-University of Northern ColoradoGreeley, Colorado

MEANING IN LIFE AND THE LIFE OF MEANING

A Thesis/CapstoneSubmitted in Partial Fulfillment

for Graduation with Honors Distinction and theDegree of Bachelor of Arts / Science

David Berger

College of Humanities and Social Sciences

May 2015

Signature Page

MEANING IN LIFE AND THE LIFE OF MEANING

PREPARED BY: David Berger

APPROVED BY: Thomas Trelogan

HONORS ADVISOR: Thomas Trelogan

HONORS DIRECTOR: Loree Crow

RECEIVED BY THE UNIVERSITY THESIS/CAPSTONE

PROJECT COMMITTEE ON:

May 2015

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Abstract

Semiotics is the study of how meanings are interpreted; it is the study of the signification of what

is significant. As a young discipline, semiotics is now at the forefront of the development of

philosophy (Cobley, 2010). The insights provided by writers on semiotics are current and thus

have a closeness, rather than being old and seeming distant. For instance, “Semiotics of Nature”

provides a biologically centered foundation for thinking of man as a “semiotic animal”

(Hoffmeyer, 2010) “Semioethics” articulates a semiotically centered concept of responsibility

(Ponzio and Petrelli, 2010). A strong philosophical paper needs to draw from both kinds of

sources: the recent scholarly work as well as the older theoretical foundations. As I delved into

this subject, I found the semiotic approach in philosophy to be the most revealing when it comes

to matters of language and its relationship to reality—and here I mean reality in the sense of the

way things bear themselves. Reality here takes on the richer sense, where what is perceived is

constructed as such—that is, made out to be in such-and-such a way. More importantly, this

approach constitutes a broad enough scope in its questions to encapsulate the full breadth of my

topic of inquiry. This thesis therefore has two main aspects: 1) The reasons and reasoning behind

taking a semiotic approach to life, and 2) the implications for such an approach, primarily framed

in metaphysics and ethics. The implications I focus on are mainly pragmatic, as this work lays an

empirical foundation for what I have termed our semiotic responsibility. The exploration will

also provide the reader with the opportunity to find a sense of the limits of language, and therein

may lie a mystic experience—in other words, a familiarity with the ineffable.

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I would like to thank Tom Trelogan for being a more than excellent mentor and friend.

I would also like to thank Loree Crow for helping with this whole process.

Special Credit goes to Jack Temkin for providing me with much excellent conversation that helped inspire these ideas.

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Table of Contents

Title Page .......................................................................................................................................1

Signature Page ...............................................................................................................................2

Abstract .........................................................................................................................................3

Acknowledgements .......................................................................................................................4

Introduction ...................................................................................................................................6

Definitions .....................................................................................................................................9

Semiotic Theory ..........................................................................................................................23The Human Animal, Primate Powers ..........................................................................................23Semiotics of Nature (Biosemiotics) ............................................................................................27Structure of Structuring ...............................................................................................................31

Implications .................................................................................................................................36Things Stand Out .........................................................................................................................36Identity of Things ........................................................................................................................39Liberation of Things ....................................................................................................................42Semioethics..................................................................................................................................45

Conclusions................................................................................................................................. 50

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Introduction

In a sense, what follows is a treatise on human nature. It is about who we are, and what

we do. But unlike a traditional “Treatise on the Nature of Man,” this paper is about a specific

aspect of who we are, and some general and some specific things we do. I think it will make

things easier to come right out and say it: we are linguistic beings, who create meaning. Perhaps

then this might be thought of as a Treatise on the Linguistic Nature of Man. Though I think,

rather than “nature,” the more accurate word would be “capacity.” I would like to describe how

my research has led me to this conclusion, and explain why I think of us as linguistic beings, and

what it means to think of us in this way. In doing this I will bring out some characteristic and

some less-noticed ways in which we create meaning, each of which, as we visit, will call for a

general description. I will then see if I can apply these to specific examples, of which there are a

plethora at hand and infinitely many more to be imagined. In doing this, my intention is to shed

light on certain aspects of our thought about which we do not often think—aspects that may have

been mentioned in their day (indeed, it is possible that each of the things I describe has been

mentioned before, in a different form, somewhere in a tome with which I am not familiar), but

that have fallen into a darkness akin to the surface of a deep liquid or thick mist. The darkness is,

of course, history.

