Norm Dahl, Western Washington University

An Unimportant Connection Between A Couple of Interesting Old Timers

Norm Dahl and Edward R. Murrow were born and raised in a small village called Bow-Edison, about 20 miles south of my hometown of Bellingham, Washington. Since they were born roughly ten years apart, in 1920 and 1908, respectively, they probably never knew each other. Both attended nearby Burlington High School and played basketball. Dahl went to Western Washington University in Bellingham, where he excelled in football, basketball, and track. Murrow attended Washington State University in Pullman, Washington.

Norm Dahl was my very first track coach when I was in junior high. He was a standout hurdler, introducing me to running hurdles and the long jump. He was a friendly guy willing to take the time to teach a young kid how to run and jump. I attended Western Campus School and spent nearly all my afternoons on the track field. Years later, I became skilled at hurdles and the long jump. I have remained grateful for Mr. Dahl’s patience and insight all these years. After serving our country in World War II, Norm Dahl served as a teacher at his high school alma mater. We never met again after those early years.

Edward R. Murrow

After graduating from college, Ed Murrow worked in newspaper reporting and later became a radio news announcer for ABC. He quickly gained prominence and became famous for his broadcasts on the issues at the core of the so-called “McCarthy Investigations.” He targeted Senator Joseph McCarthy and his efforts to root out “Communist Sympathizers” in the government, Hollywood, and academia during the 1950s. Years later, one of my professors at the University of Washington, Dr. Melvin Rader, was exonerated after being accused of being a Communist by Senator McCarthy. After several years of challenging McCarthy’s claims about American citizens, Murrow himself faced criticism and was eventually fired for exposing the falsehood and emptiness of McCarthy’s accusations.

I remember watching some of these Congressional Hearings where Murrow and Rader were accused of being “Communist Fellow Travelers.” Murrow always ended his broadcasts with the words: “Good Night and Good Luck.” The closest I got to being in Murrow’s presence was when I attended Washington State University for my first year of college, the same school from which he had graduated, but many years later. So, my connection with Ed Murrow was indirect at best, while my link to Norm Dahl was direct but ultimately insignificant. Professor Rader was highly respected in the academic community for standing up to McCarthy, but never talked about those events in class.

Here, then, were two important people who, in their way, impacted my life: one as a friendly coach and the other as someone who stood up for freedom of speech and honesty in the public sphere. Many years later, I was privileged to coach track and field teams at a couple of high schools and colleges and try to emulate Norm Dahl’s willingness to teach and encourage young people to enjoy and improve themselves through sports. Likewise, throughout my college teaching career, I have regularly taught political philosophy as a way to explain and explore political issues and their impact on our lives. I used one of Professor Rader’s books as a text in one of my courses. Both of these men, having lived near my hometown and attended the same schools as I did, served as examples for me of individuals who embodied kindness and insight and led lives that made a significant difference in the lives of others. 

This brief item addresses the challenges surrounding “foundationalism” in language theory and epistemology. It seems that neither meaning nor knowledge can be traced to a definite resting place, a firm basis that keeps everything intact and leaves nothing out. There appears to be a circularity in both linguistic meaning and cognitive claims that undermines every effort to “ground” them outside or beneath themselves. Ludwig Wittgenstein wrestled with these issues in his final work, On Certainty, and I will focus on this text. My primary concern is his approach to linguistic meaning.

Amid his discussion of G. E. Moore’s claims concerning various commonsense beliefs about the reality of the external world, Ludwig Wittgenstein says: “It is so difficult to find the beginning. Or, better: it is difficult to begin at the beginning. And not try to go further back.” (On Certainty, #471) He continues by stating: “Children do not learn that books exist, that armchairs exist, etc., etc., – they learn to fetch books, sit in armchairs, etc., etc.” (On Certainty, #476). At first glance, the initial remark seems to present a logical problem. How can one begin in the middle, as it were, rather than at the beginning?

Wittgenstein clarifies his meaning in these remarks by providing examples of how and where children start, so to speak, concerning items like books and armchairs. We do not initially introduce them to books and chairs, etc., and then begin discussing them. Instead, we “assume” a knowledge of such items as we talk about what to do with them, etc. Of course, ‘assume’ is not precisely the right word here because these items are not “assumed” to exist; they are, instead, simply part of the “furniture” (sic), so to speak, of the daily world in which we all coexist.

So this is “the bother,” as Winnie the Pooh would say. We often, if not regularly, begin in the middle regarding the various aspects of the world we find ourselves in. I say “find ourselves” advisedly because, as Wittgenstein implies, as children we sort of “wake up” and find ourselves already in the world of people, chairs, and books. The people with whom we interact in everyday life talk incessantly about things, such as the physical objects around us, as if we already know what they are and their purposes.

Thus, we often, if not regularly, have to begin in the middle of what is happening and try to play “catch up.” We must “fake it until we make it” to achieve a minimal understanding of the meaning of the terms used and the activities surrounding them. If this weren’t the case, we would never get started. Regarding nearly all, if not all, of the activities and their corresponding “language-games,” to use Wittgenstein’s favorite term, we grow into understanding as we become members of the linguistic community by starting in the middle.

