Restricted Definitions

Generally speaking, we refer to definitions when we wish to assign a particular, unique meaning or interpretation to a word. However, words appear in sentences and their meaning is conveyed in three ways: (1) by the definition, as given in one of the many dictionaries available to us; definitions usually vary from dictionary to dictionary; (2) by the specified context in which the target word appears; (3) by the general context when it is used, the inarticulated situation.

The difference between (2) and (3) is straightforward: take for example the word *animal*. If one is discussing animals in a zoo — a specific context — most creatures not on display in cages or enclosures are excluded. Here the term *animal* has a restricted meaning so that insects, vermin, fish would be excluded. If one refers to snakes in an aquarium it is safe to assume — but not certain — that talk is about water-snakes. A general context (3) refers to no specific habitat but a context is assumed, so that one could be talking about land or water snakes.

This blog contrasts two kinds of definitions: those which equate a term with its definiens, and those which propose areas of use.

A definition is not a description in the normal sense, but clarifies how a word — even a stream of related words — are used in everyday contexts. However, some dictionaries will also include definitions of terms which are not the ones currently circulating but add a note that this use of the word is archaic and rarely used. In doing so, the editor(s) acknowledge that uses change over time and, furthermore, that a word’s relationship to other words and the ideas these represent changes. It appears to be a very fluid situation: I propose to refer to this fluidity as “porousness” and therefore speak about porous definitions.

In special areas of interest — like Physics — some terms originate in ordinary language (*force* or *attraction*) whereas others were created to put a name to a discovered phenomenon. Contemporary physics has many examples, like *neutrino*, which Wikipedia states is, “A neutrino, a lepton, an elementary particle with half-integer spin, that interacts via only the weak subatomic force and gravity. The mass of the neutrino is tiny compared to other subatomic particles.”

This not the usual definition found in a dictionary but represents a mixture of a definition and a clarification. It is not at all porous, but firm as steel. There is nothing comparable in our — or any other — language: indeed, the definition for “neutrino” is valid for all languages! It is the prototype of a restricted definition. I cannot imagine how a restricted definition can be used in any other but its literal sense, where the definiens exhausts the meaning of the target word. Thus a sentences which contains the phrase “neutrino-like” would be an attempt only to expand the restricted definition — to break the bond — but it is difficult to see what this would mean, what feature of a neutrino as originally defined would be extracted and assigned to a different (new) phenomenon.

It is therefore useful to distinguish between terms which can — or are — given definitions that are meant to be used in specific cases only — which are deliberatively contrived and therefore have limited applications and are restricted- and definitions which are not steadfast in meaning but are what I describe as porous. Included would be words like *bridge*, which can refer to a structure built across a chasm, but which also means to step over two issues, may refer to the structure of a nose, refers to a reconciliation between two fractious parties and also is the name of a card-game which allows a partnership between two of four players.

Restricted definitions are widely used in technical fields and by scientists when they refer to their own domain of study. These groups develop an in-house set of terms and expressions which are often incomprehensible to outsiders. This barrier to understanding is not necessarily planned. People learn early that they operate in a multifaceted society where expressions are not only descriptive of a situation but often reflect the mood of a group. If one is not a member of such a group the discussion may pass without ruffling any feathers.

Words may have colour and get chosen to bias a scene. When this occurs, *generally used* is a reference to social customs which are — by definition — constricted to a group; it therefore is a social statistic.

This could be stated in terms of what people of a particular social group usually do with words and sentences in a given, specifiable, set of circumstances. A person who addresses others by “peace be with you” does not necessarily mean what he/she says: they may, in truth, be wishing you dead! In short, words do not necessarily mean what they say.

In live situations one puts two and two together: listens to the words, identifies them, observes how these are being used in a context, and uses other clues to interpret what the speaker really meant. If the other person is “flashing their eyes” and also reaches for their pistol, one is likely to accept the greeting “peace be with you” as displaying an aggressive, hostile greeting: one takes appropriate precautions.

Definitions as listed in a dictionary therefore need to be viewed with skepticism. The listed definition is a guide, not a legislative act. It indicates the possible use of a term, perhaps even a widespread use, but not necessarily the only, exclusive one.

