I’m still confused by the Helen Keller example. It sounds like she already knew that she could ask for the names of objects, so I’m struggling to see what the realisation was that led her to excitedly ask about the names of a bunch of objects.
The way I read it, her teacher was trying to tell her about words, but she didn’t make the connection between the words and mental objects (she thought it was spelling, not naming). Once she did, they became much more interesting.
Sorry, I’m still confused. She was pointing to objects and tapping to receive a name, so presumably she already knew that these words referred to objects.
Perhaps one can think of a sort of continuum where on one end you have a full understanding that it’s a characteristic of language that “everything has a name” as in the Anne Sullivan quote, and on the other end, an individual knows certain gestures are associated with getting another person to exhibit certain behaviors like bringing desired objects to them, but no intuition that there’s a whole system of gestures that they mostly haven’t learned yet (as an example, a cat might know that rattling its food bowl will cause its owner to come over and refill it). Even if Hellen Keller was not all the way on the latter end of the continuum at the beginning of the story—she could already request new gestures for things she regularly wanted Anne Sullivan to bring to her or take her to—in the course of the story she might have made some significant leap in the direction of the former end of the continuum. In particular she might have realized that she could ask for names of all sorts of things even if there was no regular instrumental purpose for requesting that Sullivan would bring them over to her (e.g. being thirsty and wanting water).
On the general topic of what the Helen Keller story can tell us about AI and whether complex sensory input is needed for humanlike understanding of words, a while ago I read an article at https://web.archive.org/web/20161010021853/http://www.dichotomistic.com/mind_readings_helen%20keller.html that suggests some reasons for caution. It notes that she was not born blind and deaf, but “lost her sight and hearing after an illness at the age of two”, so even if she had no conscious memory of what vision and hearing were like, they would have figured into her brain development until that point, as would her exposure to language to that age. The end of the article discusses the techniques developed in Soviet institutions to help people who were actually born blind and deaf, like developing their sense of space by “gradually making the deaf/blind child reach further and further for a spoon of food.” It says that eventually they can learn simple fingerspelt commands, and do basic bodily tasks like getting dressed, but only those children who lost their sight and hearing a few years after birth ever develop complex language abilities.
While I have not read Anne Sullivan’s original text nor a biography of Keller, and I cannot say for sure what was happening in her head, here is one plausible theory:
For the longest time, despite learning many words for use in daily life, Keller did not actually grasp the concept of words being names of specific objects; rather, she regarded them as combinations of letters loosely associated with specific situations and sensations. For example, “mug” and “milk” and “drink”, as far as she was concerned, were all just arbitrary combinations of signs that her teacher tended to utter in association with drinking milk. In this view, when describing Helen’s prior attitude as follows:
This morning, while she was washing, she wanted to know the name for “water.” When she wants to know the name for anything, she points to it and pats my hand
the teacher, Sullivan, is not actually speaking precisely: at that time, Keller did not actually want to know the ‘name’ of the object ‘water’; she wanted to know ‘what kind of letter combination is associated with the experience of washing’.
Once again, this is just the way in which I understand it, and I’m not saying this is actually the way Helen Keller thought.
I’m still confused by the Helen Keller example. It sounds like she already knew that she could ask for the names of objects, so I’m struggling to see what the realisation was that led her to excitedly ask about the names of a bunch of objects.
The way I read it, her teacher was trying to tell her about words, but she didn’t make the connection between the words and mental objects (she thought it was spelling, not naming). Once she did, they became much more interesting.
Sorry, I’m still confused. She was pointing to objects and tapping to receive a name, so presumably she already knew that these words referred to objects.
Perhaps one can think of a sort of continuum where on one end you have a full understanding that it’s a characteristic of language that “everything has a name” as in the Anne Sullivan quote, and on the other end, an individual knows certain gestures are associated with getting another person to exhibit certain behaviors like bringing desired objects to them, but no intuition that there’s a whole system of gestures that they mostly haven’t learned yet (as an example, a cat might know that rattling its food bowl will cause its owner to come over and refill it). Even if Hellen Keller was not all the way on the latter end of the continuum at the beginning of the story—she could already request new gestures for things she regularly wanted Anne Sullivan to bring to her or take her to—in the course of the story she might have made some significant leap in the direction of the former end of the continuum. In particular she might have realized that she could ask for names of all sorts of things even if there was no regular instrumental purpose for requesting that Sullivan would bring them over to her (e.g. being thirsty and wanting water).
On the general topic of what the Helen Keller story can tell us about AI and whether complex sensory input is needed for humanlike understanding of words, a while ago I read an article at https://web.archive.org/web/20161010021853/http://www.dichotomistic.com/mind_readings_helen%20keller.html that suggests some reasons for caution. It notes that she was not born blind and deaf, but “lost her sight and hearing after an illness at the age of two”, so even if she had no conscious memory of what vision and hearing were like, they would have figured into her brain development until that point, as would her exposure to language to that age. The end of the article discusses the techniques developed in Soviet institutions to help people who were actually born blind and deaf, like developing their sense of space by “gradually making the deaf/blind child reach further and further for a spoon of food.” It says that eventually they can learn simple fingerspelt commands, and do basic bodily tasks like getting dressed, but only those children who lost their sight and hearing a few years after birth ever develop complex language abilities.
While I have not read Anne Sullivan’s original text nor a biography of Keller, and I cannot say for sure what was happening in her head, here is one plausible theory:
For the longest time, despite learning many words for use in daily life, Keller did not actually grasp the concept of words being names of specific objects; rather, she regarded them as combinations of letters loosely associated with specific situations and sensations. For example, “mug” and “milk” and “drink”, as far as she was concerned, were all just arbitrary combinations of signs that her teacher tended to utter in association with drinking milk. In this view, when describing Helen’s prior attitude as follows:
the teacher, Sullivan, is not actually speaking precisely: at that time, Keller did not actually want to know the ‘name’ of the object ‘water’; she wanted to know ‘what kind of letter combination is associated with the experience of washing’.
Once again, this is just the way in which I understand it, and I’m not saying this is actually the way Helen Keller thought.
I thought the revelation might be modularity. I don’t know what this is called in linguistics.