged in the practice of pushing hands – with greater or lesser success – how it is possible to interpret another person’s intentions and movements wordlessly with my body. Consider another example: If you are asked to “interpret” a piece of music, to be sure, you could write an essay or attempt to explain its meaning orally. But your interpretation might prove to be much more eloquent if you performed it by dancing. This is another basic Peircean insight, that the “ultimate logical interpretant” of any sign will consist in some habit of conduct, not just those habits governing verbal behavior, but a pattern that can be displayed in anything that we do, that is, in our praxis. My granddaughter cannot yet speak to me, but she has already learned to smile in response to my smile and other facial expressions.

It seems clear to me that Peirce anticipated much of our contemporary talk about and analysis of “embodied cognition,” most dramatically when he suggested that it was appropriate to regard his thoughts as residing in the pen that he was using to write them down, much more so than as being “locked up” somewhere in his skull (Peirce 1931–1958: 7.366).^[5] Once again, we frequently think and interpret with our bodies, not with words, numbers, or other culturally constructed entities. It takes practice and requires habit formation, but tying one’s shoes or riding a bicycle displays a form of cognition, a way of thinking, different from but just as important for human flourishing as the formulation of an argument or the solving of a mathematical problem. Regarding the latter, I state the obvious when I suggest that most of the problems confronting us regularly, requiring interpretation and resolution, are hardly mathematical. In the process of untangling a cord or a string that has become distressingly tangled, I will need to think not with words or numbers but with my hands and fingers in order to solve the problem.

I do not need to speak either Chinese or English in order to be able to untie something that is tangled or in a knot. Nor will the particular language in which I am fluent have any great impact on my experience of doing so. I can practice pushing hands with someone who speaks no English, a form of semiotic interaction that involves communication and deep listening, but without words. I am not suggesting that this is a form of communication that is natural rather than cultural. The creation and development of taijiquan as a martial exercise was shaped by all sorts of historical, social, political, and even religious factors (consider the importance of Daoism as a crucial influence). Nevertheless, I can only engage in this practice because I am a biped, who walks upright, with eyes in the front of my head, etc. My dog would never be able to engage in such a practice, to think with her body in this particular fashion. Her biology, combined with her complete inability to grasp Daoist concepts and principles, would prevent her from doing so. And so, I want to insist on the continuity of nature with culture, as well as to undermine any attempt to drive a wedge between them.

Once that wedge is removed, it is possible to admit that cultural differences do shape our interpretations accordingly; these differences need to be both recognized and appreciated. But the fact that we are all humans engaged in this quite natural activity of producing and participating in cultural semiosis establishes a certain continuity-in-difference. Meaningful multicultural dialogue will need to be rooted in the awareness of this continuity; and to make such an affirmation is simultaneously to underscore the naturalist foundations of any truly general theory of signs.

3 Continuity and the logic of systems

Charles Peirce perceived real continuities everywhere in nature and culture, a reality to which many other thinkers have remained essentially blind. This motivated his commitment to an extreme form of metaphysical realism and led to the formulation of a philosophical doctrine that he referred to as “synechism.” It was also an important factor for his logical investigations. I want to return now to a consideration of Peirce’s logic of relations and the example of gift-giving. Like all forms of semiosis, gift-giving was an essentially triadic relationship for Peirce. It could not be reduced to the act of someone (X) putting something (Y) down and then someone else (Z) just happening to pick it up; rather, there is a certain kind of purposefulness that distinguishes such a relationship. As Peirce put the matter in describing the type of causality involved in semiosis, A does something, B, “as a means” to bringing about a certain result C (Peirce 1931–1958: 5.472–73; Peirce’s emphasis). Notice that the giving or exchange of gifts need not be understood in any sense as a verbal interaction. Once again, meaningful semiosis cannot be reduced to language; Peirce’s is a truly general theory of signs.

Interpretive behavior may be quite natural for human beings; as I have already indicated, if conceived in a certain fashion, it might even be regarded as a distinguishing feature of humans as a species. Nevertheless, interpretation is always also a form of social and cultural behavior so that social and cultural variations tend dramatically to affect its outcome. Persons who speak different languages, employ different symbols, and are embedded in different cultures cannot be expected to agree on all matters of interpretation. How, then might we understand these differences?

