Sunday, 21 July 2024
Evolution, Ideas, and Hiveminds
Sunday, 30 June 2024
These Truths We Hold To Be Self Evident
A couple of months ago I submitted a short story to The New Yorker but I think it is unlikely that they are going to publish it. So I have decided to publish it here. I'll make a note about it: this story began as a satire, a black comedy, but it may not be easy to tell when I am being satiric. A friend of mine who read it said that it lacked a story – this is a problem I have with some but not all of my stories. Nevertheless I think there is muh in this story that makes it something worth reading.
In my next post which I shall publish next week I'll get back to philosophy.
***
These Truths We Hold To Be Self Evident
The march was taking place in the small city of Jacksonville, population 50,000, one of several cities in the South with that name, in the Florida panhandle. Most of the participants, like most of the vendors, came from out of town. A typical resident of Jacksonville wouldn’t have known what a chai latte or samosa was if one had bitten him. The march was one of many planned across the state in opposition to Ron Desantis’s “Don’t Say Gay” bill. This was of course a topic of considerable controversy throughout the nation and the demonstrators were almost outnumbered by members of the media. Journalists from all the major networks and local and national newspapers were present to cover the story which was being talked of as a barometer of the political mood of the nation. An enormous number of social media influencers were also in attendance. Of course the journalists, among them Alice Moretz, who worked for a local Florida news outlet, knew the real reason for the coverage, although it was not something she or other media workers would own up to publicly. Legacy media was dying. But a surefire way to attract readers and viewers was to report on stories related to gender and sexuality. Stories like these were catnip for the masses. Cynical, yes, but you needed to pay the bills somehow. The population of the whole country was evenly divided between those who ardently supported the LGBTQIA+ community and those who thought America was literally going to hell and that Christ was coming back any day soon to sort the saved from the sinners; either way, reporting on the march would pull in a sizeable audience.
Alice and her cameraman had located a couple of activists wiling to be interviewed and brought them to the edge of the square. The first of the two, Beatrice, was a certified therapist and psychologist specialising in issues of child and adolescent identity, and the second, Daniel, was a recent liberal arts graduate from Ohio. They had met earlier in the day and connected over their shared admiration for Bernie Sanders and AOC. Alice asked them if they wanted to share anything with “viewers here in the US or around the world”.
Beatrice immediately seized the opportunity, speaking up above the hubbub around her. “Yes, there is something important I want to say. The most important thing for people to understand about gender and sexuality is that they are inherent. What happens in classrooms can’t change them. You can’t make someone gay. A person’s sexuality and gender is something they’re born with. Every day more and more scientific evidence is coming to light, scientific evidence that shows that there are neurological differences between people that exist from birth, neurological differences that explain why people express their genders and sexualities the way they do later on in adulthood. The “Don’t Say Gay” bill is anti-science. It’s anti-compassion. It’s deeply ignorant and harmful. I actually think it is evil. It will hurt children and adolescents. Children need to grow up in environments in which they can safely express who they are. Children need to be affirmed in their identities.This is why it is vitally important that issues to do with identity be discussed openly and honestly with children at home and in schools. Not talking about these things with children can only be a recipe for serious mental illness later on in life. This is what we know now.”
“Do you identify as queer yourself?” asked Alice.
“Personally I identify as a cisgender heterosexual female,” said Beatrice, a little reluctantly. “But I am here in support of my clients. Sometimes it can take a person years to come to terms with who they are.”
“And what about you Daniel? How do you identify?”
“I identify as a non-binary pansexual,” enunciated Daniel carefully.
“That’s interesting,” said Alice, curiosity piqued. “When did you know you were pansexual?
“I think I always knew I was different from other people and didn’t know why,” Daniel said after considering for a moment. “Then I did a course at college about sexuality and gender and it got me thinking. And then I did some research on Youtube. I mean, I think now that the signs were always there. I had male friends as well as female friends when I was growing up. I liked Ryan Gosling and Liam Hemsworth. I also liked Taylor Swift. I was always more of a fan of Emo bands than f football. I mean, I think now that it was obvious.”
“What’s the difference between pansexuality and bisexuality?” asked the cameraman.
“Well, for me,” said Daniel, after considering for another moment, “pansexuality means that you like everything. I like animals. I mean, for instance, I like whales. I’m a member of Greenpeace. I’m very worried about climate change. I’m very concerned about the situation in the Middle East. For me, pansexuality aligns with my political commitments. And it’s not just animals, I also like inanimate objects. I have an XBox that I play quite a lot. I like that XBox. So I guess I would say that for me pansexuality is all about liking everything and not limiting yourself to just liking human members of the opposite sex.”
“The important thing to remember,” Beatrice interposed, perhaps sensing the Daniel was muddying the waters, “is that Daniel was born a non-binary pansexual. Most people are born with brains that have the same gender as their assigned biological sex but some biological men are born with female brains and some biological women are born with male brains. Daniel was born with a brain that is exactly fifty percent male and fifty percent female.”
“There’s another thing,” Daniel went on. “It’s not just gender stuff. I’m autistic. I have Autism Spectrum Disorder. I think its important to fight for the rights of autistic people.”
“Was it like when you realised you were pansexual? Was there a moment when you knew you were autistic?”
“It’s like I said before – I always knew I was different from other people. And then I found some people talking about autism on Youtube. And I realised I had all the signs. I have something called mono-tropism. Sometimes I play Legend of Zelda for hours on end on my XBox. And sometimes I miss social cues and sometimes I don’t always make eye contact. When I realised I had autism, everything fell into place. I felt massively better about myself.”
The cameraman, unable to help himself, interjected again. “I have a cousin who’s autistic. He goes to a special school, doesn’t talk at all, and throws tantrums because people can’t understand him.”
“There’s enormous ignorance out there about autism,” Beatrice explained, she hoped in a non-condescending fashion. “You have to draw a distinction between classical autism and Autism Spectrum Disorder. Only a few people have classical autism but many people have Autism Spectrum Disorder. It’s something else you’re born with. Some people have it and some people don’t. It’s on a spectrum. It’s just like with gender and sexuality – autistic people are born neurologically different to other people. This is the something I can’t emphasise enough, that neurodiversity is a real thing. Different kinds of people are born with different kinds of brain. For instance, did you know that Einstein was autistic? It can be very helpful to the self-esteem of autistic people to find out how many famous people in history were probably autistic.”
“I didn’t know Einstein was autistic,” said the cameraman.
“Of course he was autistic! Isn’t it obvious? For one thing, you can tell he was autistic because he was good at math.”
In the square, the demonstrators were experimentally raising and lowering a banner emblazoned with all the colours of the rainbow and the slogan “Unity in Diversity”. Mark, the cameraman, allowed his gaze to drift over to it. Sometimes he had considered quitting the whole news production game and pursuing his true passion, graphic design. It had been his major at college. Of course, with the advent of AI, graphic designers were probably going to become obsolete. Or maybe he could chuck in the whole television thing and see if there was any feasible way he could break into proper film work. Anything that would be a change from the endless parade of numbnuts he saw daily. But manning the camera for a TV network was a steady job, at least for now, and would help him pay off his Skoda and pay down his student debt at least a little.