There are many exceptions to this rule: specifically definitions of terms used in a particular branch of science, technology or in a professional sphere, like Canon or Criminal Law, which may be intended for use in an idiosyncratic limited manner and which occur by common agreement of those using it. Inevitably this use is meant to be exclusive, singular, and therefore is often incorrectly employed by outsiders but also by insiders who should know better!

Words, and expressions are produced by men, women and children in specific circumstances, most often willfully, with intent, not haphazardly. Few people adopt the view that a word must mean what they want it to mean. They follow custom (although poets have license to break customs) and when in doubt look up the word or expression in a reputable dictionary or Thesaurus.

There are exceptions primarily by those totally new to a language. Words, we say, have meaning. These are sounds which refer or point to events that may have nothing to do with the quality of sounds uttered. Thus words and a sentences constructed from words may be viewed as codes to inform others about states of affairs, and this may apply to the state of the individual or to impersonal, external, events.

We furthermore identify whether the information may be trivial, like “you have just stepped on a beetle,” or life-threatening like ”You have just stepped on a boa constrictor.” The expressions or sentences get part of their meaning from the circumstances under which these are uttered, although the circumstances are not part of the definition of the terms. Thus the meaning of a word depends on several circumstances so that a definition — as it appears in a reputable dictionary — should be viewed as a declaration about how the word could, or may be used; it is not prescriptive, only suggestive — and discretionary.

Finally, let me comment on the difference between (1) a restricted and porous definition and (2) the notion of a rigid designation, an idea we owe to the contemporary philosopher Saul Kripke (b. 1940) (see his Naming and Necessity, Harvard University, 1980). The idea of rigid designation has been discussed by several philosophers/logicians in discussions about “possible worlds”, not worlds as claimed to exist. The basic assumption generally made throughout history is that there is one real world and that we gain access to it by following strict procedural rules. This assumption found its most ardent expression in the work of Aristotle who argued that empirical research will reveal the “nature of things,” namely those features of something — an object or event — which were essential to it and those which are only added qualities.

So an object had two sets of features or qualities: those which were indigenous to it, its essences — which cannot be stripped from it without depriving its of its identity — and those that are ornamental,or contingent. As investigators we are therefore assigned two tasks: to identify the essence of each species of things and thereafter to classify to which broader category it belonged.

The Aristotelean approach and its method of searching for knowledge, although strongly and traditionally supported by Christian scholars, was forced into a compromise during the 16th century by technological discoveries which suggested that earlier procedures were not only capable of improving observational methods but could result in discoveries which were incompatible with the picture of the universe developed by previous generations. It could produce a “paradigm shifts” as described by T. Kuhn in the 1960s.

The most stunning example of this took place 30 years earlier with Einstein’s relativity theory, and before that when Darwin postulated that life forms on our planet had developed over several million years in an orderly manner according to some rules many of which had yet to be discovered. Structuralization was not a firm rule, as postulated by Aristotle, but was something which happened according to rules yet to be discovered, not a force acting upon nature but part of nature itself.

The end of the 19th century and the first half of the 20th century hammered home the idea we have to relinquish the old idea that *discovery* referred to unearthing treasures, like broken urns in the desert sand lying hidden somewhere below the surface, and to replace this with the notion that structure itself comes about, emerges and develops in a seemingly endless series, a process. And the orientation this discovery produced was the idea that there was not only one world, but that there are many, each being viewed as the best conjecture of a possible world. Thus a particular term could feature in several possible worlds, but in each case it involved a shift in its meaning.

There was, therefore, a place for rigid definitions of terms, provided these were confined to one possible world. Once defined such words could not transfer to another world without infringing its earlier rule of use.

Statements, Meaning, and Analogies

Statement A: The river has crested.

Statement B: The river has reached its highest point.

river-combBoth statements describe the condition of a river. The two statements appear to say the same thing, and therefore — it is claimed — have the same meaning. Even if it is not true that these are equivalent — in statement A, the river may yet run higher, contrary to what is said in statement B — it may be claimed that A is equivalent to B, and vice versa. It is a question of meaning.

In other words, it may be claimed that statements A and B refer to the same situation. As philosophers and commentators, are we required to resolve this issue,? Do we need to ask “what is the difference between reference and meaning”?

