You Know What I Mean
There are a couple of interesting threads in our Philosophy forums right now on the nature of an individual’s relationship to society and on the nature of language; while the technicalities of these topics may make them seem like two separate issues, many philosophers have tried to show that they are, in fact, vitally connected. One such philosopher is George Herbert Mead, a colleague of John Dewey in the late nineteenth century. Mead refers to his philosophy as ‘social behaviorism,’ and emphasizes the importance of gestures and actions, not just for human beings but for other creatures in the natural world. (In this discussion, I’m drawing from http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0226516687/thisisnotnews, an edited version of Mead’s lectures.)
A predator may act to capture his prey; the predator’s central nervous system is hard wired to execute a series of gestures; thus, we say it acts on instinct. At any point the predator’s gestures may cause a change in the environment, and this change might stimulate the predator to execute a gesture other than the one that would ‘normally’ follow in the sequence; perhaps the predator makes too much noise, and the noise acts as a stimulus to the prey, which responds by bolting away from the perceived threat. This change of circumstance calls forth a new gesture on the predator’s part — it begins to chase after the prey, sacrificing stealth for speed. While this response appears automatic, the predator did not make any part of the gesture until the new stimulus called it forth — the creature’s central nervous system did not begin to tense the predator’s muscles for a possible chase before the prey bolted. Nowhere in the nervous system was there anything that might be said to correspond with the possible actions of the prey, and the actions that the predator would take in response. It was totally absorbed in stalking until it became totally involved in chasing in response to the prey’s bolting gesture. This back and forth of stimulus and response is what Mead calls a conversation of gestures. But it is a conversation that lacks meaning.
Human beings’ central nervous systems, in contrast, are more complex. Rather than store gestures as isolated responses to stimuli, which can only be called forth on a one-at-at-time basis, the human system stores not only entire sequences of gestures, but multiple possible sequences that might be called forth by external events, along with some version of the external events themselves.
The way in which we are going to respond is found [in the central nervous system], and in the possible connections there must be connections of past experience with present responses in order that there may be thought . . . We set up what is taking place [there] as that which is parallel to what lies in experience. (Mead 115)
These chains of stimulus and response play out in the nervous system before they do in the person’s environment; the response that a particular gesture might call out in another is called out in the actor, and this response then calls out the subsequent response that said response would be expected to call. With several of these chains playing out within the nervous system, the desired end result completes the loop by calling forth the initial gesture that is expected to cause the intended effect — the later responses are initiated within the nervous system, and are thus able to work back and influence the early part of the series. This collection of possible responses is what Mead calls the mind; the playing out of the sequences is the act of thinking.
For example, the manager of a baseball team wants to maximize his team’s score while it is up at bat, and so desires to achieve a favorable matchup of a right-handed batter against a left-handed pitcher, or vice-versa. The current pitcher and batter are both left-handed, which calls forth the response of sending up a right-handed pitch-hitter. As soon as he does this, he says to himself, “If I were the other guy, I’d put in a right-handed reliever.” This new thought itself calls forth another response, and the manager thinks to send up a left-handed hitter to deal with the new circumstance and still achieve the desired result. The manager does not skip right to the end of the sequence that has played out within his own central nervous system and send up the left-handed hitter; he initiates the first gesture in the string, and if he has predicted right — if he has successfully anticipated the response of the other manager — he makes the final switch, completes the act, and the game proceeds.
This act of saying ‘If I were him . . . ‘ is a very obvious case of what Mead argues occurs in all social interaction — we ‘take the role of the other’ so that we can play out the sequence within ourselves, and thus select the best initial response. When verbal gestures come to be associated with certain events or sequences, they call forth the responses that one would have if one directly experienced the event; alternately, some verbal gestures come to have their own set of responses associated with them. This is the root of language — the meaning of a word is the series of gestures it calls forth in the community of individuals who use the word.
What’s clear from this is how much of the meaning of our own thoughts comes from what we learn and experience as part of a community, and how interconnected our actions make us. We can’t just talk about what a word or concept or action means ‘to me’, because intelligent communication is designed to get two people to have a meeting of the minds, to fall back on a common experience — if I make a gesture that calls forth a response from you different from the response it calls forth from me (and which I therefore expect it call forth from you), then one of us has misunderstood something. A degree of conformity is necessary to function, even as noncomformity is necessary for innovation and individuality.
Mead frequently uses the example of a baseball team, and the example works very well to get across his view of this balance between conformity and individuality. As the second baseman, I do not attempt to cover home plate and tag the runner out there, even though preventing the runner from scoring is one of my main goals. I remain in position as the cutoff man, because I know that the catcher will cover home plate; I have internally taken on his role, called out his response in myself, with the knowledge that it is his response, not mine. This internalization of others’ role is what Mead refers to as the ‘me’ — it is the set of gestures we have learned and categorized, the set that includes those gestures that are expected of us.
However, taking the role of the other does not reduce me to an automaton, capable of taking only the responses that have been approved and socially sanctioned. As an individual, I have a spontaneous, novel response to circumstances; I never do exactly what is expected, and sometime I do something that is very much not expected, but which adds to the set of possible future responses that will be internalized by members of my community, such that they might act in a similar fashion the next time they find themselves in a similar situation. This response is the ‘I’ within the individual, the counterpart to the ‘me.’ Society affects me, but I also have the power to act and affect society. To go back to the baseball example, if I am Derek Jeter, and I move out of position in order to catch a ball that has been thrown past the cutoff men, and by doing so make a game-saving play, I have attained the goal I share with my teammates only by not making the response called forth by my ‘me.’ But I still need to throw the ball to the catcher to complete the play, so it is a good thing that he acts as his ‘me’ suggests. The individual, no matter how spectacular, only succeeds against the backdrop of an organized society.
Values do definitely attach to this expression of the self which is peculiar to the self . . . And yet this value lies in the social situation, and would not be apart from that social situation.” (Mead 212)
The connections between Mead’s views and Dewey’s search for a Great Community should be apparent, but Mead brings his training as a psychologist and practicing scientist to the issue in a way that complements Dewey’s theorizing quite well, and connects the way we think and act to the natural processes that give us those powers. Granted, Mead’s science is about 80 years out of date, but his overall insights remain fresh and pertinent today.
About Dave Thomer
Born and raised in Philadelphia. Studied philosophy at Fordham University in the Bronx, where I made many great friends and met my wonderful wife. We moved back to Philadelphia, where I studied philosophy some more and became a teacher. Online and off, I'm looking for ways that we can be better citizens and build stronger communities.