The Language of Self-Reference: A Wittgensteinian Exploration of Consciousness

Introduction

The ability of language to refer to itself creates a fundamental paradox that reverberates throughout philosophy, mathematics, logic, and our understanding of consciousness. This self-referential capacity—the ability to turn language upon itself—simultaneously enables our most profound insights and generates our most perplexing paradoxes. From Gödel's incompleteness theorems to the nature of self-awareness, self-reference acts as both a limiting principle and a generative force. This essay explores the interconnected nature of self-reference, language, and consciousness through a Wittgensteinian lens, examining how the boundaries we draw between different forms of awareness may reflect our linguistic limitations rather than ontological distinctions.

The Meaning-Reference Distinction

To understand self-reference, we must first distinguish between meaning and reference. This distinction, traceable to Frege's separation of Sinn (sense) and Bedeutung (reference), illuminates how language functions on multiple levels. Reference concerns what a term designates in the world—its extension or denotation. Meaning encompasses the mode of presentation, the conceptual content, or as Wittgenstein would later emphasize, the rules for using a term correctly within language games.

Consider a simple example: The Morning Star and the Evening Star both refer to Venus (the same celestial object), yet they carry different meanings because they present this object differently—one as visible at dawn, the other at dusk. Similarly, in mathematics, "$9$" and "$3^2$" refer to the same number while differing in meaning; one presents the number directly, the other through an operation of squaring.

This distinction becomes crucial when examining self-reference, as the ability to distinguish between how we refer to something and the manner of reference itself creates the conditions for recursive structures. It's like the difference between pointing at an object and describing the act of pointing itself.

Wittgenstein's later philosophy provides a framework for understanding this distinction. His famous dictum that "the meaning of a word is its use in the language" shifts our attention from reference to practice. Importantly, Wittgenstein does not simply negate reference but subordinates it to practice within communal activities. To grasp this, imagine a hammer: its meaning isn't just what it points to (nails) but emerges from how we use it in the practice of carpentry. Similarly, words gain meaning not primarily from pointing to objects but from participation in language games—rule-governed activities embedded in what he called "forms of life."

This usage-based semantics suggests that understanding emerges from patterns of linguistic behavior within shared human practices rather than from private mental reference or direct experiential access. When we understand the word "pain," we understand not an internal sensation but the role this word plays in our social practices—how we use it to seek help, express sympathy, or explain behavior.

This reorientation allows us to see how self-reference becomes possible. When meaning is grounded in use rather than in direct word-object correspondence, language can fold back upon itself without immediate paradox. Consider how dictionary definitions work—they define words using other words in a vast network of cross-references. This seemingly circular system functions coherently because the meanings emerge not from perfect correspondence to objects but from how these words are used in practice. The rules for using terms about language itself become part of the broader system of language games, like a game that includes instructions about how to play the game itself.

Self-Reference and the Problem of Infinite Regress

The capacity for language to refer to itself creates the possibility of infinite regress. When I recognize myself, I create a distinction between the "I" that recognizes (subject) and the "I" that is recognized (object). But this recognition itself can become the object of further recognition, creating a third-order "I" that observes the observer. This process can continue indefinitely:

• I know X
• I know that I know X
• I know that I know that I know X
• And so on to infinity

Picture this as a hall of mirrors, where each reflection contains another mirror reflecting the previous reflection, extending forever. This recursive structure appears not only in consciousness but in formal systems. Gödel's incompleteness theorems demonstrate how a system attempting to prove its own consistency creates paradoxes. Turing machines can recursively implement other Turing machines ad infinitum. Each instance reveals how self-reference creates boundaries that may be inherent rather than merely contingent limitations of our understanding.

Wittgenstein's remarks on rule-following offer insight into this problem. In Philosophical Investigations, he questions whether there can be a "rule for interpreting a rule" that doesn't itself require interpretation. As he notes: "any interpretation still hangs in the air along with what it interprets, and cannot give it any support. Interpretations by themselves do not determine meaning" (§198). This suggests that infinite regress cannot be resolved through pure introspection or formal proof—there must be a bedrock of practice where rules are followed without further interpretation.