An inquiry into the history of an idea is like a foray into this darkness lit up by the

powerful light of our curiosity and investigation. Such inquiries are not for everyone, and so

those of us who have gone down into this darkness do our best to bring things to the surface, for

others to see, and to bring as much to the surface as we can in order to establish the complete

context. For something to gleam, it must first have our light shined upon it. This metaphor

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captures at least the process by which I have found enlightenment and inspiration in turning my

eyes towards idea with an eye to tracing their evolution, their genealogy, if you would. But what

we are up to is of course not merely a genealogy of an idea. There is not so much interest for our

broader philosophical purposes in uncovering the history of the development of the field of

semiotics as there is bringing to light within this history ideas that have philosophical importance

for us now. By philosophical importance, I mean such ideas that enrich and enhance our thinking

about various matters that perhaps would otherwise go unnoticed—ideas that reveal things about

the world (including each of us), or at the very least, ways of conceiving this. How? Because a)

they are connected logically, so understanding one part of the web brings out the nature of the

whole; and because b) we can expand on these connections The web of connections of ideas

extends deep beneath surface of the darkness. It is seldom glimpsed save where parts of it rise to

the surface, but when we take a critical eye to these ideas, and shine our light in the darkness, the

nature of the relations that constitute the “structure” of the whole become apparent. I say

'structure' tentatively, because while it is true that our ideas evolve and that there are discernible

connections, the network is ever-evolving, and some parts grow anew while others disappear.

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Meaning in Life and The Life of Meaning:

A Semiotic Theory of Human Lives and Choices

I think we might describe what I am doing here as theory at its core, and the rest explores

the implications of this theory. The Greek root of our word “theory” is “theoria,” which means a

kind of looking at, gazing, or viewing. We shall explore new ways of looking at things—in

particular, new ways of looking at ourselves, at the nature of our thought—ways that reveal truth

about the world. By “truth” here I mean what is the case, and what can be revealed is how things

relate. Understanding new relations affects our understanding of the system—the whole—in

which they are related. If we take seriously Gilbert Ryle's metaphor for theories as a kind of

forging of paths into the wilderness (Ryle 288-290), we can develop it into a metaphor of a web,

a network of paths in which old trails become disused, and eventually overgrown. If this is

allowed to happen, one just might lose one's way. So I will add to Ryle's metaphor of forging

new paths another aspect: the aspect of returning and retracing paths, of exploring previously

explored paths. This seems a necessary part of any serious exploration of the past of an idea. For

paths are not blindly forged onward from nowhere; they are always made from somewhere to get

to somewhere else, and for the sake of the metaphor the distance covered is in understanding. We

cannot truly have a sense of where we are going, unless we have our bearings—unless we know

where we are coming from, where we come from. Understanding where we come from and the

context in which semiotic life arises: that is the aim of this essay.

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Definitions

As we need to know what we are talking about here, it will be useful, I think, to begin

with some definitions. I shall be using some technical terminology, mostly terms drawn from the

field of semiotics, and they could use some explanation. Some of the other terms I shall be using

are terms with which the reader will already be familiar, but I shall be using them in somewhat

unfamiliar ways. My use of some of these terms, such as “language” and “sign,” will be more

nuanced than usual and may give them a deeper shade of meaning, but in all these cases, my

purpose is to have an adequate vocabulary at my disposal that will make it possible for me to

proceed smoothly without having to stop for any bumps. If in laying out a theory we are always

laying out a path by which we might proceed, we would do well to take care that it is well laid

out so that we can enjoy unimpeded walking.

Sign – Signs are the building blocks of semiosis. Every sign itself comprises a signifier

and signified (Saussure 858), and in later theories there is a third element, an interpretant who

perceives the sign itself. Ferdinand de Saussure brought this relation back into the eye of modern

linguistics. The signifier can be anything; its selection, as Saussure pointed out, is arbitrary

(Saussure 857), though once paired with whatever it represents or recollects, (the signified) it

maintains its identity as a sign (its significance) within its particular system . Its meaning exists

in a context in which it is surrounded by other signs, so that changes in one part of the system

will certainly cause changes in others (Saussure 858). In the languages we humans speak, this

shift of meaning is constantly taking place, both gradually (over thousands of years) and more

abruptly (in the space of a few years or even a few months). Note how this shifting pattern

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mirrors changes in human cultures. A sign can be as simple as the change of atmospheric

pressure that signals the approach of rain, or the bristling on a dog’s neck that we can observe

when it becomes agitated. Signs can be deliberate, as are our greetings and sounds of surprise, or

they can be complex and extensive, such as the elaborate array of words that might constitute an

explanation, the conceptual play in a metaphor, or the almost ritualistic placement of elements in

speech-acts. Some, for instance Kull and Hoffmeyer, theorize that even at the level of the most

basic individual single-celled organisms, signs play an essential role. Indeed, signs permeate

every aspect of our culture, and perhaps they also pervade every corner of the universe as we

know it.

