H. P. Grice on "a gesture (signal)"

ign (g silent), * signe, s. (Fr. signe, from t. signum = a mark, a token ; Sp. signo, seña, Port. signo, senha; Ital. segno.) I. Ordinary Language: 1. That by which anything is shown, made known, or o: ; that which furnishes evidence of the existence or approach of anything; a mark, a token, an indication. “The first faint signs of a c .” –Macaulay. Hist go house of public feeling 2. A motion, action, or gesture by which a thought is o a wish made known, or a command given; hence, one of the natural or conventional gestures by which intelligence is cominunicated or conversation carried on as by deaf-mutes. (Luke i. 62.) 3. Something intended or serving to indicate the existence, or preserve the memory, of a thing; a memorial, a monument, a token. "The fire devoured two hundred and fifty men, and they became a sign.”—wumbers xxvi. 10. 4. Any symbol or emblem which prefigures, floo, or represents an idea; hence, sometimes, a picture. "The holy o: or signs are not barely significative; but what they represent is as certainly delivered to us as the symbols themselves."—Brerewood. 5. A remarkable event, regarded as indicating the will of a deity; an omen, a prodigy. 6. Any remarkable event, transaction, or phenomenon, regarded as indicating the will of the deity, or as manifesting an interposition of the divine power for some special end; a wonder.

“If they will not hearken to the voice of the first so they will not believe the latter sign.”—rrodus v. 8.

* 7. A word regarded as the outward manifestation of thought. (Bacon.)

* 8. A mark of distinction, a cognizance.

“The ensign of Messiah blaz'd, Aloft by angels bone, his sign in heav'n." Multon: P. L., vi., 776.

9. That which, being external, represents or signifies something internal or spiritual. A term used in the formularies of the English Church in speaking of an ordinance considered with reference to that which it represents.

“An outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace given unto us."—church Catechism.

10. A lettered board, carved or painted figure, or the like, set conspicuously over or near a door, shop, &c., to indicate the occupation of the tenant of the premises, or to give notice of the articles sold or made lo a sign-board. (Shakesp.: 2 Henry II., iii. 2.

sign (g silent), * signe, v.t. & i. (Fr. signer, from Lat. sigmo, from signum = a mark, a sign (q.v.); Sp. signar; Ital. segmare.] A. Transitive: 1. To make a sign upon ; to mark witl, a sign or symbol. “We receive this child into the congregation of Christ's flock, and do sign him with the sign of the cross, in token that hereafter he shall not be ashamed to confess the faith of Christ crucified."—Book ov Common Prayer; order of Baptism. * 2. To express by a sign; to make known in a typical or symbolical manner, as uistinguished from speech; to signify. “The sacraments and symbols are just such as they seem ; but because they are inade to signs of a secret mystery, they receive the names of what the ulselves do sign."—Taylor. 3. To affix one's signature to a writing or deed; to mark and ratify by writing one's name; to subscribe in one's own handwriting. “Send the deed after me And I will sign it." Shakesp.: Merchant of renice, iv. 1. *4. To convey formally; to assign. * 5. To dress or array in insignia. “Here thy hunters stand

Signed in thy spoil."
Shakesp. : Julius Catsar, iii. 1.

One who paints sign

sig-nal, * sig'- s. & a. [Fr. signal = a signal, from Low Lat. signale, accus. of Lat. signalis = pertaining to a sign : signum = a sign; Sp. senal; Port. sinal, Ital. segmale.] A. As substantive : * 1. A sign, a token, an omen. “The weary sun hath made a golden set, And by the oright track of his fiery cor. Gives signal of a goodly day to-tuorrow. Shakesp.: Richard / 11., v. 3. 2. A means of communication by audible or visible signs between two distant points according to a preconcerted system. The means of signalling are numerous, as by motions of the hand or arm, the display of lights of various colours, the firing of guns, the sound of a bugle, rockets, semaphores, heliostats, flags, &c. “For God's sake, lords, give signal to the o Shakes, 3 Henry 1... ii. 2. B. As adj. : Distinguished or standing out from the rest ; eminent, notable, remarkable, conspicuous: as, a signal failure.

* sig-nal-mênt, s. [Fr. signalement.] 1. The act of signalling. 2. A description by means of peculiar or appropriate marks.