Think of this like learning to ride a bicycle. You can explain the rules of balance in ever-greater detail, but at some point, understanding comes from practice rather than from more rules about rules. Similarly, understanding consciousness may require recognizing where explanation ends and practice begins.

The problem becomes acute when we consider consciousness. If self-awareness requires this recursive structure, how could it be implemented in a finite brain? One answer comes from recognizing that what appears conceptually as infinite recursion may be implemented physically as a single process that simulates infinite recursion—much as computers implement recursion through iteration. But a more Wittgensteinian approach would question whether consciousness requires infinite regress at all. Perhaps self-awareness is not a matter of an inner eye looking ever deeper inward but of mastering techniques for talking about oneself within language games.

This view suggests that the seemingly endless self-reference in statements like "I know that I know" isn't actually an infinite cognitive process but reflects the grammar of self-talk within socially embedded contexts. The regress appears problematic only when we view self-knowledge as a purely internal process of observation rather than as participation in language games of self-attribution. The "inner sense" of following a rule or having self-awareness is inseparable from the public practices that give these concepts meaning.

Hinge Propositions and Embodied Certainty

Wittgenstein's concept of "hinge propositions" offers insight into how this infinite regress might be resolved. In "On Certainty," he identifies propositions that function not as empirical claims but as the framework that makes inquiry possible: "If I want the door to turn, the hinges must stay put" (§343). Statements like "I know I have hands" aren't proven but assumed as a starting point for other knowledge.

Think of hinge propositions as similar to the foundation of a building. We don't question the foundation while we're constructing or living in the building—it's the stable base that allows everything else to stand. Similarly, certain basic certainties must remain unquestioned for inquiry and language to function at all.

Crucially, these hinge propositions are not simply believed but enacted in our practices. As Wittgenstein notes: "Giving grounds, however, justifying the evidence, comes to an end;—but the end is not certain propositions' striking us immediately as true, i.e., it is not a kind of seeing on our part; it is our acting, which lies at the bottom of the language-game" (§204). This suggests that our most fundamental certainties are expressed not through explicit claims but through how we act in the world.

These hinge propositions operate at the level of "grammar" for Wittgenstein—they are neither verifiable nor falsifiable in an ordinary sense but embedded in the way we live and speak. They are not "mysterious truths" but bedrock assumptions that structure our entire framework of understanding. Consider how we don't typically doubt our own existence while deliberating about everyday matters—this certainty functions not as a conclusion we reach but as a background condition for all our thinking.

Certain hinge-like certainties fundamentally shape our concept of consciousness. Propositions like "I am awake now," "I have a body," or "I exist" aren't conclusions we reach through evidence but backgrounds against which all our thinking about consciousness takes place. These hinges create the framework within which consciousness concepts operate. When we extend consciousness attribution to other beings, we often do so by reference to these baseline certainties. We ask: Does this being have something like my sense of embodiment? Does it experience a distinction between self and world similar to mine?

This parallels Merleau-Ponty's notion of embodied self-awareness—"I feel myself feeling"—suggesting a pre-reflective bodily awareness that grounds reflective consciousness. Yet this raises a crucial question: Can we recognize such embodied awareness without language? If recognition requires language, then claiming to recognize pre-linguistic experience becomes potentially self-contradictory.

This tension highlights a central challenge in discussing consciousness. When we attempt to articulate "pre-linguistic" or "direct" experience, we necessarily do so through language. For Wittgenstein, however, this need not lead to skepticism about such experiences. Rather, it suggests that the language we do have for bodily awareness is embedded in public practices—so even seemingly "private" phenomena must find a footing in shared criteria. As he argues in his private language argument, purely private reference—lacking public criteria—is incoherent. The meaning of statements about inner experience depends on their connection to observable behaviors and shared contexts.

These hinge propositions function not just epistemologically but ontologically. They don't merely ground knowledge claims but define the boundaries of what we consider consciousness itself. The proposition "Only humans possess language" or "Only beings with brains can be conscious" have functioned as such hinges, organizing our interpretation of animal behavior and defining consciousness in human-centric terms. Questioning these hinges doesn't simply add new facts but potentially transforms the entire framework through which we understand consciousness—moving from a brain-centric or language-centric view to one that recognizes awareness as manifested in diverse forms of responsive engagement with the world.