“Mark! Concentrate!”
“Sorry. I was just checking the light conditions.”
“Just a followup question,” said Alice to Daniel again. “I’m interested to know. Daniel – do you currently have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend?”
“At the moment I have a girlfriend,” Daniel said, slightly awkwardly. “She’s not here today. But that doesn’t mean,” he went on more animatedly, “that tomorrow I wont’t get into a relationship with my XBox. Or maybe with a whale.”
On a neighbouring street, the inevitable counterdemonstration was taking shape. A far larger proportion of the protestors in this group were locals, mostly made up of committed Baptists from surrounding congregations. Many of them had arrived at the town centre on hired coaches directly from church, organised by church leaders. Jeff Stevens, an associate of Alice working for the same TV station, had managed to coral a couple of Desantis supporters, Amos, who helped manage a peach farm, and Gloria, who had identified herself to Jeff as a homemaker. As Alice had, Jeff kickstarted the interview by asking them if they had anything to say to “viewers here in the US and around the world”.
“We’re here to send a message to all these gays and libs that the lifestyles they’re pushing on our kids is an abomination in the eyes of the Lord,” said Gloria enthusiastically, grabbing the chance. “God hates gays and Jesus hated gays. We’re here because in the Holy Book it quite clearly states that Jehova created man and woman, not thirty-seven different genders. We’re here because Jesus quite clearly said that marriage is between a man and a woman. We don’t want our kids being taught in schools that sodomy and bestiality and necrophilia are just lifestyle choices. We don’t want our children being sexualised and groomed by pedophile Democrat teachers. We’re here because people need to wake up,realise that the other side is ignorant and evil. We don’t want our kids being encouraged to choose to be gay. Righteous God-fearing folk need to take a stand before the world slides into total depravity and we need to to do it now, before Christ comes back to judge us all.”
“So you agree with Governor Desantis that there should be no talk of sex or gender in schools? No sex education at all?”
“I think that it is the responsibility of parents to talk about the birds and bees with their children when the children are old enough,” said Gloria, relaxing for a moment. Then she grew animated again. “We don’t want teachers grooming and sexualising our kids. We don’t want teachers encouraging our kids to turn gay. Righteous God-fearing folk like Governor Desantis and President Trump are fighting the good fight against all the queer Democrats and their liberal agenda. People like Bernie Sanders and AOC. All these lefty liberals. They use the word ‘gay’ all the time. Gay this and gay that. Gay, gay, gay. They never stop saying the word ‘gay’. I talk about this with my girlfriends all the time when we get together for canasta of an evening, all the secret pedophiles in Hollywood and New York, how they like to drink the blood of babies, how they’re trying to destroy this country. We don’t talk about this when the kids are up – we always try to make sure the kids are in bed first – but we talk about this a lot. And I see stuff about this on Truth Social all the time. If President Trump were still president, which he still is, he would never have allowed this to happen.”
“Do you identify as a Republican?”
“Damn straight, I do. The Democrat party is the party of godless liberal elitists. Like Bernie Sanders and AOC. The Republican party is the party of the working class.”
Amos, by temperament taciturn and undemonstrative, a solid man of few words, had been waiting his turn quietly. When Jeff turned to Amos to ask him the next question, Amos quite clearly noted the way Jeff looked at him. The journalist was quite clearly giving him the glad eye. Fucking faggot, Amos thought to himself.
“And what about you, Amos? If you could say anything to the world, what would it be?”
“I believe,” Amos began, deliberately, quietly but not so quietly that he couldn’t be heard over the noise of the crowd, “that the United States is a Christian country, that it was founded on Christian principles. I believe it has lost its way. I believe in family and family values. I believe in raising our kids right, in teaching them good from bad. I have a wife. I have three boys and I am afraid of the world they’re gonna live in after I’m dead. Supposing Jesus doesn’t come back to judge us first. If my daddy were still alive – my daddy was a preacher – if he were still alive and he knew about this here march he would spit blood. He’s probably spinning in his grave right now. This march is an attack on the rights of parents to bring up their children as they should, to walk in the light of God.”
“So you also support Donald Trump?”
“I do. President Trump is a a true Christian man. I truly believe that he was put on Earth by God to save the United States from ruin, from the Communists and the perverts who want to drag us all down into perdition. Pardon the language. I believe that when he gets back into office, President Tump will take action against them. I don’t know quite what he’s gonna do but he’s said he’s our retribution. Maybe he’ll do something we’ll never know about. There’s a war going on in this country and I believe President Trump is on the right side of it. Trump is an instrument of God’s justice, and of God’s mercy, and whatever he does and however he does it, it’ll be God’s will. I have faith in President Trump.”
When the interview had finished, the reporters moved on to find other subjects to talk to. Amos wandered for a while among the Desantis supporters, sick at heart, without speaking to anyone, and then decided to go home early. He didn’t have the stomach to stay. He could leave it to his wife and the boys to hold down the fort. Because he had left early, Amos wasn’t present when the mass shooting occurred and only heard about it in the late afternoon – we’ll come back to the mass shooting in a moment. At home, Amos strayed from room to room, from the kitchen to the dining room, and back again. A black mood had descended upon him. Amos had been plagued by black moods all his life. Partly, he knew, his depression was a reaction to having been around so many queers. You wouldn’t believe there were so many queers in the world. If you needed any proof that the country was falling apart, the gathering he had seen in the Jacksonville town square was it. Worries about the boys also came back to torment him. He was afraid that the eldest, Ezekiel, who was sixteen, might turn gay despite Amos’s best efforts to prevent it. In truth he sometimes worried that all three boys might go gay. These thoughts had plagued him for years. Still, Amos found some reassurance in the fact that the three were still back there in town taking a stand for true Christian values. After a while, even though it was still only early in the afternoon, Amos decided he’d be happiest in bed and went to lie down.
There was a memory from his childhood that would sometimes suddenly pierce Amos like a needle. He’d only been about four or five – this was the ‘seventies. He’d been messing around with a doll that belonged to his sister, a Cathy Quick Curl Doll, and his daddy had caught him playing with it. Amos hadn’t known there was anything wrong with playing with his sister’s toys but his daddy did. He had taken Amos out to the woodshed and thrashed Amos a dozen times with his belt, and then told Amos through gritted teeth never to play around with girls’ toys again. That was the only thing he had said. At the time, Amos hadn’t understood why his daddy was punishing him but now he knew. His daddy had been trying to thrash the queerness out of him. His daddy was a good man, was trying to raise his children to be decent God fearing men and women who loved virtue and hated vice, men who were men and women who were women; Amos knew this now. As he lay in bed and thought about this, a tear leaked from the corner of his eye. He thought about all the queers he had seen that day and what his daddy would have thought of them. He thought about the gay reporter who had looked at him the wrong way and asked him about President Trump. Feeling a stirring below, he decided to think about the reporter and do it to himself – this was something he’d felt an urge to do sometimes ever since he was a teenager. When he’d finished, as always after he’d thought about a man and done it to himself, Amos wept for real, hot tears of shame running from his eyes. Amos knew he wasn’t queer. But sometimes he wondered if maybe the libs were right when they said homosexuality wasn’t a choice, that some people were just born gay. Maybe Amos had got the gay gene from his mammy like he’d heard some people say sometimes happened. Maybe he was queer after all. It was a black thought he tried to push out of his head. He reassured himself that nobody knew about his sinfulness; this was the most important thing. God knew but nobody else did. Amos decided to get up and seek solace in the bible.