sig-na-ture, s. [Fr., from Lat. signatura, fen. sing. of fut. part. of sigmo = to sign (q.v.); Sp. signatura, Ital. signatura, segmatura.] I. Ordinary Language : * 1. A mark, sign, or stamp impressed. “The signature and staup of power divine." Cowper. Retirement, 54. 2. The name of a person written with his own hand, and intended to signify his approval or ratification of the writing which precedes. 3. An external mark or figure by which physiognomists loretend to discover the temper or character of persons. II. Technically: 1. Music (Pl.): The signs of chromatic alteration, sharps or flats, placed at the commencement of a composition, immediately after the clef, and affecting all notes of the same names as the degrees upon which they stand, unless their intluence is in any case counteracted by a contrary sign. (Grove.) * 2. Old Med. : A mark or sign on any substance, especially on a plant, supposed to indicate its use as a remedy. [*].] “The doctrine, that plants bear certain marks and signattures, indicative of their qualities or properties.” -Browne. Works (ed. Behn), i. 190 (Note J. 3. Print.: A distinguishing letter or number at the bottom of the first page of each sheet of a book, to indicate its order to the folder and binoler. Signatures are sometimes inserted at the bottoms of other pages, as the third, fifth, and seventh in octavo, the third in quarto, and so on of the other styles. The signature of the first sheet of matter is B, A being reserved for the title-page, index, contents, &c.; the next would C, and so on. The old Roman alphabet, which is destitute of J v w, is adopted, so that the twenty-fourth sheet will be A A or 2 A, according to the custom of the office. 4. Scots Law: A writing formerly prepared and presented by a writer to the signet, to the baron of exchequer as the ground of a royal grant to the person in whose name it was presented, which having, in the case of an original charter, the sign-manual of the sovereign, and, in other cases, the cachet appointed by the Act of Union for Scotland, attached to it, became the warrant of a conveyance under one or other of the seals, according to the nature of the subject or the object in view. * Doctrine of Signatures: * Old Med. : (See extract).

“Such notions as these were elaborated into the old medical theory known as the foctrine of Signatures, which supposed that plants and minerals indicated by their external characters the diseases for which nature had intended them as remedies. Thus the Euphrasia, or Eyebright, was, and is, supposed to be good for the eyes, on the strength of a black pupilf. spot in its corolla, the yellow turmeric was thought good for jaundice, and the blood-stone is prolably used to this day for stopping blood. Hy virtue of a similar association of ideas, the ginseng, which is still largely used in China, was also emiplayed by the Indians of North America, and in both countries its virtues were deduced from the shape of the root, which is to: to resentale the human body."—Tvior. Early Hist. Mankind (ed. 1878), pp. 122, 123.

sig-nét, s. [Fr., dimin. of signe = a sign (q.v.). A seal, especially the seal used for the seal-manual of a sovereign, as in England, one of the seals for the authentication of royal grants. In Scotland the signet is a seal by which royal warrants for the purpose of justice seem to have been at one time authenticated. Hence the title of “clerks to the signet” or “writers to the signet,” a class of legal practitioners in Edinburgh who formerly had "...' privileges, which are now nearly all abolished. They act generally as agents or attorneys in conducting causes before the Court of Session. “The Parliament laid claim to a Veto on the momination of the Judges, and assumed the power of stopping the signer, in other words, of suspending the whole administration of justice, till this claim should be allowed.”—Macaulay. Hist. Eng., ch. xiii. * Clerk of the signet: An officer in England continually in attendance upon the principal Secretary of State, who has the custody of the privy signet. t–ring, s. signet or private seal. “His signet-ring she bore Which oft in sport adorned her hand to fore." Byron - Corsair, ii. 12. * sig-nēt-éd, a. [Eng. signet; -ed.] Stamped,

sig-nif ongo. sig-nif-i -cy, s. | Fr. significance, from Lat. significantia, from significans = signifying, significant (q.v.); Sp. & Ital. significanza.] 1. The quality or state of being significant; meaning, import; that which is intended to be expressed. “If he declares he intends it for the honour of another, he takes away by his words the significance of his action."—Stillingsteet. 2. The real import of anything, as opposed to that which appears; the internal and true sense, as distinguished from the external and l'artial. 3. Expressiveness, impressiveness, force; the power or quality of impressing the mind. “As far as this duty will adluit of privacy, our Saviour hath enjoined it in terms of particular sigwificancy and force.”—4tterbury. * 4. Importance, moment, consequence.

“The third commandment would have been of very small significancy under the Gospel."—Secker: Ner. mons, vol. ii., ser, 30.

sig–nif—i-cant, a. & s. (Lat. significans, pr. lar. of significo = to signify (q.v.); Fr. sigmifiant.] A. As adjective: 1. Serving to signify something; having a meaning expressing or denoting something; having a signification. “Man . . . survey'd All creatures, with precision understood Their purport, uses, properties, assign d To each his name significant." Cowper: Pardley Oak. 2. Expressive or suggestive of something more than appears on the surface. “He was designated at the public offices and in the antechobers of the polace by the significant nickname of the Cardinal. —Atacaunay. Hist. Eng., ch. xiii. 3. Betokening something; representing or standing as a sign of something: thus, figures standing for numbers, as 1, 2, 3, &c., are called significant figures. “It was well said of Plotinus, that the stars were significant, but not efficient.”—Raleigh.

H. P. Grice on "suggest"

suggestio falsi. Pl. suggestiones falsi.  

[mod.L., = suggestion of what is false.]  

A misrepresentation of the truth whereby something incorrect is implied to be true; an indirect lie. 