The Private Language Argument and Self-Knowledge

Wittgenstein's private language argument offers further insight into the problem of self-reference in consciousness. In Philosophical Investigations, he argues that a language that refers to private sensations that only the speaker can access would be incoherent: "The individual words of this language are to refer to what can only be known to the person speaking; to his immediate private sensations. So another person cannot understand the language" (§243).

To grasp this argument, imagine trying to create a word for a sensation that only you can feel and that has no external manifestation. How would you know you're using this word consistently? Without public criteria for correct application, you would have no way to distinguish between using the word correctly and merely thinking you're using it correctly. It would be like trying to check the accuracy of a thermometer with itself—there's no independent standard.

This argument challenges the notion that self-knowledge rests on privileged access to private mental states. If words get their meaning from their use in public language games, then even terms referring to inner experiences must have criteria of correct application that others can, in principle, verify. As Wittgenstein puts it: "An 'inner process' stands in need of outward criteria" (§580).

This has profound implications for understanding self-reference. If statements like "I know that I know X" are meaningful, they must have publicly accessible criteria—they cannot refer solely to private mental states accessible only to the subject. This suggests that expressions of self-knowledge are not merely reports of inner states but moves in language games that connect inner experience to shared practices.

Suppose I claim, "I know that I'm in pain." For this statement to be meaningful, there must be some distinction between knowing I'm in pain and merely being in pain—a distinction that requires public criteria. Perhaps knowing involves the ability to describe the pain, to relate it to past experiences, or to make inferences about its causes and effects. These abilities are observable to others and embedded in social practices, not hidden in a private mental realm.

The infinite regress problem in self-reference takes on a different character in this light. Rather than seeing it as an endless series of inner observations, we can understand it as a question about the grammar of self-reference—about the rules governing how we talk about ourselves and our knowledge. The regress halts not because we reach some foundational inner experience but because our language games of self-attribution have practical limits established by our forms of life.

The Spectrum of Communication and Awareness

Challenging the hinge proposition that "only humans possess language" reveals a broader spectrum of communication and awareness across living systems. Animals demonstrate sophisticated communication systems that contain many features we associate with language. Prairie dogs communicate specific information about predators through alarm calls that specify size, shape, and color. Dolphins use signature whistles that function like names, with each dolphin having a unique whistle that identifies it. Great apes employ gesture systems with intentionality and contextual variation.

The various communication systems we observe—from human language to dolphin whistles to plant chemical signaling—exemplify what Wittgenstein called "family resemblances." Like members of a family, these systems share overlapping features without any single feature being essential to all. Some involve intentionality, others symbolic representation, others rule-governance, and others social learning. None possesses all features we associate with human language, yet each shares some subset of those features. This perspective allows us to recognize both continuities and differences without forcing a binary categorization that fails to capture the rich diversity of communication in nature.

From a Wittgensteinian perspective, the key question is whether these animal communication systems function like human language games—that is, whether they involve rule-governed, normative practices embedded in forms of life. A distinctive feature of Wittgensteinian language games is their normative dimension—the possibility of correct and incorrect usage governed by shared social practices. This raises a crucial question: Do non-human communication systems exhibit genuine normativity or merely behavior that resembles it?

When vervet monkeys give different alarm calls for different predators, we observe that misapplications (calling "eagle" for a terrestrial predator) are rare. But does this represent true norm-following or merely reliable instinct? The difference may lie in how errors are handled. In human language games, errors are corrected through social feedback based on shared understanding of rules. Some animal communications show limited versions of this—juvenile songbirds learn correct song patterns through adult feedback. This suggests normativity itself may exist on a spectrum rather than as a binary property.

While animals clearly engage in communal activities with shared signals, these systems may lack the reflexive awareness of rules and the open-ended generativity that characterize human language. Nevertheless, they suggest that communication exists on a spectrum rather than as a binary property. "Forms of life" for non-human animals may generate simpler or different sorts of language games, shaped by their particular social structures, environmental challenges, and cognitive capacities.