I would argue that statements A and B converge in meaning, but also emphasize that this does not make them necessarily equivalent

First, the meaning of each statement depends on the context of its use. Consequently if the context changes, so does the meaning of each statement.

Second, the two statements, when enountered in certain contexts, have a hierarchical relationship to each another. One is more abstract, inclusive, than the other: it is something which has to be evaluated.

In the second case, statement B is an empirical statement, so that the data is determined in a different sense than in statement A. Both meanings are data-determined but in different ways. Each says something different. Statement B is related to data is a more “fundamental” way than statement A, which is mostly analogical. This needs to be clarified (see below).

When I refer to data, I suggest of course that regardless of how things were described, we would most likely agree that there is a phenomenon we are all aware of which is what is being talked about, and that this phenomenon can be identified and mensurated in a manner which allows us to determine properties reflected in both A and B.

To say “the river has crested” is clearly analogical. *Crested* derives from French and refers to (among other things) the comb of a rooster. It refers to form rather than to a (linear) measure and only indirectly refers to how this can be measured. By contrast, B is a reference to some previously adopted perception of scale against which it is being compared. In this sense, statement B is more fundamental. One could also argue that statement A is more abstract than B, that to refer to the river has crested in not only analogical but also represents a more general case and also is more difficult to gainsay.

Conclusion: an analogy represents an attempt to state a current experience (event) as a case of a more general event. In this sense analogies are theoretical. Thus, to assert that A is like B — the form of an analogy — is to construct a theoretical proposition whose falsification becomes increasingly more difficult the more analogical it is.

Analogies like statement A represent our efforts to increasing the stability of our world in the face of experiential diversity and in that sense, analogies have signifiant heuristic value: they reduce variability, change, diversity. One can question the value of a particular analogy, but this in itself in not a test of an implied theory.

In retrospect, the history of human knowledge suggests that we forever seek analogies in the hope that the one chosen is more appropriate than earlier ones, and that the one chosen now will assist us better in unifying the increasing diversity of our experiences of our world.

The Case of Humpty Dumpty’s Singular Use of Words

“When I use a word,” Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, “it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less.”
“The question is,” said Alice, “whether you can make words mean so many different things.”
“The question is,” said Humpty Dumpty, “which is to be master — that’s all.”

Both Alice and Humpty Dumpty have a strong case. Alice is justified in her complaint that words can and indeed often do mean many different things and that this can be most confusing — and can be injurious. More confusing to some than others. There are those who simply cannot cope with confusion. Psychologists have referred to this as the fear of ambiguity. Like other fears it terrifies and often paralyzes people.

Consequently there are those who try to use words and sentences in a way which reduces ambiguity for no other reason that they wish to be clearly understood by others and that they want to understand what others are saying,i.e. interpreting messages correctly. Often such messages are trivial, but what if in fact such messages are of utmost importance? As in, “Call 911! Your house is on fire!”

Humpty Dumpty’s proposal that words are assigned a restricted meaning by fiat — “it means what I wish it to mean” — would result in an the construction of an endless dictionary. Everyone would then have the right — even obligation — to usurp the meaning of a word which already exists and entered into their idiosyncratic dictionary! We would be forced to live in a world of neologisms and would need also need all the sounds we could produce with our versatile larynx to cover our needs to communicate our thoughts to others! Babylon will have come to pass. Existing languages would be wiped out! An unimaginable event. Just imagine the effect on our dictionaries.

The alternative to this bizarre doomsday scenario would be to deplete our vocabulary as far as possible,to whittle it down to the smallest number of items. Isn’t this familiar? Basic English was once favoured by one of the finest exponents of current English, Winston Churchill. Rewrite Shkespeare even Jane Austen into B.E. and translate Tolstoy also!

But the current trend is actually diametrically opposed: we actually need more and more words to name things and to identify the many new items we have introduced into the world; the many new objects we have discovered or designed and manufactured; to mark novel events which form our personal and public experience and which help us to identify new norms; as well as the multitude of new ideas we have developed.

There are many people, dead and alive, who share my name — but I reckon few who also carry my initials, H.M.B. — and fewer, if any, who also share my birthday and birth year. These are all markers of my identity. So using this method, Humpty Dumpty’s complaint could be taken care of, simply by embellishing existing words, by adding descriptions when appropriate or desirable, or by giving each set of words a contexts.

