objection by appealing to implicit or explicit delimitations of the ‘domain of discourse’.
The problem about existence is a little more complex. In a much-cited discussion of Russell’s theory, P. F. Strawson argues that in saying ‘the present king of France is bald’ one is not stating that a present king of France exists, but presupposing or assuming that it does (‘On Referring’, Mind , 1950). This is shown by the fact that if someone uttered this sentence, his interlocutors are not likely to say, ‘that’s false’, but instead, ‘there’s no king of France at present’, thereby making the point that he had not in fact made a statement, that is, he had not succeeded in saying anything true or false. This amounts to saying that descriptions must be referring expressions because an important part of their contribution to the truth-values of sentences containing them is that, unless they refer, the sentences in question do not have a truthvalue at all.
Strawson’s use of a notion of ‘presupposition’ to explain how, on his opposed view, descriptions function in sentences, has prompted much critical debate, and so has his preparedness to allow ‘truth-value gaps’, that is, absence of truth-value in a meaningful sentence – thus breaching the ‘principle of bivalence’ which says that every (declarative) sentence must have one or other of the two truth-values ‘true’ and ‘false’. But the main response to his criticism of Russell is undoubtedly to say that the fact upon which his case turns, namely, that we would not say ‘that’s false’ when someone says ‘the present king of France is bald’, does not mean that the description cannot be treated as making an existential claim. It might be true that we would respond by denying that there is a king of France; after all, merely to say ‘that’s false’ might be misleading, because it could imply something quite different, namely, that there is a hairy king of France. But if we reply ‘there is no king of France at present’ we have in effect acknowledged that use of the description makes an existential claim – for that is exactly what the denial addresses.
Another objection is that Russell did not see that there are two different uses that can be made of descriptions. Consider the following two cases. First, you see a painting you like, and you say, ‘the artist who painted this is a genius’. You do not know who the artist is, but you attribute genius to him. Secondly, the painting is ‘Madonna of the Rocks’, and you know that Leonardo painted it. In admiration you murmur the same sentence. In the first case the description is used ‘attributively’, in the second ‘referentially’. According to Keith Donnellan, who advanced this criticism, Russell’s account concerns only attributive uses. This matters because there are cases where a description can be used successfully to refer to someone even if it does not apply to him – ‘the man drinking champagne over there is bald’ can be used to say something true even if the bald man’s glass contains only fizzy water.
A response would be to distinguish between semantic and pragmatic levels of analysis. At the semantic level Russell’s account applies, and it makes the sentence ‘the man drinking champagne is bald’ literally false, because although he is indeed bald, he is drinking water. At the pragmatic level reference has been successfully made, and a truth conveyed, because this kind of use gets the job done. But Russell might argue that since his analysis is aimed at a certain type of expression standardly taken to be specifically referential, what he says holds good: questions of use are a further matter.
This response does, however, raise questions about the relation of use and meaning. If use is a large part of meaning, facts about it have to be taken centrally into account in explaining how expressions function. The question of how much weight is to be placed
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