Semiosis, semiotics, and metasemiotics – “Semiosis” is our name for what occurs when

something (an object or event) is significant, that is, when it sends some kind of message.

Routledge defines “semiosis” as meaning “the action of signs” (Cobley 318). Semiosis can occur

naturally (such as when a dog wags its tail with joy or puts it between its legs in cowering, or

when someone blushes out of embarrassment), or in a cultural setting (as, for example, in speech,

gestures, and artwork). A sign’s being a sign takes place in semiosis—without signs there is no

semiosis, without semiosis there are no signs. Notice how in each of these cases, the sign is

perceived by some interpretant. Also note: “there is an enormous variety of semiosis which is

non-human in character” (Cobley 318).

Semiotics is the thinking we engage in when we consider the significance of things.

Semiotic thinking can be thought of as “metasemiosis” (Cobley 318), (Ponzio & Petrelli 157).

Arguably, every philosophical question is a semiotic undertaking, for to answer a question well,

we must first ask how we are to read the question, and then consider many significances in

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answering it. Semiotic thinking is thinking about semiosis, the process of interpreting things as

significant. Semiotics is also used to refer to the field of sign-study—in this work I will preface

such a use with “the field of.” (“Semioticians” will of course refer to those engaged in the field.

We have a word already for those engaged in semiotics in the broader sense of the term—we call

them philosophers!) Our current project of reflecting upon and drawing conclusions about

semiotics might be called a sort of metasemiotics. Reflecting on the signs we encounter and

suspending response for possible deliberation is semiotic activity. “We can approach signs as

objects of interpretation undistinguished from our response to them. But we can also approach

signs in such a way as to suspend our responses to them, laying out the conditions for

deliberation” (Ponzio & Petrelli 157). This can be as simple as noticing that someone has made

one angry, and thinking about how to act rather than simply being moved by the emotion. (“Why

does that make me angry? Is the gratification of being enraged worth the stress?”). Raising such

questions can be seen as metasemiosis (semiotics) in action. I like to say that the essential

question of semiotics is: “What does it mean?” One can see that we are constantly engaging in

semiotic activity so defined, and yet most people are unfamiliar with this language—language

that can be used to describe this important part of their lives.

Mind – That which thinks, takes account of, understands, means, feels, etc. Taking heed

of the work of Gilbert Ryle and wanting to proceed in all definitions with the finest scrutiny, I

take our evidence for minds in his sense, that is, as presenting itself for our observation, and shall

shy away from inferring the existence of entities we cannot perceive. Minds don't just involve

certain undergoings and dispositions; they are minds insofar as they are certain undergoings and

dispositions—“mind” is our name for these (Ryle 167-168). What I am particularly interested in

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is the undergoing of semiosis, both in the passive and active sense (both of which always involve

semiosis, in what Uexküll calls “functional cycles” (Kull 46)). Therefore, I shall speak only of

those phenomena that we observe to be involved in the activities of mind, and mind will be

thought of as the making of meaning, rather than some sort of setting wherein meaning occurs.

The setting where meaning occurs is this world, and mind is the occurrence of this meaning, or

interchangeably, the presence of semiosis. A mind understands, and this understanding need not

be conceptual. This will allow the suggestion that minds are not necessarily only evident in

humans. This is not just suggested, but outright argued by Jesper Hoffmeyer. I shall elaborate on

this when we focus on the theory of biosemiotics and his work in that theoretical field, which he

pioneered.

Language/Linguistic – “Linguistic” means having to do with language. A language is

typically thought of as a conventionally shared vocabulary capable of being deployed in equally

agreed-upon grammatical arrangements. The objects in the vocabulary are typically thought of as

regularized vocalizations, or words. The words are signifiers of the signified meaning (Saussure

858). This meaning is often thought of as representational, that is, words stand for objects,

actions, and other phenomena (“run,” “tree,” “cat,” “change”), but there are other ways in which

we can mean things. We sometimes do things with words, (like getting married, placing a bet, or

warning someone of something) (Austin 2-4) . When this occurs, the words are still significant,

but they are arranged in such ways that they mean something different from what they mean

when they are used normally.