Every Sunday when he was little Amos had gone to church and seen his daddy deliver the sermon, and almost every Sunday his daddy had talked about homosexuality. He had talked about men wearing women’s clothes and women taking men’s jobs like being doctors and judges and police officers; he had talked about the wickedness of those who didn’t know their place. He had talked about the liberal atheists in Hollywood and New York, these modern Sodoms and Gomorrahs, doing drugs and having premarital intercourse and consorting with prostitutes. He had talked about women killing their unborn babies. Sometimes he talked about how the men in these places would sodomise and fellate each other. He had talked about how the faithful needed to stay strong, resist temptation, remain virtuous, avoid straying from the path of Christ; he talked about the tortures inflicted on sinners in hell, the burnings and the mutilations. Only if the faithful remained pure would God admit them into the Kingdom and he would only let in a few, the elect, like those few in the congregation who were worthy of his words; the rest would be hurled head first into the pit of flames. These were true fire-and-brimstone sermons and, although Amos hadn’t understood every word his daddy used, he had marked the way that members of the congregation would leap to their feet and yell Hallelujah! whenever his daddy described an especially brutal torment inflicted on sinners in hell. Today, on the day of the march, Amos thought again about those sermons. He reread, as he had so often over the years, Leviticus 20:13, a passage he had underlined, and earnestly beseeched Christ to believe him when he said that he truly repented, prayed to God for forgiveness. And as he had so many times since he was young, he prayed to Jesus for Jesus to take the gay feelings and desires away from him and to cure him, to make him a real man like his daddy and President Trump. He didn’t think Jesus would answer his prayer.
The march commenced on schedule, at noon. The demonstrators surged along the high street carrying rainbow flags and placards with slogans emblazoned on them, single words like “love” and “pride” or expressions like “equal rights for all”. Even though the pro-Desantis supporters lined the street on either side yelling imprecations and insults at them, the activists were ebullient, jubilant. They were buoyed particularly by a fact, a fact not all of them had known beforehand but which had been passed from person to person that day – a recent poll had found that more than one in five Generation Z adults now identified as LGBTQ. It had doubled over the course of a generation. They were winning the battle. Certainly they had always known that their cause was righteous but the fact that so many people were now free to be themselves proved just how decisively the political tide had turned in their favour, that the arc of history bent towards justice; it seemed that it would only take another couple of generations for them to achieve total victory. Men walked with their arms around their male partners and women walked hand in hand with other women. Daniel was marching with Beatrice and some other allies and carrying a placard that read “Gay lives matter”. As he walked, he noted the huge number of incredibly hot girls taking part in the protest. Some of them, he assumed, were probably exclusively homosexual but there might be quite a few bisexual or pansexual girls around and maybe even a few ordinary straight girls thrown into the mix. Possibly there would be some kind of big party or something that evening back at the campsite with beer and weed and maybe molly and one of them might end up hooking up with him. The idea of getting laid later on was something pleasant he could toy around with in his mind as he walked; even though it might not pan out in reality just turning it over in his imagination was enjoyable enough on its own. Of course, now that he had come out as pansexual live on state television, he supposed he should also consider hooking up with a cis man or trans man instead. This thought, when it occurred to him, was a little disconcerting – he didn’t think it had occurred to him earlier. But Daniel decided to set this somewhat unnerving prospect aside for now and worry about it later.
The shooting, as later phone records indicated, occurred at 12:37. The semi-automatic assault weapon that the gunman used was one he had bought legally from a gun fair earlier that day in a neighbouring town. It was unclear what message he was intending to convey with the shooting because he opened fire indiscriminately on both factions. Before he was subdued, twelve people had been injured and four people, including Daniel Easterbrook, had been killed. Independent observers might have noted the irony of Daniel being killed the same day that he had come out publicly as pansexual.
Mass shootings were hardly rare occurrences but it was unusual for one to take place with so many from the media in the near vicinity. It made for dramatic footage and excellent ratings. As usual, the national conversation turned immediately to the most significant issue raised by the tragedy: mental illness. It was obvious to everyone that mental illness must have been the cause of the shooting but unfortunately, as was often the case, there had been no red flags to indicate that the shooter was mentally ill apart from a few somewhat off-colour posts on Facebook and comments on Reddit, comments barely distinguishable in content and tone from all the other comments posted daily. An additional problem was that no-one was quite sure what the term ‘mental illness’ meant. Everyone agreed nevertheless that an epidemic of ‘mental illness’ was gripping the nation and some commentators began hinting at a final solution: some kind of national screening process should be set in place to identify the ‘mentally ill’ as early as possible, preferably when they were children. Although it might violate the Second Amendment rights of the ‘mentally ill’ to prevent them buying semi-automatic weapons when they grew up, it might be possible to neutralise the threat they posed to society by ensuring, first, that they were well medicated all their lives and, second, by somehow isolating the ‘mentally ill’ from the rest of the population who it could safely be assumed were not ‘mentally ill’. Certainly there were complexities that would need to be untangled before such a screening process could be implemented such as, for instance, whether ‘autism’ should or should not be considered a ‘mental illness’. But it could be left to the policy wonks at state and federal level to work out the details. The pundits repeatedly insisted that their role was not to tell the government what to do but simply make recommendations.
What everyone was sure about was that the fight for Queer rights would go on. Despite the sometimes vituperative and inflammatory language used, combatants on both sides repeatedly insisted that their primary concern was the welfare and protection of children. Of course the issue of LGBTQ rights was only one issue among many that divided the nation – where one stood on any particular issue depended entirely on which political party one supported. Either one side or the other was right and either one side or the other would win the next election, albeit an election to be decided by people who didn’t really know what the word ‘queer’ meant and who didn’t follow the news at all. Some commentators darkly predicted a third possibility: civil war, red states versus blue states. Some of the more historically minded even argued that the current culture war could be traced all the way back to the founding of the nation, that City on the Hill, a city that was either, depending on where you sourced your information, a city whose inhabitants had bared their souls, blemishes and all, for all the world to see, or a shining beacon of immaculate moral rectitude. Some independent observers felt they could even detect an adumbration of the impending civil war in the first civil war, a war won by progressives under the leadership of a president who, as everyone knows, was a queer Democrat who supported gay marriage. Whatever your view of history, you could be sure that, in the end, the right side would win.