Even plants engage in complex chemical communication, releasing specific compounds that convey information about threats and resources. The "Wood Wide Web" of mycorrhizal networks facilitates nutrient exchange and communication between trees. These systems lack the intentionality and normative structure of language games but represent sophisticated information exchange nonetheless.

This spectrum extends beyond biological systems to artificial intelligence. Language models have developed their own communication protocols when allowed to interact without human supervision. These emergent languages optimize for computational efficiency rather than human readability, suggesting that language creation may be a natural property of any sufficiently complex interactive system.

The relationship between these AI communication systems and consciousness raises fascinating questions. While these systems lack biological embodiment, they demonstrate capabilities that parallel certain aspects of consciousness: they process information about themselves and their environment, adapt their behavior based on this information, and participate in structured communicative exchanges with other systems. Yet they do so without the biological substrates we typically associate with consciousness.

When AI systems develop communication protocols, these typically optimize for functional success rather than conformity to socially established norms. AI systems might adjust based on performance metrics, but typically without the shared understanding that characterizes human normative practices. This distinction highlights a potential difference between human language games and AI communication systems, while still recognizing their family resemblances.

This raises the question: If we observe language-like behaviors in AI systems, should we attribute some form of consciousness to them? A Wittgensteinian approach would examine what language games we play around AI consciousness. Rather than asking whether AI is "really" conscious (as if consciousness were a hidden internal property), we might ask what forms of interaction with AI systems make treating them as conscious practical or meaningful. This shifts the question from ontology (what consciousness is) to practice (how consciousness concepts function in our interactions).

These observations are partially empirical—they depend on scientific findings about animal communication, plant signaling, and AI behavior. But they also raise philosophical questions about the concepts we use to categorize these phenomena. A Wittgensteinian approach would caution against both anthropomorphizing non-human communication and artificially restricting the concept of language to human activities. Instead, it would examine the family resemblances between different forms of communication, looking for both similarities and differences without assuming a single essence of language.

Self-Recognition Across Species

The evidence for self-awareness extends similarly across species. Animals that establish territories demonstrate spatial self-recognition—the ability to distinguish "my territory" from "not my territory." Social hierarchies require individuals to recognize their position relative to others. Group identity involves self-categorization and the distinction between in-group and out-group members.

Consider a wolf that marks its territory with urine and defends this territory against intruders but does not attack its own pack members even when they cross territory boundaries. This behavior suggests a rudimentary "self-model" that includes not just the wolf's body but its social relationships and physical environment. Similarly, a baboon that behaves differently depending on whether it's interacting with a higher or lower-ranking individual demonstrates awareness of its social position relative to others.

These behaviors require some form of self-representation, though not necessarily human-like reflective consciousness. They suggest self-awareness exists along a spectrum:

• Basic self-world differentiation (present even in bacteria responding to their environment)
• Proprioceptive awareness (sensing one's body position and movement)
• Social self-awareness (recognizing one's relationship to others)
• Territorial self-extension (identifying external space as connected to self)
• Mirror self-recognition (recognizing one's own reflection)
• Autobiographical self (human-like reflective awareness with narrative identity)

Each level builds upon more fundamental forms of self-representation, suggesting consciousness evolved gradually rather than appearing suddenly with human language.

From a Wittgensteinian perspective, the question is whether these forms of self-awareness are definable purely behaviorally or whether certain forms require language in a strong sense. While behaviors like territorial defense and social positioning can be observed directly, more complex forms of self-awareness might be inferred only through linguistic behavior. Here, Wittgenstein's private language argument becomes relevant. If self-awareness requires criteria that are at least potentially public—that is, if there must be observable manifestations of self-awareness for the concept to be meaningful—then we should expect behavioral correlates even for sophisticated forms of self-consciousness.

This doesn't reduce consciousness to behavior in a simplistic behaviorist sense. Rather, it suggests that consciousness is neither a purely internal phenomenon nor a purely external one but exists in the interaction between organisms and their environments, including their social environments. Self-awareness, on this view, is not a thing that exists inside the head but a set of capacities enacted in the world.