Often in contexts with suppressio veri.  

QUOTES:  

1815 H. Maddock Princ. & Pract. Chancery I. 208  

Whenever Suppressio veri or Suggestio falsi occur..they afford a sufficient ground for setting aside any Release or Conveyance. 

1855 Newspaper & Gen. Reader's Pocket Compan. i.4  

He was bound to say that the suppressio veri on that occasion approached very nearly to a positive suggestio falsi.   

1898 Kipling Stalky & Co. (1899) 36  

It seems..that they had held back material facts; that they were guilty both of suppressio veri and suggestio falsi.  

1907 W. de Morgan Alice-for-Short xxxvi. 389   

That's suppressio veri and suggestio falsi! Besides, it's fibs!   

1962 J. Wilson Public Schools & Private Practice i. 19  

It is rare to find a positively verifiable untruth in a school brochure: but it is equally rare not to find a great many suggestiones falsi, particularly as regards the material comfort and facilities available.

1980 D. Newsome On Edge of Paradise 7  

There are undoubted cases of suppressio veri; on the other hand, he appears to eschew suggestio falsi.  --- Fibs indeed. 

Suppress, suggest.   Write: "Griceland, Inc."   "Yes, I agree to become a Doctor in Griceian Studies"   

EXAM QUESTION:  1. Discuss suggestio falsi in terms of detachability.  2. Compare suppresio veri and suggestion falsi in connection with "The king of France is bald" uttered during Napoleon's time.  3. Invent things for 'suppressio falsi' and 'suggestio veri'.  4. No. You cannot go to the bathroom.

"byzantine" -- from Grice's Dictionary

Agitation. A Byzantine feeling is a Ryleian agitation. If Grice were to advance the not wholly plausible thesis that ‘to feel Byzantine’ is just to have a an anti-rylean agitation which is caused by the thought that Grice is or might *be* Byzantine, it would surely be ridiculous to criticise Grice on the grounds that Grice saddles himself with an ontological commitment to feelings, or to modes of feeling. And why? Well, because, alla Parsons, if a quantifier is covertly involved at all, it will only be a universal quantifier which in such a case as this is more than adequately handled by a substitutional account of quantification. Grice’s situation vis-a-vis the ‘proposition’ is in no way different. In the idiolect of Ryle, “a serious student of Grecian philosophy,” as Grice puts it, ‘emotion’ designates at least three or four different kinds of things, which Ryle calls an ‘inclination, or ‘motive,’ a ‘mood’, an ‘agitation,’ or a ‘commotion,’ and a ‘feeling.’ An inclination or a mood, including an agitation, is not occurrences and doest not therefore take place either publicly or privately. It is a propensity, not an act or state. An inclination is, however, a propensity of this or that kind, and the kind is important. A feeling, on the other hand, IS an occurrence, but the place that mention of it should take in a description of human behaviour is very different from that which the standard theories accord to it. A susceptibility to a specific agitation is on the same general footing with an inclination, viz. that each is a general propensity and not an occurrence. An agitation is not a motive. But an agitation does presuppose a motive, or rather an agitataion presupposes a behaviour trend of which a motive is for us the most interesting sort. There is however a matter of expression which is the source of some confusion, even among Oxonian Wilde readers, and that did confuse philosophical psychologists of the ability of G. F. Stout. An expression may signify both an inclination and an agitation. But an expression may signify anything but an agitations. Again, some other expression may signify anything but an inclination. An expression like ‘uneasy’, ‘anxious’, ‘distressed’, ‘excited’, ‘startled’ always signifies an agitations. An expression like ‘fond of fishing’, ‘keen on gardening’, ‘bent on becoming a bishop’ never signifies an agitation. But an expression like ‘love’, ‘want’, ‘desire’, ‘proud’, ‘eager,’ or many others, stands sometimes for a simple inclination and sometimes for an agitations which is resultant upon the inclinations and interferences with the exercise of it. Thus ‘hungry’ for ‘having a good appetite’ means roughly ‘is eating or would eat heartily and without sauces, etc..’ This is different from ‘hungry’ in which a person might be said to be ‘too hungry to concentrate on his work’. Hunger in this second expression is a distress, and requires for its existence the conjunction of an appetite with the inability to eat. Similarly the way in which a boy is proud of his school is different from the way in which he is speechless with pride on being unexpectedly given a place in a school team. To remove a possible misapprehension, it must be pointed out that an agitation may be quite agreeable. A man may voluntarily subject himself to suspense, fatigue, uncertainty, perplexity, fear and surprise in such practices as angling, rowing, travelling, crossword puzzles, rock-climbing and joking. That a thing like a thrill, a rapture, a surprise, an amusement and an relief is an agitation is shown by the fact that we can say that someone is too much thrilled, amused or relieved to act, think or talk coherently. It is helpful to notice that, anyhow commonly, the expression which completes  ‘pang of . . .’ or ‘chill of . . .’ denotes an agitation. A feeling, such as a man feeling Byzantine, is intrinsically connected with an agitation. But a feeling, e. g. of a man who is feeling Byzantine, is not intrinsically connected with an inclination, save in so far as the inclination is a factor in the agitation. This is no novel psychological hypothesis; It is part of the logic of our descriptions of a feeling that a feeling (such as a man feeling Byzantine) is a sign of an agitation and is not an exercise of an inclination.