Wednesday, 29 May 2024
The Meaning of Meaning
What do we mean when we ask, "What do we mean?" This is a problem within philosophy of language. Philosophy of language in my view reigns supreme over all other branches of philosophy because it undergirds all fields of knowledge: all scholarly disciplines, with the possible exception of mathematics, rely on language to explicate knowledge and theories and to communicate knowledge and theories from one person to another. To understand the foundations of all knowledge we need to enquire into the nature of language. The purpose of this essay is to present a theory within philosophy of language, a theory of meaning. It picks up from the previous essay I published in this blog some time ago. Because in that essay I tried to cover too many different topics in the same post, not all of which were closely related to the core topic, it may have seemed to meander. In this post I am going to stick more closely to my main topic: the meaning of 'meaning'. This essay will be longer than that typically written for a university course but will, of course, still not do justice to the topic. My main sources for writing on this topic are the cluster theory of proper names first proposed by John Searle, Kripke's seminal lecture series "Naming and Necessity", and the article "Word Meaning" in the online Stanford Encyclopaedia of Philosophy, although I shall reference other works. I actually have a novel contribution to the conversation to make, an idea I presented in the previous essay but which I think I can defend more robustly here. I shall finish the essay by considering the notion of 'truth'.
Often when presenting a philosophical argument, we must begin by defining the central terms or stipulating how they will be used. The salient word here is 'meaning'. English language speakers use the words 'mean' and 'meaning' routinely. We say, "What do you mean?" or "I didn't mean to do that," or "I didn't understand what the poem meant" or "What does that word mean?" or "What is the meaning of life?" Nevertheless ordinary speakers may have trouble defining the word 'meaning'. The online Miriam Webster dictionary defines 'mean' as follows: "to have in the mind as a purpose : INTEND [...] or to introduce a phrase restating the point of a preceding phrase [...], to design for or destine to a specified purpose or future; to serve or intend to convey, show, or indicate : SIGNIFY [... ]; to have importance to the degree of [...] to direct to a particular individual." Although the dictionary definition does not clearly signpost this, meaning has always seemed to me and hopefully to many of my readers a mental phenomena. The meaning of the word 'cat' is, to speak a little loosely here, some kind of mental representation or concept competent English speakers associate with the phonological and graphological sign 'cat'. Although we also associate the term 'meaning' with 'intention' I shall not be using the term 'meaning' in this way here but rather as denoting some kind of mental correlate of a sign of any sort we perceive in the world.
This way of parsing the meaning of 'meaning', as a mental correlate of some sign in the world, is, I think, a twentieth century development. If we go all the way back to Plato, we find the doctrine that the word 'horse', for instance, was supposed to be associated with the Idea of Horseness. Ideas, for Plato, were, to quote Wikipedia, "non-physical, timeless, absolute, and unchangeable essences of all things, of which objects and matter in the physical world are merely imitations". The realm of Ideas is eternal and mystical; it may exist in the minds of people but also somehow elsewhere somewhere. I suspect that Plato didn't have a solid conception of the human mind and consequently didn't consider the possibility that different people might possess different ideas, or that ideas can change over time both at the personal and community level. Although we still use the term 'Ideas' for Platonic Forms today, this term may to many of us seem misapplied because so many of us now consider ideas to be mental phenomena. For Plato 'horse' is both a word and a kind of thing to be found in the world, a set of things that are imitations of some prototypical ideal Horse in the realm of Ideas. Thus from the beginning there was confusion between the meanings of words and the types of things that are found in the world.
Of course philosophy is complex and different philosophers have understood the word 'meaning' and its analogues in other languages differently. For instance the very famous philosophers John Locke and David Hume seem to have viewed the meanings of words as being mental pictures and so did indeed interpret meanings as mental phenomena. However historically and today meaning has often been tied to reference. By the nineteenth century, philologists had realised that the meanings of words can change over time but philosophers didn't recognise the philosophical import of this. Within philosophy a distinction came to be drawn between two different types of word: proper names and common words, the latter being generic nouns, verbs, adjectives, and adverbs. Both types of word have meanings, and in fact in this essay I will not draw a sharp line between the two. But historically the two types of word have been treated quite differently. I shall focus first on proper names. In 1843, John Stuart Mill argued that the meaning of a proper name simply is its referent, that there is no 'semantic' content to a name like Dartmouth or Aristotle. It was not until Frege, in 1892, proposed the distinction between 'Sinn" and "Bedeutung", usually translated as "sense" and "reference", that we begin to get a distinction in philosophy between the meaning of a proper name and its referent, when we start to tease the two Platonic conceptions of ideas apart, and even then this new philosophical paradigm is still embryonic.
The next major development in this line of philosophical thought occurred in 1905 when Bertrand Russell proposed that the semantic content of a proper name is a definite description. For instance, the semantic content of the name "Aristotle" is (partly) "the teacher of Alexander the Great". The notion here is that by virtue of this definite description we can pick out uniquely the object the word refers to. Of course there is more than one definite description that can be associated with "Aristotle" and I don't think Russell explained why we should pick any one definite description rather than any other to be the semantic content of a name. There are other problems with their theory which I will not spell out here, although if the reader is interested they can perhaps watch the video "Proper Names by John Searle" on Youtube. This brings me neatly to John Searle. Searle criticised both the tradition associated with Mill and the one associated with Frege and presented an alternative theory. According to Searle, a proper name is associated with a cluster of descriptions, none of which are necessary to the meaning of the word. In fact Searle thought that the looseness associated with the meaning of proper names, the fact that no single descriptor is necessary, is what makes them so useful: proper names are tags to which people can attach descriptions that can change over time and, although Searle does not say this explicitly, his theory coheres with a view of the world in which different people can understand the meanings of words differently and of a world in which the meanings of words can shift.
Searle does not use this type of argumentation in his famous essay but I believe I can begin to elucidate my own theory, a theory that follows directly from Searle's cluster theory, by invoking the notion of what we might call a conversational interaction. Suppose Jack and Jill are discussing philosophy and Aristotle comes up. Suppose Jill knows only a little about Aristotle: in her mind the cluster of descriptions might be only "famous Greek philosopher", "student of Plato", and perhaps some mental pictures of a bearded bust. Jack knows a little more: he knows for instance that Aristotle came up the Lazy Man argument. He tells Jill that Aristotle was one of the first known philosophers to propose an argument against predestination, that this argument is called the Lazy Man argument, and then goes on to summarise it. Jill has learnt something new, and if she believes Jack and remembers what he has told her, she has added another descriptor to the term "Aristotle", specifically "deviser of the Lazy Man argument". Of course, Jack, in telling Jill about the Lazy Man argument, is presupposing that Jill has at least a little familiarity with "Aristotle". However if Jack and Jill associated the exact same set of descriptors with the term "Aristotle", it would be impossible for Jack to tell Jill anything new about him. We could also imagine a situation in which Jill associates an incorrect descriptor with the term "Aristotle", perhaps that he died from drinking hemlock, and that Jack rectifies her understanding by informing her that she is thinking of Socrates. Through conversational interactions, people are constantly relaying to each other information that is new to the person hearing or reading it, and this seems to be one of the primary purposes of language. If everyone possessed the exact same understanding of language and of the world as everyone else, we would never need to talk to each other, never be able to tell anyone anything new. As another example, an example inspired by Frege, many casual astronomers throughout history may not have realised that the Evening Star is identical to the Morning Star until someone told them.