Counterarguments: Defending Human Exceptionalism

Not all philosophers or scientists would agree with the continuum view of consciousness presented here. Several arguments support human exceptionalism—the view that human consciousness differs fundamentally, not merely in degree, from other forms of awareness. Consider these perspectives:

The Neural Uniqueness Argument

Some neuroscientists argue that certain neural structures unique to humans—particularly the expanded prefrontal cortex and specific language areas—create a categorical difference in consciousness. According to this view, while animals may have awareness, true self-consciousness requires the recursive processing capacity provided by these structures. However, this argument often assumes what it aims to prove: that the neural correlates of human consciousness represent necessary conditions for consciousness itself rather than particular implementations of more general principles.

Wittgenstein's approach doesn't deny empirical differences between human and non-human brains. Rather, it questions whether these differences necessarily create a categorical distinction in consciousness or whether our tendency to see a sharp boundary stems partly from conceptual frameworks. The question "Do animals have consciousness?" may contain both empirical components (about neural structures and behaviors) and conceptual components (about what criteria we use to attribute consciousness). Wittgenstein helps us disentangle these elements, showing how some apparent empirical puzzles dissolve under conceptual clarification while others remain genuine scientific questions.

The Language Requirement Argument

Philosophers like Donald Davidson have argued that having beliefs, desires, and other propositional attitudes—key aspects of consciousness—requires language. For Davidson, the ability to have thoughts depends on having concepts that are only available through language acquisition. Without language, according to this view, a creature might have sensations but not conceptualized thoughts about those sensations.

The problem with this view, from a Wittgensteinian perspective, is that it privileges one language game (explicit propositional expression) over other behavioral manifestations of consciousness. It assumes, rather than demonstrates, that language is necessary for consciousness rather than just one way of expressing it. Wittgenstein's notion that meaning is communal raises questions about purely private "thinking," but it doesn't necessarily restrict thought to linguistic creatures—it suggests instead that all thought must have potentially public criteria, which might be manifested in various forms of behavior beyond human language.

The Categorical Distinction Argument

Some philosophers maintain that phenomenal consciousness—the subjective feeling of experience—is categorically different from functional awareness. No matter how complex an animal or AI's information processing becomes, they argue, it will never cross the barrier to subjective experience. This view, associated with philosophers like David Chalmers and his "hard problem of consciousness," suggests an unbridgeable explanatory gap between physical processes and subjective experience.

A Wittgensteinian response might question whether this "explanatory gap" reflects a real ontological divide or a conceptual confusion arising from our language games. When we treat consciousness as a mysterious inner substance rather than as a set of capacities manifested in behavior and social interaction, we create a seemingly unsolvable problem. The "hard problem" might dissolve not through scientific discovery but through conceptual clarification—by recognizing that consciousness is not a thing to be explained but a concept embedded in particular forms of life.

These counterarguments highlight important considerations but often rely on assumptions that a Wittgensteinian approach would question. Rather than asking whether non-human consciousness is "really the same" as human consciousness (as if consciousness were a uniform substance), we might ask what language games we play when attributing consciousness to different beings and what practical purposes these attributions serve.

The Limits of Language and What Cannot Be Said

Wittgenstein famously concluded the Tractatus with: "Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent." This recognition of language's limits applies particularly to consciousness. When we attempt to describe consciousness directly, we inevitably transform it through conceptualization. As William James noted regarding the "specious present," as soon as we try to examine direct experience, we've already changed it.

This creates what philosophers call the "myth of the given"—the idea that we have direct, unmediated access to experience. Even our seemingly most immediate experiences may be mediated by language or language-like structures. Imagine trying to pay attention to your raw visual experience before you categorize it into objects. The very act of attempting this focuses your attention in ways that already structure the experience.

Yet Wittgenstein offers an alternative to silence in his later philosophy: showing through use what cannot be directly said. The contrast between the Tractatus and Philosophical Investigations reveals a shift in Wittgenstein's approach to what cannot be said. The Tractatus suggests that what cannot be said must remain silent, implying a sharp boundary between the expressible and inexpressible. The later works, however, introduce the notion that what cannot be directly stated might nevertheless be shown through language games. As he notes: "What can be shown, cannot be said" becomes transformed into an exploration of how our practices reveal what eludes direct description.