We do this already: “Yonder horse” is not any old mare, but a particular horse, perhaps the horse standing on the meadows nibbling grass, or kicking its heels. In this case *yonder* is not an object description, but one that identifies the horse by its context, rather than by such unique peculiarities as as the length of its mane.

But I appear to have urged a tedious solution. If either Alice or Humpty Dumpty remain concerned that their use of a word may be misunderstood, they could hang out a warning sign: “This word is in my lexicon — but may not be in yours” — let’s say “ML” for short. It would distinguish this word from “this word is in our dictionary,” or “OD.”

“ML” refers to words which already exist in some language but which are also used in the lexicon which contains all the words I use — and understand — and which adds to each what I mean by the term. “OD” permits words to be used in a variety of ways and even encourages and promotes ambiguity, as is demonstrated by the number of homonyms cited in the average sized dictionary. (Note: they all cite homonyms, a confession that words have multiple meanings, and that they are ambiguous.)

Usually a competent dictionary insists that there context must be considered — something which restricts how the word listed is to be used. It represents a form of learning which can even be demonstrated by the rat and certainly by many birds. Why not then by little bright middle class girls — and even by other Humpty Dumpties, on or off the wall? Each would be perfectly competent to learn how to use a word in different contexts without getting into a state of total confusion or self—centredness.

Some learn this with little training. There are always exceptions even to this rule. By the way — how many Humpty Dumpties are there?

Users of Language: PITS and PAW

In this blog on the use of language I introduce two terms which may be useful in discussing a problem which was created for us in the last century and which continues to haunt me: namely, what is the relation between our language and our increasing mastery of the world we inhabit. By the latter I mean what we refer to as our scientific knowledge and our ability to adapt much of this knowledge to everyday use, i.e., technology.

The plumber joins metal pipes — it is his skill — but he did not invent the materials he uses or the methods for achieving his objective which is to weld two pipes without these springing a leak when fluids under high pressure pass through the pipes. We are all members of a community as well as members of different specialist groups who tend to speak their own patois, or at least use their own specialist terms and phrases.

Word cloud from an article on neuroplasticity published in the New York Times

Of course, as members of the community we share common problems and goals and we learn to speak about these with others without difficulties but without using specialist terms or expressions. Misunderstandings can be clarified, although agreements cannot be guaranteed. This makes us “persons in the street.” The phrase is old and well used, although it also appears as “the man in the street.” I’m not sure of its origins, but I heard it frequently during my graduate-student days when I attended meetings of philosophical societies and also participated in many lunchtime conversations over a beer in pubs in London. “The man in the street” referred to all of us in that we were “ordinary” — people stripped of our professional or worker’s outfits, “citizens” and “family members,” but not as artists, academics, public servants, office workers or street-pedlars, the kind of people who would show up at lunch-time in and around Charlotte Street and Soho, London.

The pubs on Hampstead Heath, on the other hand, were much more “exclusive” and over weekends became the stamping grounds of an intellectual crowd, not by “persons in the street.” The latter I shall baptize PITS (Persons In The Street). “Persons” is here used generically for all citizens, regardless of their sex, race, affiliation during work hours, their political or religious persuasion. It is an all-inclusive term.

Word cloud from a scientific article reporting research on an aspect of neuroplasticity

The contrast to PITS is ourselves during work hours, when we don our work-caps or professional hats. During this part of our day we tend to converse with others using specialized terms and phrases, sometimes in sentences which defy ordinary grammatical rules.

I suggest the acronym PAW, for “Professionals At Work.” “Professional” here refers to the notion that regardless of what one does during work hours, one adopts words and expressions which may be quite foreign to most PITS.

The majority of person in-the-street learn also to use an in-house language suited to their specific work environment. Thus nurses speak as comfortably in the vocabulary of hospitals as does the medical faculty. Admittedly, the latter — medics — may master additional terms which in turn depends on which speciality they practise.

The language of PITS is fluid, as dictionaries of everyday language like the Webster, demonstrate. Technical terms enter — and depart — at a staggering rate, which is something new to our social experience. It reflects the pace and rhythm of our technology dominated culture, which forces everyone to march to new tunes throughout our ever-longer lifetime. The strain on each individual can be terrific: cardiologists have their work cut out for them.