Searle's theory seems to me very close to the correct theory but, unfortunately, in 1970, Saul Kripke delivered a series of lectures known as "Naming and Necessity" and completely derailed philosophy. Kripke has been enormously influential but I believe his influence has been terribly damaging. In these lectures, Kripke repeatedly insists that when we are using a proper name like Aristotle, there is no semantic content but that we are simply referring to that man. He offers no argument for this contention but simply assumes his audience shares his intuition. Kripke attempts to debunk the cluster theory of proper names; in doing so I believe he misrepresents it. In his view, the cluster theory seems to imply that everyone has got together and, through something like a vote, picked out a set of descriptors that should be associated with a name like "Aristotle" and that these descriptors are then to be treated as both necessary and a priori. I believe that Kripke misunderstood Searle, perhaps because Searle didn't go as far as I intend to in this essay. Obviously Searle is not suggesting that some kind of vote is taken before anyone can start using a word like "Aristotle" or that any of the descriptors associated with "Aristotle" are necessary or known a priori. Jack assumes that Jill has some understanding of the name, an understanding he assumes most people have, but he does not assume that Jill was born knowing that a descriptor associated with "Aristotle" is "famous Greek philosopher". He assumes, as we all do when talking about Aristotle, that the person we are talking to has learned this sometime during his or her life. So it cannot be known a priori. Nor is any descriptor necessary: Jack can meaningfully say to Jill "Aristotle wasn't Greek" if he, perhaps, means to suggest that he believes Aristotle actually immigrated to Athens from somewhere else around the Mediterranean. If it is necessary that Aristotle be Greek, Jack's statement would not be meaningful to Jill but, I contend, Jill will still find it meaningful because there is still considerable overlap between the sets of descriptors both associate with the name "Aristotle". Thus none of the descriptors people associate with proper names are necessary either. Rather, when talking to someone else, one makes assumptions about what the other might or might not know; one assumes enough overlap in one's own and the other's understanding of words that we can meaningfully communicate but we do not assume the overlap is complete. If the overlap were complete, Jack would have nothing new to tell Jill about Aristotle – but if there was no overlap at all, the two would not even share the same language and would be unable to communicate at all.
So far I have been discussing proper names but now we can bring in another type of word: common nouns. (The discussion could be extended to verbs, adjectives, and adverbs as well but I shall not do so in this essay.) When talking about the meanings of common nouns, it seems we need a distinction between the essential and the accidental, and a closely related distinction, the necessary and the contingent. We might say that it is essential, necessary, to the word "horse" that it denote something that has four legs but that the colouring of any particular horse is contingent, accidental. The belief that common nouns have both necessary and sufficient conditions goes back to the ancient Greeks again, is of a piece with Platonic philosophy, and is still central to much modern philosophy. The difference between a proper name and a common noun is that with a proper name, like Aristotle, not only does the name only refer to a single object, it seems also that we could theoretically itemise an indefinitely long list of necessary properties associated with it whereas with a common noun the list is truncated. Some properties are held by all members of the class, are necessary to all of them, while some properties might be held by one member of the class and not by another. The distinction between the essential and the accidental is so entrenched that those of us who have been introduced to this idea find it difficult to imagine disposing of it.
A long time ago, however, I found an essay on the Internet, a essay I believe to be a famous essay by a famous philosopher, challenging this distinction. (I have been unable to relocate this essay so cannot name its author here.) In this essay, the author argued that in fact when we say some characteristic of a thing is essential to it, we are really just saying that it is a characteristic we find it almost impossible to imagine the thing not having, something we are very unwilling it give up. Consider: today we say that it is essential to the word "water" that it denote "a collection of H20 molecules" but the fact that water is constituted by H20 molecules was not discovered until 1811 and people had been happily using the word "water" and its synonyms in other languages for thousands of years meaningfully before this without knowing it. There may be many people in the world today who happily use the word "water" meaningfully without knowing that it is 'essentially' H20. One may be able to mount a persuasive argument that water ought to be regarded as H20 essentially but, if people can use the word "water" meaningfully without knowing this, it suggests that knowledge of this 'essential' property is not required for people to use this word meaningfully. We might also consider that the word "bachelor" is supposed to essentially denote "an unmarried man" but it is possible to imagine some hermits who have lived in the wilderness all their lives, who have heard the word "bachelor" but do not know its dictionary definition and believe it to mean something quite different. It seems, surely, that they can use the word 'bachelor' meaningfully when talking with each other even though they do not know the dictionary definition – although they might then meet people who tell them the dictionary definition and bully them into accepting it. Not only can the essential properties associated with common nouns vary among people, they can vary over time. Of course some properties seem, in the world we live in, to go together: chordates seem always to also be renates. However an unknotting of this particular puzzle, the puzzle of why natural kinds seem to exist in the world, why properties seem to come together in bundles, does not belong to philosophy of language bur rather to ontology. The aim of this essay is to discuss the nature of meaning and its mental character.
Like proper names, common nouns have historically been viewed as inevitably involving reference. There is however, to my mind, a knockdown refutation of the idea that meaning necessarily involves reference. Picture Jack and Jill again. Suppose Jill tells Jack, "This morning I saw a unicorn in my back garden." Now Jack, knowing that unicorns are mythical, may wonder if Jill hallucinated, but even so he would still find her statement meaningful. Even though the word "unicorn" has no referents, it would still likely have a meaning for Jack. Jill is telling Jack that she saw a pure white horse-like creature with an ivory horn protruding from its forehead in her garden. Contrast this little story with another. Suppose Jill says to Jack, "This morning I saw a thiggle in my back garden". Of course, no one knows the meaning of this word "thiggle" because I have just made it up. The word will not be entirely meaningless to Jack however because he will assume that whatever a thiggle is, it is something that could turn up in a back garden and the appearance of which is surprising enough for Jill to mention it. It will have little more significance to him than this though and so Jack could justifiably plead ignorance and say to Jill, "What's a thiggle?" To which Jill might say, "It's what my mother called a fantail." Or, "It's what my sister called a pixie." Either way Jill will have furnished Jack with additional descriptors, additional meanings, for the word "thiggle" My general thrust here is that, although a word like "thiggle" has very little meaning to competent English speakers, words like "unicorn", "elf", "dragon", "vulcan" and "vampire" do have meanings even though they all lack referents. Searle makes a similar argument in the context of proper names. He points out that from Millian perspective, the word "Zeus does not exist" must be parsed as "The name 'Zeus' has no referent" but that throughout history and even today there are people and animals called Zeus and so the proposition "The term 'Zeus' has no referent" is false even though most people would regard the proposition "Zeus does not exist" as true. This supports the claim that the word "Zeus" should be considered a tag for a number of descriptors that most people associate with the name "Zeus", such as "chief of the Greek gods", "father of Hercules", "husband of Hera", and "wielder of thunderbolts". The words we ascribe to mythical beings such as those listed above, unlike the word "thiggle", must surely be regarded as meaningful even though they lack referents. They figure in the mythical and literary treasure house of English speakers' linguistic history.