I am not going to pursue here the philosophically important but quite complex issue of translation from one language to another (in whatever manner, for the sake of analysis, the word “language” might happen to be defined). The possibility of translation has to be assumed if we are properly to evaluate the status of different interpretations. In order to jumpstart these deliberations, I am going to propose that such an evaluation can have three possible outcomes: there might be the achievement of a consensus in the evaluation of interpretations, or they might be perceived as in conflict, or finally, it might be possible to regard them as complementary (Raposa 2020: 3–4). The third of these possibilities is the one most relevant to the argument being developed here, and it is best understood against the background supplied by Peirce’s semiotic theory.

Notice how the goal of consensus maps neatly onto the sort of logic involved in the analysis of classes. Inquiry is often judged to be successful to the extent that some sort of meaningful consensus can be achieved. This is especially true of the sort of inquiry pursued by scientists. The results achieved in my laboratory, as a consequence of my observations and experiments, are of very little scientific value if they cannot be replicated elsewhere, that is, if no one else is able to achieve the same results. Peirce’s logic of inquiry is often portrayed by commentators as being linked to the goal of a consensus to be achieved in the indefinite long run, a “final opinion” with which we can identify the truth. This portrait of Peirce’s logic, while not a completely distorted one, seems to me to be something of a caricature. Focusing on the ideal of a final consensus achieved in the long run does not illuminate every aspect of human inquiries as they actually unfold in time. And while that ideal might help to motivate and modify the investigations of natural scientists, it seems to be considerably less important for scholars working in the humanities.

The possibility of conflict is still bound in a peculiar way to the ideal of sameness and the preoccupation with consensus. Put most simply, conflict results when different interpreters or inquirers fail to reach the same conclusion and so fail to achieve a consensus. In the humanities most especially, the consensus referred to will most often be about a range of interpretations that are considered to be plausible, appropriate, or acceptable. Any construal of meaning that does not fall within that range is likely to be subjected to critique (which is why humanists argue about the results of their inquiries, much as natural and social scientists do). No one would insist that the meaning of a great novel like The Brothers Karamazov can be captured in a single rendering. Nevertheless, it would be wrong in a rather straightforward sense to read it as a recipe for making chocolate chip cookies.

By way of contrast with both consensus and conflict, what I call “semiotic complementarity” represents a very different sort of outcome. It occurs when persons interpret the same symbol differently, but their interpretations complement one another, combining to form a richer and more complex symbol (from Peirce’s perspective, every interpretation, or interpretant, itself is some kind of sign.) On the assumption that many symbols are richly multivalent – once again, most especially those that are the object of inquiry in the humanities – it would be unreasonable to expect them to determine rigidly a single interpretant. What does the Mona Lisa mean? What about Beethoven’s ninth symphony, or the I Ching, or (once again) Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov? While interpretations may reinforce or conflict with each other, I want also to suggest that it is possible for neither outcome to occur. A third possibility is that they may display a certain complementary.

This concept of semiotic complementarity is not one that Peirce ever explicitly articulated or defended.^[6] Nevertheless, it is consistent with and supported by the elaborate semiotic theory that he did in fact develop. Given the character of the journal in which these remarks are intended to be published, I might add that the idea of contrasting, but complementary and multivalent symbols is one that has been developed with great subtlety and sophistication in classical Chinese thought, most notably in philosophical meditations on the relationship between yin and yang.

Semiotic complementarity is manifested whenever I interpret a symbol differently from the way that you do, but my interpretation seems enriched by the very different insights embedded in yours. We have not achieved a consensus, nor does it seem like the most productive way to proceed would involve a debate about who is correct or to engage in critique. In considering your point of view, I can discern how it balances and supplements my own perspective. There is a continuity between our interpretations, but it does not consist in any kind of sameness or similarity. It is more like the relation between givers and persons who receive gifts; they play a different but complementary role in the relationship. There can be no gift-giver without someone to receive the gift. Moreover, I do not correctly perceive anything as a gift unless I also recognize it as the sign of a giver. This is the logic of that system that we call gift-giving. In a similar fashion, the combining and comparing of our interpretations can result in the development of a new system of meaning, a complex symbol that embodies multiple perspectives.