But it is not only the arrival and departure of new and old terms which troubles me and forces me to read wiki articles more often than anything else daily, but that terms with which we are already familiar change their meaning often throughout our lifetime. This applies to ordinary “in-the-street” language which includes the “received wisdom” from the past (much of it very dated and therefore quite false), but also the wisdom of more recent origin. These are issues I shall address in future blog writings. Please — stay tuned!

On Borrowing and Inventing Words

Many words in constant use are borrowed, stolen, adapted and invented. Of course, one cannot go to court to reclaim a word, unless it is proprietary (pharmaceutical companies do so at a drop of a hat). Has anyone been sued for using the phrase, “I googled the information” or “I hoovered my patio”?

Whatever its historical precedent, borrowing words and expressions from other languages than our own is certainly trendy. It is stimulated largely, but not exclusively, by intense global trade and the phenomenal rise of certain technologically-based enterprises which depend heavily on inventions and discoveries. These have a vested interest in getting their proprietary names circulated as widely as possible. Principle: what is good for consumption is good (profitable) for business.

There seems to be more than commercial advantage for the extensive proliferation of words. Here I examine only three. Each has been named to give a clue to its use: 1) Sanitary Measures; 2) Tagging the New, 3) Insider-Outsider Separations.

1) Sanitary Measures

If one wants to rid one’s home-language of ambiguities, importing words often helps. Ambiguity is viewed as a curse for which a cure is needed. Language has to be sanitized to keep it clean of confusion. It can be done by replacements from an unfamiliar donor-language. On this criterion, Zulu words may be better than imports from Spanish – especially at a time when the latter is becoming the second language in the USA. No one has followed this suggestion – but it could happen. The borrower-language gains a word which can be given a singular, unambiguous “unique” definition in English.

Note that borrowed words need definitions to accompany them on the journey and are translations: the words and expressions used in the definition must themselves be unambiguous. This is difficult to do – and sometimes fails. However, the possibility that a word taken from the donor-language may be ambiguous in its home territory is irrelevant: importing it will strip the word of home-ground ambiguity.

This desirable effect may be temporary and may erode quite quickly in a new environment. Like kids, words don’t stand still for long. The new term will be defined when first introduced, an act designed to freeze the meaning of the word, to isolate and insulate it. Like a band-aid the protection wears off with prolonged exposure. Most users have no vested interest in protecting the word’s “purity” or singularity of meaning, and will allow it to deteriorate. At some point the process of purification may restart – a new word may then be imported: the band-aid is replaced.

No one seems to mind these perturbations, except inveterate conservatives who with advancing age may resist innovations in communication with unseemly vigour. The effort to establish clarity and avoid ambiguity may therefore be quite short-lived before confusion re-asserts itself. On this analysis, language forever changes.

Would a universal language cure this, as some have suggested?

Unlikely, because the need and demand for new words to tag new phenomena will continue unabated. Our efforts to expand knowledge are not based on such noble principles as Francis Bacon (1561-1629) occasionally proclaimed in his prefaces but to an objective he recognized well: to increase the wealth of the “commonwealth” (read: nation-state) through the proper use of the new knowledge, the fruit of empirical research (based on experimental induction!). New words in an old language would surely draw attention to what is new, but it is new within the context of the old.

A whole industry has sprung recently to ride the wave of promoting “innovation” in goods and services and the terms which landmark these. From this perspective a new language would be counter-productive; it would only have temporary advantage. To call a new mouse trap by its traditional name is unlikely to enhance sales and encourage wide adoption. (Nor would its manufacturer be interested in exterminating the species either!) New mouse traps need mice in profusion, a new technical principle or architecture and a new name to ensure its commercial success.

Should one hesitate to advocate the emergence of a universal new language like a newly invented, constructed language on the model of Esperanto? Or a simplified English, as Winston Churchill had proposed to unify the post WWII world? Neither has been successful. Language is a cultural phenomenon: create a new culture – if you know how – and you will get a new language.