I arrive now at the crux of the essay. What do I mean by 'meaning'? The view I shall propose here is more indebted to linguistics and cognitive science than mainstream philosophy, and is supported by the success of AI developers in creating large language models like ChatGPT based on huge neural networks. ChatGPT I think passes the Turing test. I claim that the human mind can be considered an enormous network of interconnected nodes. Every word in a person's lexicon is connected to other words. For instance, the word "cat" is contrasted with "dog" and also contrasted with the word "cab". The word "bachelor" is connected to the phrase "unmarried man". This suggests a Structuralist perspective, a la Saussure, but unlike Structuralists, I claim that the nodes are not all verbal, but may also be sensory: the word "cat" in most people's minds also often conjures up images of cats performing catty activities, is connected to such memories or imaginings. An enormous proportion of a person's knowledge is non-verbal. We can recognise the difference between Emma Stone and Melinda Clarke even if we have trouble verbally articulating their defining features; we can distinguish between a London and New York accent even if we know nothing about non-rhoticity and rhoticity; we can pick which pop song is playing on the radio from the first couple of bars even if we know nothing about music theory and are not pitch perfect. The fact that a great deal of the knowledge a human possesses is non-verbal is, when you think about it, obvious. If I tell you, "Close the door!" and the meaning of the word "door" were entirely verbal, you would not be able to accede to my request. You need some kind of visual idea of what a door is to know what I mean; visual imaginings of doors form part of the meaning of the word "door". The relation between nodes may be extraordinarily complex. It enables humans for instance to make statement like "Mt Everest is bigger than a shoebox", a sentence that in no simple way involves either purely verbal or visual nodes, seems to somehow involve conceptual nodes or some kind of encyclopaedic knowledge; I have heard statements like this can trip up ChatGPT.
From this perspective, it seems likely that in the human mind there is, at a fundamental level, no clear distinction between essential and accidental properties, but rather a reticulated dispersal of meaning from one node to those proximate and then those more distant. Eleanor Rosch has argued that when we think of a "cat", we imagine a prototypical cat and then tend to think of things as either more or less cat-like, rather than drawing a sharp line between "cats" and "non-cats" based on some criteria, as would seem to be the case if the meanings of words were constituted by essential properties. Rosch's proposal seems plausible to me.
The second vital point to note about language is that it is learnt. Of course this is obvious. Chomsky argued that the fundamental syntax of all languages is innate, perhaps genetic, and this is why he invented the idea of Universal Grammar. But no one today can seriously take the Platonic position that the semantics of a language is innate. No baby is born knowing the meaning of the word "unicorn". It takes years for a child to learn the meaning of the words used by those around her and then to start speaking herself. Even more importantly, the language the child learns is that spoken by those raising her. The obvious fact that different linguistic communities possess different languages conclusively proves the claim that the semantics of a language is learnt. Infants are sponges, somehow picking up on how others around them use language and conforming to the lexical rules of those around them. The ability of small children to learn so quickly their mother tongue is, when you think about it, astonishing. By the time we are adults, we tend to understand the meanings of all common words in almost exactly the same way as those around us do. But even as adults we can continue to learn and I claim that even as adults we are often appending new descriptors, new meanings, to the words we know and even learning new words. For example, I learnt this week about the new film Furiosa and can attach to this proper name, which I did not know before, descriptors such as "latest film in the Mad Max series", "film featuring Chris Hemsworth in a starring role", and "set like the earlier instalments in Australia". It is not just lexical knowledge that is continually developing but all knowledge. Suppose Jill takes Jack to a new cafe in East Auckland, one he has not visited before. As a result Jack may well commit to memory the geographic location of this cafe, a fact that is not linguistic but spatial or topographical. Supposing that knowledge is somehow actualised in the brain, the lessons of neuroscience become pertinent: it is well established that a person's brain evolves enormously from infancy through childhood and adolescence and that the frontal cortex is not fully developed until a human is about twenty-five. But even those of us, like me, who are nearing middle age can continue to learn new information, albeit with much more difficulty than we did as children, and, if materialism is true, this suggests that the brains of adults are still constantly changing (although to a lesser degree than they did when very young). This is not to say, of course, that a person is capable of remembering everything he or she has learnt or been told over the course of his life; it is probable that although we might gain new descriptors for terms we also lose others. The capacity of the human mind is not infinite.
The picture I am drawing is that 'meaning' is related to knowledge and that knowledge is an enormous network of interrelated signs, stored images and sounds, concepts, and so forth in a particular human mind. The meanings of words are not isolable units. You might know that "Aristotle" is "a Greek philosopher" but even then you cannot really know the meaning of the name "Aristotle" without also having at least some vague understanding of the terms "Greek" and "philosopher". It might be that even if you do have some understanding of the term "philosopher" you may not be able to distinctly articulate the meaning of this word – but you might connect it strongly in your mind with people like Rene Descartes and Bertrand Russell, less so with Darwin and Einstein, and not at all with someone like Donald Trump. You might say of a friend, "Amy is a bit of philosopher," if she occasionally says something deep. (To reiterate, not all knowledge is verbal or capable of verbal expression.) To try to delimit the boundaries of a word's meaning by invoking necessary and sufficient conditions ends up a kind of question begging. It seems moreover that the meanings a person attaches to a word are implicit, can only be inferred from the way the person speaks and behaves, that they cannot be accessed through introspection.
The theory I am advocating for here is related to meaning holism and I encourage the reader to look up the Stanford Encyclopaedia entry on this theory. However my own theory departs from the holism defended by Quine among others. Traditional holistic theories of meaning often seem to suppose that the network of meanings in the mind of one person must be either entirely identical with or entirely different from the person she is speaking to; this is wrong. As I argued above, it seems that when one talks to someone else, one assumes a great deal of overlap but not complete overlap. If the networks are identical, there would be no point communicating at all and if the networks are entirely different, communication would impossible. We constantly make assumptions about what others know when speaking to them. A second way my own theory departs from traditional holistic theories is that these theories suppose that if the meaning of one term changes it alters the meaning of every single other term in the network. But we can quite simply suppose that with the addition of a new descriptor, or adoption of a new belief, a change propagates to related nodes in the network without also supposing that every single term in the network acquires a new meaning. Dropping a stone in the Hauraki Gulf will probably not produce a ripple that will travel all the way to South America. If Jill learns that Aristotle came up with the Lazy Man argument it may affect her understanding of terms like "Aristotle", "philosophy" and, say, cause her to alter her beliefs concerning how long arguments about the existence of free will have been raging – but it won't affect her beliefs about the location of the Britomart train station. Finally, traditional holism has trouble explaining how one learns a language to begin with. Consider – a child's first word may be "No". If some holistic theory of meaning is true, how can the child know the meaning of this word "No" if presumably she knows no other word? However we can go some way towards solving this puzzle by recognising that the child has been observing the way others around her use this word, their body language, and the types of situations in which it is used. Quine and other proponents of meaning holism assume that the network consists entirely of words but, as I argued above, the network comprises in addition an enormous amount of perceptual experience and perhaps some elementary concepts. A network is in place before the first word is spoken. You may ask: how does the network originate? I cannot answer this question except to say that it may be a chicken-egg type empty question.