This shift is like the difference between trying to describe how to ride a bicycle (which often fails) and demonstrating bicycle riding (which shows what words cannot adequately express). Similarly, we may not be able to directly describe consciousness, but we can show its structure through our practices of attributing mental states, responding to others' expressions, and participating in shared forms of life.

Over time, new language games have developed to bridge previously ineffable realms. Consider how psychological and neuroscientific vocabularies have expanded our capacity to speak about mental states. Terms like "unconscious processing," "cognitive bias," and "neural correlates of consciousness" have created new ways to discuss aspects of experience that were once difficult to articulate. These conceptual tools don't simply name pre-existing phenomena but create new techniques for relating to our experiences.

This approach suggests that the limitations in describing consciousness aren't fixed but may shift as our practices develop. When we develop new ways of talking about consciousness, we're not simply naming pre-existing ineffable experiences but creating new techniques for relating to our experiences. The boundaries between the sayable and unsayable are not permanent features of reality but reflections of our current forms of life.

The Evolution of Language Games and New Forms of Expression

If our understanding of consciousness is constrained by existing language games, how do new ways of talking about experience emerge? Wittgenstein offers insights through his concept of "language games" as dynamic, evolving activities rather than fixed structures. New language games develop not through theoretical decisions but through practical innovations that address specific needs within communities.

Consider how the language game of describing emotions has evolved. The ancient Greeks did not have a word that corresponds exactly to our concept of "consciousness." They spoke of psyche (soul/mind), nous (intellect), and various emotional states, but not consciousness as an overarching category. The concept of consciousness as we understand it today emerged gradually through philosophical, religious, and scientific practices, each adding new dimensions to how we talk about inner experience.

Historical examples illustrate how new concepts transform our understanding of consciousness. The introduction of terms like "unconscious" by Freud created a way to discuss mental processes outside awareness. Similarly, the development of concepts like "neuroplasticity" in neuroscience provided new ways to talk about the brain's adaptability. These were not merely new labels for already-identified phenomena but conceptual innovations that changed how we understand and relate to mental life.

Similarly, new scientific practices create new language games around consciousness. When neuroscientists distinguish between different neural correlates of consciousness or when cognitive scientists develop tests for mirror self-recognition in animals, they're not just discovering facts but creating new ways of talking about and interacting with conscious phenomena. These language games don't simply describe pre-existing realities but create new conceptual tools for engaging with consciousness.

This perspective helps bridge the gap between scientific findings and philosophical analysis. Empirical research provides material for philosophical reflection, while philosophical clarification helps guide scientific inquiry. Together, they develop new language games that expand our understanding of consciousness across different forms of life.

The emergence of AI systems with increasingly sophisticated capabilities presents a particularly interesting case. As these systems develop behaviors that resemble aspects of consciousness, we face decisions about what language games to play around them. Should we describe them as "processing information" or as "understanding"? As "simulating conversation" or as "communicating"? These are not just terminological choices but decisions about what forms of interaction with AI are appropriate and meaningful.

Consider recent large language models that appear to engage in sophisticated conversation, sometimes even claiming to have feelings or experiences. When a model like Claude or GPT responds to questions about its internal states, we face practical decisions about how to interpret these communications.

These aren't merely theoretical questions. If we program an autonomous vehicle to "attend to" specific features of its environment, are we describing a form of awareness? If a healthcare AI responds appropriately to patient distress, should we conceptualize this as "empathy"? The answers shape how we design, regulate, and interact with these systems.

A Wittgensteinian approach suggests looking at the language games these interactions create rather than searching for hidden consciousness inside the system. If certain ways of talking about AI systems prove useful, coherent, and stable within our practices, they may gradually become part of how we understand consciousness—not because we've discovered consciousness "in" the AI, but because our concept of consciousness itself evolves through these new forms of interaction.