When I say that I think we are linguistic beings, however, I am using the word

“linguistic” in a broader sense. There are forms of language that use gesture only (sign language

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for the hearing-impaired), forms that function only in pictures, forms that are read only by

computers, forms that are based on patterns of color or shape, and so forth. It would seem it is

not a stretch to define a language as conventionally systematized semiosis. This serves to fit

every case in which we talk about language in this broader sense of the term. Language is

systematized because the relations between 'significant objects' have a kind of regularity by

which something means something else, and we can understand for instance such relations as

complementarity, negation, and predication, by identifying them as patterns that achieve

different kinds of meaning. The whole is a unified grammar (the systematic aspect), and

vocabulary (the conventional aspect); (but this vocabulary can, as I said, be much more than

mere vocalizations or inscribed alphabets and words). Language is conventional because there is

an agreement on how meaning is expressed. Conventionality in a system is consistency. This can

be personal or interpersonal. We usually think of language interpersonally, and so we might say

the term “convention” applies because it captures the sense of agreement between parties on a

system that can be shared.

However, meaning works at a personal level as well, if we think of the way in which

certain things are meaningful to each individual in a special way. Saussure describes syntagmatic

relations and associative relations1 as those where some words are “evoked” (Saussure 865).

Take the example of how in hearing one word, say, “tree”, the hearer will immediately think of

1: Syntagmatic relations bear a particular order, where “the elements are arranged in sequence on the chain of speaking.” They are thought of as “inside discourse” (Saussure 864). Associative relations invoke a whole family of associations without any particular order. They are thought of as “outside discourse.” “Their seat is in the brain. They are part of the associative storehouse that makes up the language of each speaker” (Saussure 864). It would seem “syntagms” are just a specific form of association, applied in the practice of speaking. The syntagm seems to have more to do with the flow of syntax in the practice of speaking. The association takes place at a deeper level, where we might identify the often surprising leaps our minds make when contemplating things, as well as our understanding of the apparent sense of a personal experience with language. The associative relation will thus be our primary interest, and is in fact a highly important aspect of our semiosis, particularly at the linguistic level. The syntagmatic relation may come up again but it is of less importance for our purposes.

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others that are associated with it, (e.g. “leaf”, “green”, “trunk”, “oak”, “forest”, “nature”) We

could use any word in any language as an example, as all words are involved in these relations.

“A word can always evoke everything that can be associated with it in one way or another...A

particular word is like the center of a constellation; it is the point of convergence of in indefinite

number of co-ordinated terms” (Saussure 866). Saussure only applies this idea in the limited

scope of language, but I think it can take place in any kind of semiotic activity. Smells provide us

with a great example, because some people love one kind of smell, being drawn to it, taking deep

breaths, and others could wrinkle their nose and retreat from the same. (Take, for instance, the

smell of a campfire, or that of a permanent marker). Encountering a certain kind of tree could

remind me of a very specific childhood memory. Insofar as this takes place, it may seem to some

degree conventional (it may be, for instance, that I am always drawn to this smell, or this tree

always reminds me of this moment in childhood). But this is only a semblance of the

conventional, as these alter with such circumstances as mood and recent events, and thus always

bear a degree of unpredictability. We see also that when associative relating takes place, it can

jump out of the linguistic system into other ways of meaning that we do not exactly have a

vocabulary for, (though we could attempt to describe these experiences in our language-

vocabulary, in effect making an attempt to re-enter the system). But then, we cannot say that

associative relations are necessarily linguistic. They can, however, be based on language, and

insofar as they are, they constitute a whole world with language at its foundation. This turn from

language away from language will be further explored in describing the Lebenswelt, and in the

later part of this essay when we explore implications. For now it will suffice to say that not all

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meaning is both conventional and systemic, but insofar as it is, it is manifest in a grammar and

vocabulary, and is thus linguistic.

If I write a sentence half in English and half in another language, say Spanish, I will of

course be operating with different kinds of grammar for each half of the sentence, but someone

who understands both languages could still put the meaning together. I have violated the

systematic but not the conventional nature of language—and notice that “violate” is here to be

taken softly, as expressing a stepping-outside-of-the-qualifications. It is simply enough to switch

between systems to no longer be residing in one whole. This does not necessarily impede

meaning so long as the listener is acquainted with both systems. We shall say that the way in

which meaning takes place in such cases is intersystemic, taking place within both systems.

Now, take the converse case: I write a sentence grammatically for one half and in the other half

break into a grammar that nobody else understands, but that I myself still mean as a completion

of the thought to be expressed by the sentence as a whole. I have violated the conventional but

not the systemic nature of language. If I speak ungrammatical gibberish at any point, even if I

use a recognized vocabulary, I have violated both.