The novel contribution I wish to make to philosophy of language is to extend Searle's cluster theory of meaning to descriptors that indicate the ontological category of beings. Quite simply, it is part of the meaning of a word whether what it denotes exists or not. Consider: when Jill tells Jack that she has seen a unicorn in her back garden, the reason that Jack may not believe her is that if Jack is like most people he regards unicorns as mythical. The descriptor "mythical animal" is one most people associate with the word "unicorn". Why? Because we learn this almost from the time we learn the word. Similarly, along with descriptors like "chief of the Greek gods", and "father of Hercules", a descriptor we associate with the word "Zeus" is "non-existent". Why? Because we learn that the word "Zeus" is a figure in Greek mythology and when we first encounter Greek mythology we also assimilate the belief that all the beings in Greek mythology don't exist and never existed (although we may later learn that the city of Troy did in fact once exist). Descriptors associated with "Sherlock Holmes" include "greatest detective in nineteenth century London", "close friend and confidant of Dr Watson" and "fictional character created by Conan Doyle". Thus some of the descriptors associated with "Sherlock Holmes" seem to characterise him as real and others do not. The fact that people can disagree about whether some objects, like God for instance, exist or not strongly supports the hypothesis that whether something exists or not is a part of the meaning of the term used to denote it and can vary among people. Once we recognise that ontological status, existence or non-existence, can be part of the meaning of words, this leads us to the conclusion that Searle's cluster theory, although a good start, is not a fully adequate theory of meaning. Its inadequacy is that Searle's theory seems to imply that the meaning of a proper name is a list of descriptors. But if want to explain how the meaning of "Zeus" can be attached to both "wielder of thunderbolts" and "non-existent" we need to recognise that the meaning of a word must also involve very complex relationships between different descriptors. The meaning of a word is a structure of which ontological category might be a kind of base-level component. And, to reiterate, this structure is not entirely verbal and is not wholly isolable from the structures of other related words.
I'll make an observation concerning this, something I find fascinating. Children learn that some things are real and others fictional almost from the time people start telling them stories. It seems that the imbibing of fairy stories and fantastical narratives, like the Beatrix Potter tales and the Harry Potter books, is an important part of child development. Children need to be exposed to fantastical, literally false, stories, and they seem to enjoy fictions precisely because they are fictions. No culture in the world thinks that children should learn to read by being forced to study encyclopaedias. To have a robust sense of reality we also seem to need a sense of the unreal. Perhaps child psychologists have delved into this interesting topic but I do not know if there is ever been any philosophical exploration of it.
The meaning of 'meaning' is closely related to the meaning of 'definition'. It can sometimes seem that these two words are identical but I shall suggest that there is an important nuance. Today we often think that the definition of a word is what we find in good dictionaries but there is a problem with this view – as Quine pointed out in his famous essay "Two Dogmas of Empiricism", lexicographers ultimately determine the definitions of words by closely studying how people in their linguistic community actually use them and, when there is uncertainty, adjudicate between different meanings by kowtowing to the usage of famous writers, like say Milton, or experts, rather than that of ordinary yobs in the street. The aim is to find some balance between how people generally use words and how they ought to use words. The definition of a word is shorthand for the meaning most people generally ascribe to it or the meaning they ought to ascribe to it should they accept the opinions of authorities. When we recognise this, it leads us to a total reconceptualisation of much philosophy. Philosophers and others throughout history have often argued that some claims are true by virtue of the definitions of the words contained in them. The sentence "A bachelor is an unmarried man" is true by definition, supposedly. "God exists" is true by definition, supposedly – this last is an important version of the ontological argument. Years ago a psychiatrist said to me, "It is impossible to recover from schizophrenia by definition." With an improved understanding of definitions, we can reinterpret claims such as these as saying, for instance, "God exists because everyone believes He does and this is the view of authorities on the matter". Now, in the Middle Ages, the descriptor "existent" was almost universally attached to the word "God" and this belief was strongly encouraged by church authorities. But today believers may be in the minority and this descriptor may no longer, for most people, be part of the meaning of the word "God"; thus it is no longer possible to say "God exists by definition." In my dictionary, a contemporary dictionary of course, the main definition for "God" runs as follows: "(in Christianity and other monotheistic religions) the creator and ruler of the universe and source of all moral authority; the supreme being". Note that this definition includes an ontological category: "in Christianity and other monotheistic religions". It is up to the person consulting the dictionary whether or not she wants to believe that Christianity is true. We could imagine a definition of "Sherlock Holmes" as being "(in the novels of Conan Doyle) the greatest detective of nineteenth century London." This line of reasoning suggests that an argument of the form "Sentence A is true by virtue of the definition" is not conclusive because it relies on the infallibility of the beliefs of the linguistic community who have together determined the meanings of the words that make up the sentence. It is not conclusive because the linguistic community might be wrong.
The perspective which I am presenting in this essay is based on a view of language as something that mediates between individuals in the form of conversational interactions. Even when someone writes an essay, as I am doing now, I am seeking to communicate my ideas to others, hopefully to you, the reader, although I have very little notion of who you are. Now, it is certainly the case that a person may maintain a kind of internal monologue in his or her head, a monologue in which the originator of the monologue and its audience are the same person; Chomsky has argued that language evolved principally to be the building blocks of thought, with communication as a secondary, derived function. But I myself still adhere to the old-fashioned view that communication is the primary purpose of language and that its role in private cognition is secondary, although I am not absolutely committed to this view. Conversational interactions require that there be considerable similarity between the semantic structures of speaker and auditor but would be redundant if the two were absolute identical. My perspective is that we have to regard language users as all individuals interacting verbally with each other. This perspective runs counter to the general paradigm of much philosophy, especially in the anglophone tradition. There is a tendency to regard the linguistic community as monolithic: "we" think this and "we" think that. Kripke's theory of proper names, for instance, assumes the unitarity and eternality of human civilisation implicitly : he supposes that two and a half thousand years ago, Aristole's parents baptised him "Aristotle" and that there has been an unbroken causal chain linking speakers today with that original baptism. Kripke does not discuss the links in the causal chain (the conversational interactions), does not account for how a word like "Zeus" (which lacks a referent and therefore never involved any kind of baptism) can be meaningful, and has trouble accommodating the fact that different individuals can have different beliefs and understand the meanings of words differently. Although I concede that there is very significant overlap between the semantic structures of individuals within a linguistic community, that it is not altogether disingenuous to say "we" think this and "we" think that, I am highlighting the differences between people. And, to repeat my most important point, although not all language use involves the communication of information between individuals, this is a major role of language, something that would be redundant if there were no differences between the mental networks of different individuals.