2) The Phenomenon of Tagging the New

One may wish to bring awareness of genuinely new experiences to others, perhaps a new style in dress (remember the miniskirt?), an unusual type of music (like rap), a recently discovered aquatic plant, or a newly-discovered insect. It may suffice to report, “I saw a new bug today, which looked a like a giant ant,” but sooner or later someone will demand a new name, a tag which will forever differentiate this new creature from all others, particularly from its close relatives!

The temporary tag may suffice momentarily: without great ceremony. *Giant ant* will be discarded. The new name may be drawn from a foreign language – probably Latin (entomology is replete with names of creatures composed from the skeleton of Latin) – and the new label will be supported by many descriptions and endless photographs and fine pencil drawings of its gross features as well as its fine structures in the fashion of Dürer. But this habit of Latinizing entomological entities may change if more and more entomologists come from China: a Mao-beetle perhaps? It is not the name that matters, but the detailed descriptions and its presumed relationship to other species.

Scientific terms, furthermore, are less prone to ambiguity because the number of people using such terms is relatively small. Also there exists a culture of respect for definitions which is significantly different from what happens in everyday language, from the language of the street, of the home and the workplace.

3) The Inside-Outside Phenomenon

The third reason for importing terms from a foreign language may appear trivial, yet it is nonetheless historically important. People who share an interest in some activity (e.g., golf) or set of objects (e.g., butterflies) may consolidate and develop their own lingo which sets them off from others. They become serendipitously an insider group – and create an outsider group, those billions on the other side of their fence. No better example than the military or comparable organization, like Boy Scouts.

Furthermore, when one section of a community wants to establish a special position for itself it often does so by also – and inadvertently – developing an “insider language.” (As a former Brit I have never understood the jargon of football.) Many secret societies do so (Freemasons, for example). I find myself often using the phrase *en passant* when the English expression *in passing* would do just as well: my generation of academics were prone to this form of elitism. It was not a matter whether one “imported” words, but from whence the import came! In my case, the barriers established through parental training broke down during teen-hood and the language of the age-group overrode many social class barriers, a process which could work in both directions – and of course often did. Rule: social groups develop their own speech and jealously guard its borders.

Of these three factors reviewed the second seems to me more interesting. It suggests that terms are imported into a daily language whenever new phenomena are identified and become locally important. In my youth the car was king; today the focus is on electronic devices, including communication devices and robotics. Both have produced a glut of new words unfathomable to my European grandparents (1870-1940). Of course, new terms do not have to be borrowed or pilfered from another language, as suggested earlier, but could be wrought from different roots, from both foreign and from within the home-language, as *apps* is; even from two roots within the home-language. The term *vacuum-cleaner* illustrates this. It consists of two already familiar words which later were fused into one.

royallabor*Vacuum-cleaner*: a borderline case

One could object to my example of *vaccum-cleaner* as a combination of two collegial words and argue that it is a hybrid of a foreign and a colloquial word. The term *vacuum*, one could argue, has distinct foreign origins. It was certainly in use at the turn of the 18th century but in a very restricted way. During the mid 18th century it became more widely known amongst the “educated” males in Britain, who recognized that *vacuum* referred to space unoccupied by matter (and whose root was the Latin vacuus = empty). To understand the term *vacuum-cleaner* only required that the user realized that a vacuum creates a suction and that it is the suction induced by a motor (?) which accounts for lifting dirt from a floor! I suppose the term *suction-cleaner* would have done equally well as *vacuum-cleaner* but we cannot reverse preferences of fashion or the order in which these appeared in history! *Vacuum* was certainly more “elegant” than *suction* – and this may have played a role in the choice of words. What is of interest is that a term was selected which had minimal ambiguity and which could be given a “clear” and “clean” definition.

Meta-Logs and Meta-Signs

airquotesBy a meta-log I mean a written device which identifies a word or a phrase for a comment and does not involve the meaning of the word or phrase. In a sentence this means that the subject of the sentence is not what the word denotes, but that the word is an object for discussion. It can occur when I talk with others about how a particular word or a phrase is being used in ordinary speech, or in writing, as when an author is discussing how a word or a phrase has been used by another person.