But how can one “begin” in the “middle”? This puzzle evokes thoughts of famous concepts like the “liar paradox” or J. L. Austin’s dismissal of the seemingly self-nullifying question: “How does language work?” I am reminded of the well-known story about the farmer who confessed when puzzled by being asked for directions to a specific location: “You just can’t get there from here.” Indeed, in a certain sense, language seems impossible, because since everyone who uses it learned from others, it could never have gotten started. It’s much like Zeno’s paradoxes concerning the hare and the tortoise or the arrow that never arrives.

 I take it that this is one of Wittgenstein’s major points, namely that there is a fundamental mystery about language. Contrary to his assumed vision in the Tractatus, there are loose ends in language that do not fit into static, logical patterns of the “picture-theory” of the relation between it and the world of facts. The “early” Wittgenstein had to admit that in the end, even his “picture theory” did not leave room for his explanation. He had to “kick the ladder over after having climbed up it.” (Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus #654)

G. E. Moore gave a lecture in which he claimed to prove the existence of a world external to his and everyone else’s mind. This has been a long-standing debate in metaphysics between so-called “dualists” and “idealists,” namely between those who affirm that reality comprises both mind and matter and those who maintain that only mind is real. Moore raised his hands and claimed that everyone would agree that these objects exist “externally” to his and other people’s minds. Moore asserted that this is the intrinsic meaning of the terms involved, namely ‘hand’ and ‘minds.’

Although Moore was concerned with the epistemological issues in his “proof,” Wittgenstein seems more focused on how this relates to the nature of linguistic meaning. In other words, Wittgenstein is confused by the inconsistencies in Moore’s approach because he attempts to provide a foundation for at least some knowledge claims in “common sense.” Wittgenstein aims to go “behind” rather than “beneath” Moore’s claims to concentrate on how his claims reveal the structure of meaningful discourse.

Moore states that his claims about his hands as “external reality” items are beyond “doubt.” Wittgenstein focuses more on the notion of doubt in the language-games surrounding our claims to knowledge. He is mainly interested in distinguishing between concrete, everyday doubt and the kind of “bedrock” doubt that Moore discusses. In Wittgenstein’s view, one must have concrete reasons to doubt in each case.

 Moore’s concern, on the contrary, is with trying to apply the more standard meaning of doubt to issues where it simply does not apply. In Wittgenstein’s view, it does not apply to what might be called “basic beliefs” about everyday life and experience. According to Wittgenstein, it makes no “sense,” rather than being “wrong,” to doubt the reality of the everyday world, any more than it makes sense to affirm its reality. In his view, “radical” doubt, or skepticism, is not wrong but rather is “inappropriate.”

A parallel case is Wittgenstein’s response to David Hume’s argument that no ultimate “grounds” can be provided for the belief that the future will resemble the past, specifically regarding the justification of inductive reasoning. In paragraph #481 of his Philosophical Investigations, Wittgenstein states, in response to the likes of Hume: “If anyone said that information about the past could not convince him that something would happen in the future, I should not understand him…If these are not grounds, then what are grounds?”

Thus, Wittgenstein argues that Moore’s concern is “misplaced” rather than being either “wrong” or “right.” For instance, it is odd for a person to claim that his hands are objects in the “external world.” Likewise, it is odd, or “inappropriate,” or even “strange” to deny that they are. In other words, there is a kind of “doubt” that is not doubt at all, but is “out of place.” This reveals a failure to grasp the very nature of human existence and experience. One can only meaningfully “doubt” for a reason.

In other words, both concerning meaningful language and cognitive claims, we find that we have already “embarked,” are already playing the game, and are not in a position to question the whole fabric of our human “form of life,” to employ one of Wittgenstein’s favorite ways of putting it. In short, we have come into life and language through the “side door,” or we have entered at the “middle” and not at the “beginning.”

Therefore, while Moore intended to refute skepticism, Wittgenstein aims to demonstrate that the fundamental issue raised by both skeptics and Moore is not something for which grounds can be provided, nor is it the kind of matter for which grounds are necessary. Meaningful language comes to us “full-blown,” as it were, and we find ourselves caught up in, with, and by it long before we can even raise questions about how and why it works, let alone whether its patterns are “justified.” We enter at the “middle,” and we cannot return to the “beginning,” nor do we need to.

Finally, this also changes how one must think about using the word ‘know.’ Usually, we don’t say, “I know I am 92 years old.” We say, “I am 92 years old,” when asked. If a question about my memory or birth certificate arises, it may be appropriate to insist that “I KNOW that I am 92 years old.” Or if I do not remember how old I am, it is suitable for me to say, “I THINK I am 92 years old.”

The point is, we only wonder or argue about our age when a concrete doubt arises, not under normal circumstances. We doubt for a reason, not as a general principle. We doubt only when there is a specific reason to do so. Otherwise, we operate from the “middle” of the game, without trying or needing to return to the “beginning” or jump to the conclusion. And this is simply the end of the matter. There is no way back to the beginning; once we raise these questions, we are already embarked on the language and thinking journey, and there is no turning back. We simply must, and we do, begin in the middle.