Finally we come to the issue of Truth, something that has been looming over the discussion. The best way to approach this question is through some case studies. In the early twentieth century, physicists believed the universe as a whole to be eternal and unchanging. The reason Einstein included the Cosmological Constant in his theory of General Relativity was because, without it, his equations predicted that the universe would be either expanding or contracting, and he did not believe this to be possible; Einstein later called this inclusion his greatest blunder. It was with the discovery of the red-shift of distant galaxies by Hubble that physicists concluded that the universe was expanding and, together with the discovery of the cosmic background radiation, this led to the postulation of the Big Bang. It is tempting to think that the physics community changed their minds en masse overnight but of course this is not what happened. Physicists generally believed the universe to be eternal and unchanging in 1915, then subsequently Hubble and others found empirical evidence for the expansion of the universe, came to the conclusion that the universe was expanding, and then persuaded others of this 'truth'. This 'truth' propagated out to others, through 'conversational interactions', but this did not happen instantaneously – in fact, the physicist who coined the term "Big Bang" did so to show his disdain for the theory. He chose a ridiculous term for the theory because he thought the theory was ridiculous. Gradually the theory of the Big Bang gained acceptance throughout the physics community, through persuasion, persuasion usually employing corroborating observational evidence that physicists accepted, and from there disseminated out to the lay public. Even today, however, people can be found who think the universe was created by God in 4004BC and the physicist Roger Penrose has argued, if I recall correctly, that some stars predate the Big Bang, are remnants of a previous universe, and that therefore the Big Bang was not the ultimate beginning . Thus what we think of 'truth' must be considered a kind of consensus opinion created through persuasion and justified by one's faith in authorities, in experts, and even then dissent can exist. In the case of the Big Bang, the success of this theory is partly attributable to people's faith in experiments and empirical evidence as reported by credible scientists, well replicated experiments and observations, faith generally in the scientific method, as objective support for the arguments made by theorists.
Consider now the term 'schizophrenia'. The situation with this word is very different than that with the Big Bang because there is much more obvious disagreement about how to define this word than there is disagreement today about whether or not the Big Bang occurred. The most authoritative definition of this word might be that found in the DSM but still there are great divergences of opinion about its meaning because the word 'schizophrenia' is I believe somehow shapeless, can take on any meaning anyone wants to associate with it. Robert Sapolsky, in Determined, regurgitates the faddish new definition of schizophrenia as "a disease of disordered thought", but recently I have been reading The One Thing We've Never Spoken About by Elfy Scott, a book which does not attempt to define 'schizophrenia' but nevertheless presents a picture of this condition, a meaning for this word, quite different to that presented by Sapolsky. Scott is the daughter of a schizophrenic mother, has studied it, and has spoken to many people who have been diagnosed with it; I think her view of 'schizophrenia' is vastly superior to Sapolsky's view and that Sapolsky had waded into territory he knows almost nothing about. Then we might consider this blog in which I have been discussing the meaning of 'schizophrenia' for many years and presenting a different view again. It has occurred to me recently how problematic the definition of schizophrenia is because, although I have often experienced profound mental distress over the last ten years, this distress didn't really take the form of hallucinations or delusions but rather, for instance, of terrible nightmares, and was a reaction to my treatment by the Mental Health Service; nevertheless I was officially diagnosed 'schizophrenic'. It is not the purpose of this essay to elaborate on this self-reflection. The point here is that the meaning of the word 'schizophrenic' varies widely among people, that there is no consensus opinion with respect to its meaning or with respect to what we can say truly about it. With respect to 'schizophrenia', our notions of truth break down. Truth here is a matter of negotiation between people about how best a term like 'schizophrenia' should be defined and it might be that the word 'schizophrenic' is so compromised that we should discard it altogether.
In the post "Rationality and Irrationality", I discussed how in anglophone philosophy there is confusion between the descriptive and the normative. Philosophers want to stipulate how we ought to determine whether a sentence is true or not whereas I want to describe how people actually decide in the real world whether some sentence is true or not. We need to recognise that much of our 'knowledge' about the word is communicated to us through language, through 'conversational interactions' if we broaden this term to include linguistic artefacts such as news stories, scholarly essays, books, and so on. Everything I know about Aristotle, I have either read or been told by someone else. When someone communicates to someone else information new to him or her, the receiver will tend to believe it, to regard it as 'true'. If different conversational interactions convey conflicting information, we make decisions about what to believe based on prior knowledge, on reasoning processes, and often by deciding which of the communicators we feel should be regarded as most credible. Where there are differences of opinion within the linguistic community people seek to persuade others and if we define 'rhetoric' as 'the art of persuasive speech' we must consider rhetoric to be a core part of language use. I strongly believe that much of a person's beliefs are formed by the person conforming his or her beliefs to those expressed or espoused by those he or she finds trustworthy, an idea we find in Kenneth Burke. We could throw the notion of 'truth' away completely but I don't want to do this. Rather I would like to suggest here that any notion of truth must depend on a kind of faith. Generally we have faith in those around us to tell the truth and when there are differences of opinion we choose who to have faith in. Although I have not observed the galactic red-shift myself, I put my faith in the physics community, as represented by someone like Sabine Hossenfelder, in choosing to accept their consensus opinion that the universe is expanding. I put my faith in Michael Cohen over Donald Trump with respect to whether or not Trump fiddled the books. I put my faith in Steve Braunias when he says that Mark Lundy was actually innocent of the crime for which he was convicted, the murder of his family. Of course one's faith in someone else may always be misplaced but we have no other option.
I'll conclude the essay by summarising the theory of meaning I have proposed. The meaning of a word involves a reticulated network of associated words, sensory memories, and perhaps concepts; the meaning of any one word cannot be isolated from the meanings of other words. Knowledge of language is learnt and much of the way it is established is by means of 'conversational interactions'. Conversational interactions rely on the participants possessing very similar meaning networks but there would be no point speaking or talking to anyone else at all if the participants all possessed exactly the same linguistic networks as each other; this is the reason conversations occur at all. Through conversational interactions we align our networks with those around us and with those we trust. When there are differences of opinion within the linguistic community about what is true we make decisions about who to believe based on principles like consistency and the apparent trustworthiness of those speaking with us. We place faith in those around us to tell the truth. This theory may seem cynical: we may contrast it with the position of someone like John Rawls who argued that the principle of universal human rights follows directly from the "definition of justice". Just because it is cynical, however, does not make it incorrect.
This essay may not be that interesting to many of my readers and I am not sure if I have presented my theory as clearly as I could. However this topic is interesting to me and maybe one or two readers out there will find it thought provoking.