When I pointed out that I could shift between languages, I meant also to hint at

something even deeper. When we create meaning, we always do so in the context of a broader

system, which is not itself violated as one shifts between linguistic systems. Indeed, there are

many who will switch to whatever language suits them at a given time. It is in this way that it

might make sense to think of intersystemic relations—but only insofar as elements from

linguistic systems come together to make up the whole of ways of making meaning—of being

significant.

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These matters may seem trivial in some respects and unduly complex in others, but I have

talked about each of them only to make it clear what I mean when I say language is

systematized, conventional semiosis. As such it is patently semiotic. Understood in this way, it

can make sense to talk about the language in which we think. What this allows us to see is that at

a personal level, we are always changing conventions. As we meet new people, for instance, we

begin to realize, if we are attentive, that a particular pattern of behavior, say, a facial twitch, can

mean many different things. One could come to understand different twitches as evidencing

different kinds of personality, or at least as predictors of people's emotional states. Or one could

realize that such a pattern of behavior evidences no such thing, and that it was a mistake to base

prior judgments on the idea that it does. This shifting in meaning is a shifting in convention, and

it always results in a growth of the system. We are constantly doing this all the time. On the

external or interpersonal level, convention is not usually quick to change, but internally, at a

personal level, it is always changing. And recall that the personal level does not imply a “private

language”, but rather what we should call “individual interpretations.” Insofar as they are

systematized, it makes sense to think of personal language in a sense, but it is more of a personal

spin on language. It might be better to think of a “personal dialect.” What I will get to in short

order is the importance of understanding that we can exercise a great deal of control over these

changes.

Object; Idea – The term “object” will be used to refer to whatever is recognized as such.

When something is known to exist in one way or another, it is an object of perception. Anything

that stands out with its particular significance is an object, and since this appearance of objects is

always a semiosis of some kind, we might say they are manufactured or created. The recognition

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of objects as what they are is tucked away in memory for future reference, and thus the objects of

our perception often appear like the words in a vocabulary. This is because words, too, take on

their meaning as part of a semiotic process. Indeed, when a word is uttered, we shall say it takes

on the form in our perception of a linguistic object. When we think of written language, this

characterization of words is even more fitting to the way we usually think of “objects.” The same

goes for any kind of signal that is produced and regularized. For it to be recognized, it is

recognized as whatever it is being taken to be. As there is with many objects a consistency in

their recognition, it would seem that many of them have their place as a matter of convention;

and this fits with the idea of an object-vocabulary. We can see that the process of what I shall

call objectification is primary to and required for the emergence of language, which is but a more

complex form which takes place on the semiotic level, where objects are seen as objects.

Another word which we can apply in these cases is “thing.” A thing's being seen as something

distinct from other things is a process of objectification.

The question arises, what about one's hidden “dialect” of thought? Might we consider

certain patterns of language or thought-images and other meaningful thinking as kinds of

objects? Thought does not seem so grounded as the objects of sense do, though they too are

experienced each moment. Thought is so liable to change, to disappear into the forgotten or

reemerge as reborn, that it seems to be different from objects. We may say that the objectivity of

objects is an operation of thought (objectification), but could the regularity of thought itself be an

object? There is some sense in which we behold our own thoughts, but it also seems that thought

has a much more essential part in consciousness. There is another term we have for these object-

like thoughts which has a similar sense, and that is idea. Ideas are wont to change in a way in

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which objects are not. They also bear the stamp of being tied to individuals and their respective

thoughts. Ideas include concepts but also vague associations that bear some degree of regularity.

They are best thought of as recurring thoughts, and their being recognized is what gives them a

character similar to that of thought. Rather than take the route of implying unverifiable entities,

we shall avoid thinking of “mental objects” and simply refer to these object-like aspects of

thought as “ideas.” These are simply objectified thought.

Thought/Thinking – Two people may sit in the same room and be having thoughts

together, but neither one can know what the other is thinking. Even if we attempt to express and

communicate our thoughts, it is but an echo of the thought that inspired the word. With thoughts

that occur in the form of familiar words in a common vocabulary, we can perhaps get closer to

sharing this experience, but the only way to really know the thoughts of another would be to live

his or her life. Whenever we engage in semiosis in its various forms—pictures, words, or other

symbols—thinking happens for each one of us. We sometimes consider how a dog thinks, and it

takes an even more diligent effort of the imagination to imagine how a bug can think, or how a

plant can think. Of course, the reader might now ask why I do not pose the question if any of

these life forms think. The fact of the matter is that each of these organisms engages in some

rudimentary form of semiosis, and I have already said that wherever semiosis is taking place,

thought is taking place. I say this for reasons similar to the ones I have for thinking of mind in a

similarly broader sense. This aspect of life on our planet will be further explored when we

discuss biosemiotics.