A feeling, such as a man feeling Byzantine, in other words, is not a thing of which it makes sense to ask from what motive it issues. The same is true, for the same reasons, of any sign of any agitation.

This point shows why we were right to suggest above that a feeling (like a man feeling Byzantine) does not belong directly to a simple inclination. An inclination is a certain sort of proneness or readiness to do certain sorts of things on purpose. These things are therefore describable as being done from that motive. They are the exercises of the disposition that we call ‘a motive’. A feeling (such as a man feeling Byzantine) is not from a motive and is therefore not among the possible exercise of such a propensiy. The widespread theory that a motive such as vanity, or affection, is in the first instance a disposition to experience certain specific feeling is therefore absurd. There may be, of course, a tendency to have a feeling, such as feeling Byzantine; being vertiginous and rheumatic are such tendencies. But we do not try to modify a tendency of these kinds by a sermon. What a feeling, such as being Byzantine, does causally belong to is the agitation. A feeling (such as feeling Byzantine) is a sign of an agitation in the same sort of way as a stomach-ache is a sign of indigestion. Roughly, we do not, as the prevalent theory holds, act purposively because we experience a feeling (such as feeling Byzantine); we experience a feeling (such as feeling Byzantine), as we wince and shudder, because we are inhibited from acting purposively. A sentimentalist is a man who indulges in this or that induced feeling (such as feeling Byzantine) without acknowledging the fictitiousness of his agitation. It seems to be generally supposed that ‘pleasure’ or ‘desire’ is always used to signify a feeling. And there certainly are feelings which can be described as a feeling of pleasure or desire. Some thrills, shocks, glows and ticklings are feelings of delight, surprise, relief and amusement; and things like a hankering, an itche, a gnawing and a yearning is a sign that something is both wanted and missed. But the transports, surprises, reliefs and distresses of which such a feeling is diagnosed, or mis-diagnosed, as a sign is not itself a feeling. It is an agitation or a mood, just as are the transports and distresses which a child betrays by his skips and his whimpers. Nostalgia is an agitation and one which can be called a ‘desire’; but it is not merely a feeling or series of feelings. There is the sense of ‘pleasure’ in which it is commonly replaced by such expressions as ‘delight’, ‘transport’, ‘rapture’, ‘exultation’ and ‘joy’. These are expressions of this or that mood signifying this or that agitation. There are two quite different usages of ‘emotion’, in which we explain people’s behaviour by reference to emotions. In the first usage of ‘emotion,’ we are referring to the motives or inclinations from which more or less intelligent actions are done. In a second usage we are referring to a mood, including the agitation or perturbation of which some aimless movement may be a sign. In neither of these usages are we asserting or implicating that the overt behaviour is the effect of a felt turbulence in the agent’s stream of consciousness. In a third usage of ‘emotion’, pangs and twinges are feelings or emotions, but they are not, save per accidens, things by reference to which we explain behaviour. They are things for which diagnoses are required, not things required for the diagnoses of behaviour. Since a convulsion of merriment is not the state of mind of the sober experimentalist, the enjoyment of a joke is also not an introspectible happening. States of mind such as these more or less violent agitations can be examined only in retrospect. Yet nothing disastrous follows from this restriction. We are not shorter of information about panic or amusement than about other states of mind. If retrospection can give us the data we need for our knowledge of some states of mind, there is no reason why it should not do so for all. And this is just what seems to be suggested by the popular phrase ‘to catch oneself doing so and so’. We catch, as we pursue and overtake, what is already running away from us. I catch myself daydreaming about a mountain walk after, perhaps very shortly after, I have begun the daydream; or I catch myself humming a particular air only when the first few notes have already been hummed. Retrospection, prompt or delayed, is a genuine process and one which is exempt from the troubles ensuing from the assumption of multiply divided attention; it is also exempt from the troubles ensuing from the assumption that violent agitations could be the objects of cool, contemporary scrutiny. One may be aware that he is whistling ‘Tipperary’ and not know that he is whistling it in order to give the appearance of a sang-froid which he does not feel. Or, again, he may be aware that he is shamming sang-froid without knowing that the tremors which he is trying to hide derive from the agitation of a guilty conscience.