The prefix *meta*, was used by Aristotle (c. 360 BC) to refer to a topic in retrospect. *Metaphysics* therefore was a discussion about material matters he had studied, a reflection about its first principles. It could be translated as “after physics”, or “thinking about physics”. Over successive the centuries the meaning of the word Metaphysics shifted substantially so that most people now equate it with “Pure Philosophy” as distinct from its specific areas, say, Logic, Political Philosophy, Ethics, Aesthetics. *Meta* as here used has been combined with *log*, as in *meta-log* and has been assigned a distinct, unambiguous meaning: a way of identifying words, phrases, even sentences when these are being talked about, or discussed — that is, are the subjects of a thought — and are not used in their normal, denotative way.

A problem arises however, when talking, speaking or lecturing, and not writing particularly in the latter situation, when lecturing. The speaker may wish to talk about a concept and in order to retain the interest of his audience, he raises or lowers his voice, adjust its volumes, perhaps also gesticulates in various emphatic ways: raising eyebrows, wrinkling his nose, looking skywards (a sign of desperation perhaps) and — using gestures like marching up and down the stage, or raising his hands to show the importance of what is being discussed. All these are aids which he hopes enlivens his presentation, give emphasis to particularly ideas, maintains the interest of the audience. We can refer to the lecturer punctuating his material, bringing it to the attention of the audience, making certain items more memorable.

One widely used gesture which shows that something is being quoted from another source, is to raise one’s hand, extend two fingers and rapidly flap these. These are air quotes (shown above) — visual quotation marks! It shows that the words are a quotation, or refers to a concept which is widely used but which does not necessarily meet with the approval of the speaker himself. For years I used this sign whenever I used the word *instinct*, a term anathema to me at the time. The term is almost without meaning within contemporary academic psychology and, although widely used by the English speaking followers of Freud, it is a poor translation of the German word *Trieb* which means an impetus, or inchoate driving force. The term *instinct* on the other hand, as was used by some biologists at the turn of the 20th century, referred to an action pattern which was believed to be unlearned — that is, its origins were unknown — but is within the repertoire of an animal through a genetic (again, unknown) process. It was re-introduced by Konrad Lorenz and N. Tinbergen in the 1940’s but in a different sense to its earlier use. This simply added to the confusion. Tinbergen often referred to innate action patterns although his famous book was called A Study of Instinct (1951).

But we also need a gesture to indicate that a term or expression is not a quotation from some existing text, but is a topic under discussion. If the subject refers to a fictitious event or something which is likely to confuse an audience, it has been customary to place it in gestural-quotes. My favorite example: the bandersnatch ( see Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland). Once an audience accepts the bandersnatch as a fictitious animal, which has been given an incoherent description in the poem “The Jabberwocky”, there is no need to place it in quotation marks, or give it any distinctive marking: the reader and an audience is now well prepared and is therefore unlikely to get confused. But when one wishes to discuss this “animal” and others of a similar nature, the discussion becomes “meta-talk” and one may wish to indicate this by using a distinct marker — or meta-log. In writing the meta-log I have suggested on an earlier occasion is *x*, where x refers to the object under discussion, whereas when an idea is involved which requires more than a label but an expression, we can use *xyz*. Time will tell what conventions will get adopted.

In speech, or when speaking, I propose to use a sign which is easy to use to indicate that we are in “meta-talk” mode, that is talking about a concept. The sign involves raising both hands in clinched form to shoulder level, then quickly stabbing the air with both forefingers thrust forward, like an adder on the attack. The gesture is the same whether using a single word or a whole phrase. The audience will very quickly learn what meaning is being conveyed and distinguish a quotation from a comment about the status of a concept!

Aperçu

Like most words the French aperçu has more than one meaning. It can mean a glance, a glimpse, an insight or a hint, a sketch or outline, a summary and even a preview. I would like to use the word here and in future notes in the sense of a short statement which may contain some insight, some wit, some twist or thought, perhaps even as an introduction to a more eloquent statement to be published some time in the future.

So let us begin. Each aperçu will be numbered and labeled. I hope that will help.

Aperçu #1 : Interpreting another’s meaning

As a philosopher you must believe that what another philosopher said is what you understand him to have meant! There is no other way of doing philosophy, for if you deny this premise you could not give an exposition of another’s viewpoint, only your own. You could then end in an infinite regress, asking again and again whether what philosopher A  said is what he had meant to say.

Now you could be incorrect in your understanding of philosopher A, of what philosopher A meant. But how could you discover this error in your judgment? How could you find out?