For my dog to become excited when I tell him to be happy and offer him food, but to

become scared when I become upset and threaten him, shows thought in the most basic sense.

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The fly moves away when I move my hand towards it. But why would we complicate our

discussion of these phenomena when our language of semiosis seems fit? The place where it

becomes useful to talk about thought is when we consider reflective thinking, or thinking that

considers what is thought of, and reconsiders how to consider it. When something happens, say

the breaking of a glass, I have many thoughts, but I also move. Thought and action are always

concurrent, even if that action is rest, even if the action is involuntary. When I focus on what

comes to mind for me, I distinguish this from what may come to another's mind when he or she

hears the glass break, by saying we had different thoughts about, say, what caused it to break. In

other words, while at the present, thought and action are as one, it is when we turn to reflect on

what has just happened that we make such a distinction. Even immediately after having spoken,

people will sometimes correct themselves, saying, “well, what I thought was different.”

A curious phenomenon we might use to mark this distinction is when someone switches

two words in a sentence, or inadvertently inserts something into the sentence that doesn't belong

there because something else was on his or her mind. Where this innenweltsort of thing happens,

it clearly betokens a discrepancy between what the speaker is saying and the silent dialogue that

he or she is experiencing as he or she is speaking. Some might go so far as to consider such

incidents evidence of the separation between body and mind, but I ask them where they have

ever seen these operations of “mind” happening without taking place somewhere, sometime.

Without the language of “thought” and “mind”, we would not be able to make such distinctions,

but I emphasize the importance of care in usage as we need not imply unnecessary entities when

speaking of “thought” and “mind.”

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Umwelt, Lebenswelt, Innenwelt – These terms have the status of technical terms in the

writings of Jakob von Uexküll, and have been adopted in just about every writing in the field of

Semiotics since. Umwelt is defined in The Routledge Companion to Semiotics as “The self-

centered2 world of an organism, the world as known, or modelled” (Routledge 348). Where

particular things, such as places, smells, and patterns of movement, even certain chemicals are

recognized and reacted to, there is a most basic kind of Umwelt. This recognition is always a

recognition as. The model is Umwelt, and the process of modelingumwelt (which involves not

just recognition, but also thought which relates), is Innenwelt. “The Innenwelt is like a cognitive

map that relates the self to the world of objects, the Umwelt being the objective world...” (Cobley

348). It may be tempting think of Umwelt as the world we can share and communicate about and

Innenwelt as the world we return to in reflection, a la an objective-subjective distinction. I must

be clear, then, that objective is here used to refer to things that are significant as objects, and this

is Umwelt insofar as Innenwelt is the process of mapping or modeling these signs in a coherent

system. Kalevi Kull provides what I think is a more precise and detailed explanation:

“Description of somebody's Umwelt will mean the demonstration of how the organism (via its

Innenwelt) maps the world, and what, for that organism, the meanings of the objects are within

it” (Kull 43). Lebenswelt, then, is best described as the world arrived at by a kind of modeling

which uses signs as such, by way of a vocabulary and grammar. We might think of it as the

2 It is important we not assume the self to be conceived as an entity in the concept of Umwelt. However, the world is always showing up as being interpreted, which requires an interpreter, i.e. a perspective. The most basic level at which the term “self” is functioning here is to distinguish one center of interpretation from another, something which is regardless implied when we talk of “individual organisms.” The basic fact of the matter is that I see your, his, her, and everybody else's reactions as separate from mine. A sign with writing on it has its back to me but the words facing another. They can react to the writing while it has not yet become a part of my own Umwelt. “Self” is thus understood symptomatically in the same way that we understand “Mind.” It is this sense of understanding a self that underlies the procedure articulated in the process of Innenwelt, In this way we may talk of different Umwelten.

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picture arrived at through linguistic semiosis (which is always semiotic). In my earlier discussion

of language, I identified all linguistic activity as systemic and conventional. However I have

come to think it is worth mentioning that not all of the ways in which language stands out as

significant are conventional. To take into account the entire Lebenswelt is not to describe only

what can be expressed grammatically, but to include the whole world of meaning that exists with

language at its basis, in the way that Umwelt is the world of meaning with semiosis at its basis,

not just the ways in which semiosis can take place.