"byzantine" -- from Grice's Dictionary

Agitation. A Byzantine feeling is a Ryleian agitation. . If Grice were to advance the not wholly plausible thesis that “to feel Byzantine” is just to have a an anti-rylean agitation which is caused by the thought that Grice is or might *be* Byzantine, it would surely be ridiculous to criticize Grice on the grounds that Grice saddles himself with an ontological commitment to feelings, or to modes of feeling. And why? Well, because, alla Parsons, if a quantifier is covertly involved at all, it will only be a universal quantifier which in such a case as this is more than adequately handled by a substitutional account of quantification. Grice’s situation vis-a-vis the ‘proposition’ is in no way different. The word ‘emotion’ is used to designate at least three or four different kinds of things, which I shall call ‘inclinations’ (or ‘motives’), ‘moods’, ‘agitations’ (or ‘commotions’) and ‘feelings’. Inclinations and moods, including agitations, are not occurrences and do not therefore take place either publicly or privately. They are propensities, not acts or states. They are, however, propensities of different kinds, and their differences are important. Feelings, on the other hand, are occurrences, but the place that mention of them should take in descriptions of human behaviour is very different from that which the standard theories accord to it. susceptibilities to specific agitations are on the same general footing with inclinations, namely that both are general propensities and not occurrences. Agitations are not motives. But agitations presuppose motives, or rather they presuppose behaviour trends of which motives are for us the most interesting sort. There is however a linguistic matter which is the source of some confusion. There are some words which signify both inclinations and agitations, besides some which never signify anything but agitations, and others again which never signify anything but inclinations. Words like ‘uneasy’, ‘anxious’, ‘distressed’, ‘excited’, ‘startled’ always signify agitations. Phrases like ‘fond of fishing’, ‘keen on gardening’, ‘bent on becoming a bishop’ never signify agitations. But words like ‘love’, ‘want’, ‘desire’, ‘proud’, ‘eager’ and many others stand sometimes for simple inclinations and sometimes for agitations which are resultant upon those inclinations and interferences with the exercise of them. Thus ‘hungry’ in the sense of ‘having a good appetite’ means roughly ‘is eating or would eat heartily and without sauces, etc.’; but this is different from the sense in which a person might be said to be ‘too hungry to concentrate on his work’. Hunger in this second sense is a distress, and requires for its existence the conjunction of an appetite with the inability to eat. Similarly the sense in which a boy is proud of his school is different from the sense in which he is speechless with pride on being unexpectedly given a place in a school team. To remove a possible misapprehension, it must be pointed out that not all agitations are disagreeable. People voluntarily subject themselves to suspense, fatigue, uncertainty, perplexity, fear and surprise in such practices as angling, rowing, travelling, crossword puzzles, rock-climbing and joking. That thrills, raptures, surprise, amusement and relief are agitations is shown by the fact that we can say that someone is too much thrilled, amused or relieved to act, think or talk coherently. It is helpful to notice that, anyhow commonly, the word which completes the phrase ‘pang of . . .’ or ‘chill of . . .’ is the name of an agitation. I shall now argue that feelings are intrinsically connected with agitations and are not intrinsically connected with inclinations, save in so far as inclinations are factors in agitations. But I am not trying to establish a novel psychological hypothesis; I am trying to show only that it is part of the logic of our descriptions of feelings that they are signs of agitations and are not exercises of inclinations. Feelings are not among the sorts of things of which it makes sense to ask from what motives they issue. The same is true, for the same reasons, of other signs of agitations. Feelings, in other words, are not among the sorts of things of which it makes sense to ask from what motives they issue. The same is true, for the same reasons, of the other signs of agitations. This point shows why we were right to suggest above that feelings do not belong directly to simple inclinations. An inclination is a certain sort of proneness or readiness to do certain sorts of things on purpose. These things are therefore describable as being done from that motive. They are the exercises of the disposition that we call ‘a motive’. Feelings are not from motives and are therefore not among the possible exercises of such propensities. The widespread theory that a motive such as vanity, or affection, is in the first instance a disposition to experience certain specific feelings is therefore absurd. There are, of course, tendencies to have feelings; being vertiginous and rheumatic are such tendencies. But we do not try to modify tendencies of these kinds by sermons. What feelings do causally belong to are agitations; they are signs of agitations in the same sort of way as stomach-aches are signs of indigestion. Roughly, we do not, as the prevalent theory holds, act purposively because we experience feelings; we experience feelings, as we wince and shudder, because we are inhibited from acting purposively. Sentimentalists are people who indulge in induced feelings without acknowledging the fictitiousness of their agitations. It seems to be generally supposed that ‘pleasure’ and ‘desire’ are always used to signify feelings. And there certainly are feelings which can be described as feelings of pleasure and desire. Some thrills, shocks, glows and ticklings are feelings of delight, surprise, relief and amusement; and hankerings, itches, gnawings and yearnings are signs that something is both wanted and missed. But the transports, surprises, reliefs and distresses of which such feelings are diagnosed, or mis-diagnosed, as signs are not themselves feelings; they are agitations or moods, just as are the transports and distresses which a child betrays by his skips and his whimpers. Nostalgia is an agitation and one which can be called in one sense a ‘desire’; but it is not merely a feeling or series of feelings. There is the sense of ‘pleasure’ in which it is commonly replaced by such words as ‘delight’, ‘transport’, ‘rapture’, ‘exultation’ and ‘joy’. These are names of moods signifying agitations. There are two quite different senses of ‘emotion’, in which we explain people’s behaviour by reference to emotions. In the first sense we are referring to the motives or inclinations from which more or less intelligent actions are done. In the second sense we are referring to moods, including the agitations or perturbations of which some aimless 98 THE CONCEPT OF MIND movements are signs. In neither of these senses are we asserting or implying that the overt behaviour is the effect of a felt turbulence in the agent’s stream of consciousness. In a third sense of ‘emotion’, pangs and twinges are feelings or emotions, but they are not, save per accidens, things by reference to which we explain behaviour. They are things for which diagnoses are required, not things required for the diagnoses of behaviour. Since a convulsion of merriment is not the CHAPTER VI: SELF-KNOWLEDGE 147 state of mind of the sober experimentalist, the enjoyment of a joke is also not an introspectible happening. States of mind such as these more or less violent agitations can be examined only in retrospect. Yet nothing disastrous follows from this restriction. We are not shorter of information about panic or amusement than about other states of mind. If retrospection can give us the data we need for our knowledge of some states of mind, there is no reason why it should not do so for all. And this is just what seems to be suggested by the popular phrase ‘to catch oneself doing so and so’. We catch, as we pursue and overtake, what is already running away from us. I catch myself daydreaming about a mountain walk after, perhaps very shortly after, I have begun the daydream; or I catch myself humming a particular air only when the first few notes have already been hummed. Retrospection, prompt or delayed, is a genuine process and one which is exempt from the troubles ensuing from the assumption of multiply divided attention; it is also exempt from the troubles ensuing from the assumption that violent agitations could be the objects of cool, contemporary scrutiny. One may be aware that he is whistling ‘Tipperary’ and not know that he is whistling it in order to give the appearance of a sang-froid which he does not feel. Or, again, he may be aware that he is shamming sang-froid without knowing that the tremors which he is trying to hide derive from the agitation of a guilty conscience.