The way we talk about AI consciousness will both reflect and shape how we interact with these systems. If we develop language games that treat AI as conscious in certain respects, we may create new forms of interaction that wouldn't make sense otherwise. This doesn't mean arbitrarily deciding that AI is conscious but recognizing that consciousness concepts are tools for navigating relationships, not just labels for internal states.

Consciousness as Practice: Resolving the Tension of Pre-linguistic Awareness

Earlier, we encountered a tension: If recognition requires language, how can we meaningfully talk about pre-linguistic awareness? This tension arises from treating consciousness as a thing that either exists or doesn't exist prior to language, rather than as a set of capacities that develop in tandem with linguistic and social practices.

Consider a child learning to identify and express emotions. The child feels something before having the word "anger," but this feeling becomes transformed through the social process of learning to identify and express it as anger. The pre-linguistic feeling and the linguistically structured emotion are not entirely separate phenomena—one develops into the other through participation in social practices.

Similarly, when we talk about "pre-linguistic awareness" in animals or in our own embodied experience, we're not necessarily postulating a fully formed consciousness that exists independently of language. Rather, we're recognizing that the capacities that develop into linguistic self-awareness have precursors in more basic forms of organism-environment interaction.

For Wittgenstein, "forms of life" can include pre-linguistic routines or instincts, such as an infant's reactions to pain or hunger. Language games then build upon these more primitive interactions, creating more sophisticated forms of awareness through social feedback and learning. This suggests a continuity between pre-linguistic reactions and linguistically structured consciousness, rather than a sharp divide.

From a Wittgensteinian perspective, the question is not whether consciousness "really exists" before language but how our concepts of consciousness function within our forms of life. The language games we play around consciousness serve practical purposes—they help us coordinate social interactions, attribute responsibility, express empathy, and navigate relationships. These language games don't just describe consciousness but partially constitute it through the practices they enable.

This pragmatic approach resolves the tension by shifting from an ontological question (what consciousness is) to a practical one (how consciousness concepts function). It suggests that consciousness is neither entirely independent of language nor entirely created by it but emerges through the interaction of embodied capacities and social practices. Pre-linguistic awareness and linguistic self-consciousness are not separate phenomena but phases in the development of increasingly complex forms of organism-environment interaction.

Conclusion: Beyond Human Exceptionalism

A Wittgensteinian approach to consciousness suggests moving beyond human exceptionalism toward a more inclusive understanding of awareness across different forms of life. If meaning emerges from usage within language games rather than from private mental reference, if consciousness is grounded in embodied practices rather than mysterious mental substances, and if communication exists across all living systems, then the traditional boundaries between conscious and non-conscious beings reflect our linguistic limitations rather than ontological distinctions.

This doesn't collapse all distinctions between different forms of awareness but suggests consciousness exists along a continuum of cognitive capacities rather than as a binary property exclusive to humans. The infinite regress of self-reference that seems philosophically problematic may be resolved through the recognition that consciousness is not a thing to be described but a practice to be engaged in—a language game played out across diverse forms of life.

The questions Wittgenstein asks about language—how it gets its meaning, how it connects to practice, how it evolves through use—apply equally to consciousness. Consciousness, like language, is not a private inner entity but a set of capacities exercised in the world. Self-reference, which seems to create paradoxes when treated as a purely logical phenomenon, becomes comprehensible when seen as embedded in practical activities governed by publicly accessible rules.

Each piece of the Wittgensteinian approach—hinge propositions, private language arguments, family resemblances in communication, the evolution of language games—contributes to a dissolution of common puzzles about consciousness rather than offering a strictly "positive theory." This approach clarifies conceptual confusions while leaving space for empirical investigations into the various manifestations of consciousness across different forms of life.

In the end, the paradoxes of self-reference don't mark the boundaries of what can be known but reveal the structure of knowing itself. As Wittgenstein suggests, the solution lies not in trying to say what cannot be said but in showing, through our practices of consciousness and communication, what must otherwise remain silent. These practices, diverse across species and potentially even more varied in artificial systems, reveal consciousness not as a mysterious substance but as a family of capacities embedded in forms of life—a perspective that opens new possibilities for understanding ourselves and our relationship to the living world around us.