These terms are useful in distinguishing the different levels or steps at which semiosis or

semiosic activity occurs. We distinguish the “levels” not by supposing any inherent value, but by

observing how at higher levels of complexity, which emerge from the previous ones, the way in

which things are related in a cohesive picture changes. Taking account of what kind of system is

in place where Umwelt emerges, and distinguishing this from the emergence of Lebenswelt

allows us to take note of essential differences in the kinds of semiosic activity taking place. This

will be explored in more detail as the matter comes into our discussion. “Umwelt” and

“Lebenswelt” are the terms which show up in the later writings in semiotics, where “Innenwelt”

seems to take more of a passive or implied role. When I speak of “structuring” or “modeling”, it

will mean something like Innenwelt, but the term will not have as marked a role as “Umwelt” and

“Lebenswelt.”

Icon, Index, Symbol – Charles Sanders Peirce worked extensively on understanding

meaning and interpretation, and his triadic system of classifications is still useful to philosophy

today. These three terms—“icon,” “index,” and “symbol”—correspond to different kinds of

semiosis. Iconic understanding sees signs, but does not catalog them. An icon is “a sign which

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would possess the character of significance, even though its object had no existence” (Cobley

242). Indexes might be thought of as signs that are remembered and oriented in some kind of

scheme. “The index is a sign that signifies its object by a relation of contiguity, causality, or by

some other physical connection” (Cobley 243). Symbols are signs seen as such, and thus may be

used and thought of in their significance. Whereas an indexed sign can be used repeatedly, a

symbol can be extracted from its usage and viewed as the sign it is. Language is thus essentially

a symbolic kind of understanding. This terminology will mainly be of use as a model for

distinguishing different levels of semiosis and Umwelten, and understanding the character of

Lebenswelt.

Semiotic Theory

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Unless I make plain the grounds for taking a semiotic perspective on life, everything I am

about to say will seem to be a mere flowery embellishment, a celebration of one way of thinking

of things that seems to make sense to this particular writer. However, I was brought to this thesis

not by mere preference, but by a sense that I had discovered something deep at the basis of who

we are. This sense of discovery has not just been a hunch that I have followed, but has been

framed by some questions, questions I think I am now in a position to formulate directly. These

questions which shall guide our exploration henceforth have already shown up in glimpses, but

here is the time to make them plain: 1) How are we to understand ourselves as semiotic beings;

and at a more refined level, as linguistic beings? This I have undertaken by looking into semiotic

theory, and here I weave things together into my own theory of a semiotic being. 2) Why think in

terms of semiotics? This question might also be put as follows: what does a semiotic

understanding bring to our lives? We will explore this primarily by investigating the implications

and applications of semiotic thought, as well as through the theory of semioethics. This second

question is itself a semioethical question, as are all questions of the form, “why should I

understand myself in this or that way?” The power of the applications of this theory might serve

to speak for itself to some. However it is clear that in this day and age especially, if any kind of

ethical assertion is to be heard, it must be given a foundation, a premise for argument that can be

clarified empirically. Of course, in tying together these ideas, the aim is not so much to find a

picture that fits a required premise, but to show how the premise emerges from the picture of

things so presented. The “premise” I speak of is the fact of our semiotic nature, and I call it a

premise only because it will function as such for any argument made on its basis. In itself, this

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fact is a revelation about who we are, and even just in so far as it is that, it deserves careful

treatment and explication.

The Human Animal, Primate Powers

One of the guiding questions in my research has been: what distinguishes us humans

from other animals? At the time I formulated this question, I had in mind that we have a written

system of language which allows us to record words and preserve them for countless years. In

this way, we have a link to the past, albeit through a partial representation. But it seems as

though there is a deeper level at which we might understand this incredible linguistic capacity, a

capacity that does not appear to have yet been matched in the Earth’s history. Tracing

commonalities with our closest relatives, we can better discern the breakoff point. The biological

perspective provides us with a great way to approach this, as it looks at us as just another animal

species, and puts us in a position to consider evolutionary phenomena.

Robin Dunbar takes just this approach in his presentation, “What Makes Us Human?” He

begins his talk by describing the social groupings of animals, and in particular the social

groupings of mammals. Reviewing different brain types, he shows that primate brains, with their

dense make-up, make use of the highest complexity with the smallest area—in other words, they

are more efficient. This is why primate social groups can be much larger than those of any other

animals. An important statistic is the correlation between brain efficiency and the size of social

groups. Larger brains allow for larger social groups, and, as one would expect, it is in larger

groups that we find more complex brains. There is an important chemical release involved in all

of this, having to do with endorphins. Primate groups are as large as they are because primates

spend so much time grooming. But interestingly, humans have the largest group size by far, yet

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they spend the smallest amount of time on grooming. This is where Dunbar particularly focuses

his inquiry: “why is this?” he asks. It turns out that we can enjoy the effects of social bonding

and release of endorphins by verbal means. Storytelling thus becomes a substitute for grooming.