"byzantine" -- from Grice's Dictionary

Agitation. A Byzantine feeling is a Ryleian agitation. . If Grice were to advance the not wholly plausible thesis that “to feel Byzantine” is just to have a an anti-rylean agitation which is caused by the thought that Grice is or might *be* Byzantine, it would surely be ridiculous to criticize Grice on the grounds that Grice saddles himself with an ontological commitment to feelings, or to modes of feeling. And why? Well, because, alla Parsons, if a quantifier is covertly involved at all, it will only be a universal quantifier which in such a case as this is more than adequately handled by a substitutional account of quantification. Grice’s situation vis-a-vis the ‘proposition’ is in no way different. The word ‘emotion’ is used to designate at least three or four different kinds of things, which I shall call ‘inclinations’ (or ‘motives’), ‘moods’, ‘agitations’ (or ‘commotions’) and ‘feelings’. Inclinations and moods, including agitations, are not occurrences and do not therefore take place either publicly or privately. They are propensities, not acts or states. They are, however, propensities of different kinds, and their differences are important. Feelings, on the other hand, are occurrences, but the place that mention of them should take in descriptions of human behaviour is very different from that which the standard theories accord to it. susceptibilities to specific agitations are on the same general footing with inclinations, namely that both are general propensities and not occurrences. Agitations are not motives. But agitations presuppose motives, or rather they presuppose behaviour trends of which motives are for us the most interesting sort. There is however a linguistic matter which is the source of some confusion. There are some words which signify both inclinations and agitations, besides some which never signify anything but agitations, and others again which never signify anything but inclinations. Words like ‘uneasy’, ‘anxious’, ‘distressed’, ‘excited’, ‘startled’ always signify agitations. Phrases like ‘fond of fishing’, ‘keen on gardening’, ‘bent on becoming a bishop’ never signify agitations. But words like ‘love’, ‘want’, ‘desire’, ‘proud’, ‘eager’ and many others stand sometimes for simple inclinations and sometimes for agitations which are resultant upon those inclinations and interferences with the exercise of them. Thus ‘hungry’ in the sense of ‘having a good appetite’ means roughly ‘is eating or would eat heartily and without sauces, etc.’; but this is different from the sense in which a person might be said to be ‘too hungry to concentrate on his work’. Hunger in this second sense is a distress, and requires for its existence the conjunction of an appetite with the inability to eat. Similarly the sense in which a boy is proud of his school is different from the sense in which he is speechless with pride on being unexpectedly given a place in a school team. To remove a possible misapprehension, it must be pointed out that not all agitations are disagreeable. People voluntarily subject themselves to suspense, fatigue, uncertainty, perplexity, fear and surprise in such practices as angling, rowing, travelling, crossword puzzles, rock-climbing and joking. That thrills, raptures, surprise, amusement and relief are agitations is shown by the fact that we can say that someone is too much thrilled, amused or relieved to act, think or talk coherently. It is helpful to notice that, anyhow commonly, the word which completes the phrase ‘pang of . . .’ or ‘chill of . . .’ is the name of an agitation. I shall now argue that feelings are intrinsically connected with agitations and are not intrinsically connected with inclinations, save in so far as inclinations are factors in agitations. But I am not trying to establish a novel psychological hypothesis; I am trying to show only that it is part of the logic of our descriptions of feelings that they are signs of agitations and are not exercises of inclinations. Feelings are not among the sorts of things of which it makes sense to ask from what motives they issue. The same is true, for the same reasons, of other signs of agitations. Feelings, in other words, are not among the sorts of things of which it makes sense to ask from what motives they issue. The same is true, for the same reasons, of the other signs of agitations. This point shows why we were right to suggest above that feelings do not belong directly to simple inclinations. An inclination is a certain sort of proneness or readiness to do certain sorts of things on purpose. These things are therefore describable as being done from that motive. They are the exercises of the disposition that we call ‘a motive’. Feelings are not from motives and are therefore not among the possible exercises of such propensities. The widespread theory that a motive such as vanity, or affection, is in the first instance a disposition to experience certain specific feelings is therefore absurd. There are, of course, tendencies to have feelings; being vertiginous and rheumatic are such tendencies. But we do not try to modify tendencies of these kinds by sermons. What feelings do causally belong to are agitations; they are signs of agitations in the same sort of way as stomach-aches are signs of indigestion. Roughly, we do not, as the prevalent theory holds, act purposively because we experience feelings; we experience feelings, as we wince and shudder, because we are inhibited from acting purposively. Sentimentalists are people who indulge in induced feelings without acknowledging the fictitiousness of their agitations.