I have chosen the simplest case, which involves the comparison of only two points of view, but of course I might readily become engaged in dialogue with multiple interpreters, as quite typically occurs at scholarly meetings and conferences of various kinds. I may discover that many of their very different readings of a text, for example, are of great interest to me and can be blended with my own understanding. This may require me to modify my own interpretation to some extent. Blending is not the same thing as simply adding one interpretation to another like placing building blocks alongside each other. It is much more like what must occur in order to achieve success in pushing hands. The movements of my partner in pushing hands are different from, but nevertheless merge and become continuous with, my movements. I am continuously adjusting my movements in response to what my partner does. My partner’s ch’i can be regarded as a gift if I receive and interpret it as such. In a similar fashion, my reception of someone else’s reading of a text can be considered as a gift, in this case, the gift of meaning.

When complementarity is manifested within the semiotic behavior of a single person, it might make sense to refer to it as semiotic hybridity. It could be the case that a single interpreter construes the meaning of a symbol first in one way and then in another. These readings do not openly conflict, nor do they simply coexist side by side, like books on a shelf, as different but alternative possibilities. Blending occurs and a certain continuity is established between one and the other in order to produce something new, richer, and more complex. After living for six months in Tübingen, my semiotic behavior in a German café has been dramatically transformed. I have learned to appreciate coffee the way that Germans prepare and drink it, not so that it replaces my enjoyment of American-style coffee, but as an experience that complements it.

My reference to alternative but unrelated interpretations may suggest that there should have been four items on my list of possible outcomes in the comparison of interpretations: consensus, conflict, complementary, or co-existence. It is, of course, quite possible that two persons might disagree about what a symbol means but in a way that seems more innocent than the conclusion that one interpretation conflicts with and so must cancel the other. These persons might just agree to see things differently and go their separate ways. There is nothing necessarily wrong with such an outcome, but I did not list it initially because in such an instance no relation, and thus, no continuity has been established between the interpreters (unless the agreement to disagree is conceived as such a relation). This is not an example of the growth of meaning through dialogue as Peirce understood it. The achievement of consensus and the engagement in critique in instances of conflict can both represent some kind of progress in inquiry. The blending of complementary insights to achieve a new level of semiotic depth and completeness is clearly an example of growth in meaning. But the arrival at alternative but completely unrelated conclusions seems not to represent any kind of advance; this is where conversation just stops.

4 Concluding remarks

My extended analysis of some of the implications of Peirce’s logic of relations-as-systems may appear to have moved the discussion away from any consideration of the natural foundations of his theory of signs. But I do not believe that actually to be the case. There can be cultural, political, social, or religious differences between interpreters that are so great as to make it seem inevitable that conflict will result. This is an accurate portrayal – at least it seems so to me – of our contemporary political landscape in the United States: complete polarization and perpetual conflict. Yet, the recognition that semiosis cannot be reduced to language, to the giving and asking for reasons as it occurs in the process of debate,^[7] suggests that conflict is not the only possible outcome. I can enjoy a picnic or participate in a parade as I celebrate the Fourth of July holiday with persons who have very different political viewpoints from my own. These also represent semiotic forms of behavior. To be sure, they have a cultural meaning and significance. But eating and walking are also quite basic things they we do with our bodies, quite natural forms of behavior. We can blend with others and experience a certain complementarity when engaged in these behaviors in a way that may not be possible when we argue or debate with each other. And so, it is important to examine semiosis in all of its manifestations when looking to expose continuities among us, ways that we can relate one to another.

As a philosopher of religion, I have often been impressed by the fact that persons and communities with very different beliefs and theologies, unable to come to ecumenical agreement, can often find it possible to participate together in certain forms of religious practice. At the level of praxis, they achieve a complementarity, sometimes even a solidarity, not possible in their ecumenical conversations. From a Peircean point of view, this is an important observation, since what we do in response to some symbol, our deliberate practices, provides the most adequate interpretation of what that symbol means.

In order to promote the success of multicultural dialogue, we must be as attentive to what our interlocutors do as to what they say. We must recognize that the meaningful signs with which they communicate will not be limited to their use of language. Most especially, when we or they are struggling to communicate in what is not our native language, it will be important to discern those other forms of semiosis that may be coming into play. When it proves difficult to discover any continuity within the differences created by language and culture, we might consider the various ways in which our species-identity necessarily shapes our experience of the world, that is, how our sociality is rooted in our biology. Finally, we must be attentive to the diverse relations among us that do not appear only in instances where we perceive the same meaning or come to the same conclusion. In every interaction for which such dialogue affords the opportunity, there will be manifested the same sort of relationship that is displayed regularly in the giving of gifts one to another. Perhaps it is most important to realize that in genuine conversation, there is a necessary mutuality; we must play both of the roles enacted in the giving and receiving of gifts.