"(∀x)" -- from Grice's Dictionary.

(∀x) – rendered by Grice as “all.”. Grice thinks that Whitehead and Russell did perfectly well with their substitutional account to ‘all,’ “even it that displeased my tutee P. F. Strawson.” Parsons, who Grice admires, suggests that one treat quantification over predicative classes substitutionally, and capture “the idea that classes are not“real” independently of the expression forthem. Grice perceives a difficulty relating to the allegedly dubious admissibility of propositions as entities. A perfectly sound, though perhaps somewhat superficial, reply to the objection as it is presented would be that in any definition of “Emissor E communicates that p” iff “Emissor E desires that p.” which Grice would be willing to countenance,  'p' operates simply as a ‘gap sign.’ ‘p’ does appear in the analysandum, and re-appears in the corresponding analysans. If Grice were to advance the not wholly plausible thesis that “to feel Byzantine” is just to have a an anti-rylean agitation which is caused by the thought that Grice is or might *be* Byzantine, it would surely be ridiculous to criticize Grice on the grounds that Grice saddles himself with an ontological commitment to feelings, or to modes of feeling. And why? Well, because, alla Parsons, if a quantifier is covertly involved at all, it will only be a universal quantifier which in such a case as this is more than adequately handled by a substitutional account of quantification. Grice’s situation vis-a-vis the ‘proposition’ is in no way different.

Grice on substitutional quantification

 Parsons, who Grice admires, suggests that one treat quantification over predicative classes substitutionally, and capture “the idea that classes are not“real” independently of the expression for them.”

"conversational futilitarianism" -- from Grice's Dictionary

utile: Can there be a futilitarian theory of communication? Grice’s!

The issue is a complex one.

Some may interpret Grice’s theory as resting “on Kantian grounds.” Not everybody was present at Grice’s seminars at Oxford on helpfulness, where he discusses the kind of reasoning that a participant to a conversation will display in assuming that his co-conversationalist is being conversationally helpful, conversationally benevolent, conversationally ‘altruist,’ almost, and conversationally, well, co-operative.

So, as to the basis for this. We can simplify the scenario by using the plural. A conversationalist assumes that his co-conversationalist is being co-operative on Kantian grounds. What are the alternatives, if any? One can re-describe “Kantian grounds” as “moral grounds.” Conversationalists abide with the principle of conversational helpfulness on Kantian, moral grounds. Kant wrote the “Critique of practical reason,” so Kant would allow for a rephrase of this as follows. Conversationalists abide with the principle of conversational helpfulness on practical, indeed moral, grounds – which is the topic of Grice’s last Kant lecture at Stanford. How to turn a ‘counsel of prudence,’ which is ‘practical’ into something that covers Kant’s “Kategorische Imperativ.” And then there’s the utilitarian. Utilitarianism IS a moral theory, or a meta-ethical theory. So one would have to allow for the possibility that conversationalists abide by the principle of conversational helpfulness on “utilitarian grounds,” which would be “practical grounds,” AND “moral grounds,” if not Kantian grounds. In any case, the topic WAS raised, and indeed, for someone like Grice who wrote on ‘pleasure,’ and ‘happiness,’ it does not seem futilitarian to see him as a futilitarian. Unfortunately, you need a serious philosophical background to appreciate all this, since it touches on the very serious, or ‘deep,’ as Grice would say, “and fascinating,” suburbia or practicality. But surely the keyword ‘utilitarian’ as per “conversationalists abide by the principle of conversational helpfulness on utilitarian grounds” is a possibility. Cf. Grice’s reference to the ‘least effort,’ and in the Oxford lectures on helpfulness to a conversationalist not getting involved in “undue effort,” or getting into “unnecessary trouble.” “Undue effort” is ‘forbidden’ by the desideratum of conversational candour; the ‘unnecessary trouble’ is balanced by the ‘principle of conversational self-love.’ And I don’t think Kant would ever considered loving himself!

R. C. Stalnaker on H. P. Grice's futilitarian theory of communication

Stalnaker distinguishes between

Kantian theories of communication
Utilitarian theories of communication

He himself puts forward a more or less utilitarian theory of communication.

Bergmann thought Grice was 'rather futilitarian,' at times. So there!

H. P. Grice's Futilitarian Theory of Communication

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"diaphaneity" -- from Grice's Dictionary.

diaphaneity, the quality of being freely pervious to light; transparency. This is a crucial concept for Grice. He applies it to ‘see,’ which which, after joint endeavours with G. J. Warnock, he was obsessed! 

Grice considers the ascription, 

“Warnock sees that it is raining.” And then he adds, 

“And it is true, I see that it is raining, too.” 

What’s the diference? Wait.

Then comes Strawson. 

“Strawson, you see that it is raining, right?” 

So we have an ascription in the first, second, and third persons. 

When it comes to the *identification* of a sense (like vision) via experience or qualia, we are at a problem, because ‘see,’ allowing for what Ryle calls a ‘conversational avowal,’ that nobody has an authority to distrust, is what Grice calls a ‘diaphanous’ predicate. 

More formally. 

That means that “Grice sees that it is raining,” in terms of experience, cannot really be expanded except by expanding into WHAT IS that Grice sees, viz. that it is raining. 

The same with “communicating that p,” and “meaning that p.”

H. P. Grice Über Die Deutsche Sprache

H. P. Grice on "Die Deutsche Sprache"

Grice's Communicatum

“There is one further objection, not mentioned by Grandy and Warner, which seems to me to be one to which I must respond.”

“It may be stated thus.”

“One of the leading ideas in my treatment of meaning was that meaning is not to be regarded exclusively, or even primarily, as a feature of language or of linguistic utterances.”

“There are many instances of non-linguistic vehicles of communication, mostly unstructured but sometimes exhibiting at least rudimentary structure; and my account of meaning, based on Peirce, was designed to allow for the possibility that a non-linguistic and indeed a non-conventional 'utterance', perhaps even manifesting some degree of structure, might be within the powers of creatures who lack any linguistic or otherwise conventional apparatus for communication, but who are not thereby deprived of the capacity to mean this or that by things they do.”

“To provide for this possibility, it is plainly necessary that the key ingredient in any representation of meaning, namely intending, should be a state the capacity for which does not require the possession of a language.”

“Now some might be unwilling to allow the possibility of such pre-linguistic intending.”

“Against them, I think I would have good prospects of winning the day.”

“But unfortunately a victory on this front would not be enough.”

“For, in a succession of increasingly elaborate moves designed to thwart a sequence of counterexamples started by Strawson with his example of the ‘rat-infested house,’ I was led to restrict the intentions which are to constitute utterer's meaning to “M-intentions”; and, whatever might be the case in general with regard to intending, M-intending is plainly too sophisticated a state to be found in a language-destitute creature.”

“So the unavoidable rearguard actions seem to have undermined the raison d'etre of the campaign.”

“A brief reply will have to suffice; a full treatment would require delving deep into crucial problems concerning the boundaries between vicious and virtuous circularity.”

“According to my most recent speculations about meaning, one should distinguish between what I might call the factual character of an utterance (meaning-relevant features which are actually present in the utterance), and what I might call its titular character (the nested M-intention which is deemed to be present).

“The titular character is infinitely complex, and so cannot be actually present in toto.”

“In which case to point out that its inconceivable actual presence would be possible, or would be detectable, only via the use of language would seem to serve little purpose.”

“At its most meagre, the factual character will consist merely in the pre-rational counterpart of meaning, which might amount to no more than making a certain sort of utterance in order thereby to get some creature to think or want some particular thing, and this condition seems to contain no reference to linguistic expertise.”

“Maybe in some less straightforward instances of meaning there will be actually present intentions whose feasibility as intentions will demand a capacity for the use of language.”

“But there can be no advance guarantee when this will be so, and it is in any case arguable that the use of language would here be a practically indispensable aid to thinking about relatively complex intentions, rather than an element in what is thought about, as I suggest in the last of my William James lectures.”