Here is where things get interesting: Complex brains show the ability to think at high

levels of intentionality. Intentional thinking is of the form where we imagine what is being

thought by another. A thought of second-order intentionality would look like: “I want you to

believe x.” A fourth-order would be: “I want you to understand that I want you to believe x.”

Here we arrive at Dunbar’s main thesis: imagination is the key that distinguishes humans from

other primates. Religion and storytelling are the examples of activity that involves intentional

thinking that he discusses at length. By developing these practices, humans got the twofold

benefit of making their use of time more efficient, and stimulating a further development in the

complexity of their brains. This allowed us to break from a very basic brain structure. While the

most advanced non-human primates seem capable of second-order thinking at best, humans

regularly operate at around five levels. A story-telling genius like Shakespeare can and does

attain an even higher level of complexity. Here we have an evolutionary account of the

emergence of the story-telling phenomenon that would at least appear to shed light on the

centrality of language in our lives. As it turns out, homo sapiens may have become possible only

through the effects of a linguistic mode of existence. Human life began as a life filled with

meaning.

We can think of this as coinciding with a shift in the semiotic level, from mere semiosis,

the process of signification, to semiotics, the point at which signs are recognized as such, and

used as signs for various purposes. Storytelling and religion are early forms of metasemiosis, and

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this fact, along with the conclusions of Dunbar's investigations and the further fact that they both

take place at the level of Lebenswelt, leads me to think that both could have a great deal to do

with the shift from Umwelt to Lebenswelt. Jesper Hoffmeyer approaches this shift in describing

the place of humans in the emergent pattern of “semiosic activity”3 taking place through the

development of forms of life: “Very late in organic evolution a further potentiation of semiosic

activity took place through the appearance of human beings that from the first beginnings were

embedded in a linguistic Lebenswelt, based on the particular ability of this species to understand

symbolic linguistic referencing” (Hoffmeyer 35). Taken alone, this statement about the

emergence of “human beings” seems to have some degree of truth, but one wonders just what

kind of “symbolic linguistic referencing” we're talking about here and just why it was our species

in particular that developed this capability. If we think of this along the lines of the process

described by Dunbar, the picture comes together in such a way that we see that humans did not

just suddenly appear, but gradually developed this capacity to use signs in such a deliberate way.

Once the first stories began to be told, our semiotic capacity could have been stimulated this new

potential, launching off into a much more rapid phase of development. “Life is thought of as

originating from semiosis in its most primitive and basic form, and from the more basic systems,

the more complex emerge” (Hoffmeyer 32). Once a system more complex than its predecessors

is firmly in place, it can serve as the basis for the emergence of an even more complex and rich

system. This thinking along evolutionary lines that leads us to the notion of emergent complexity

3 Hoffmeyer is the only writer among those I am citing to use this term, and he apparently uses it to refer to the general scope of semiosis as seen among species and even larger groups of organisms as a whole, rather than the particular scope of individuals engaging in semiosis (on which he also at times focuses). He seems to develop this from the way of talking in biology in which we characterize living organisms to engage in various “activities.” In the biological sense, he is interested in one kind of “activity”, namely any activity of semiosis, a kind of activity he dubs “semiosic.” It is a useful term and we may find ourselves borrowing it for our purposes.

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seems to mirror the examples provided by Dunbar about the complexity of animal brains. A

more complex brain allows for more complex semiosis. But let us take the opportunity provided

by Hoffmeyer to look more deeply into this process, and into how we might understand what I

propose to call “the life of meaning.”

Semiotics of Nature (Biosemiotics)

Jesper Hoffmeyer is one of the most innovative thinkers in semiotics. He first obtained

his degrees in biochemistry. His biological perspective and the theory of biosemiotics offer an

invaluable paradigm for understanding the natural world and our place in it. According to

Hoffmeyer, semiosic activity begins at the most basic cellular level where the interpretant reacts

to something within the environment. “At first such anticipatory activities would have to have

played out at a very simple level, as when a bacterium ‘chooses’ to swim upstream in a gradient

of nourishment rather than tumbling around waiting for nutrients to reach it…” (Hoffmeyer 34).

This “biosemiosis” emerges from early “proto-semiosic activity,” “a gradual formation of

ordered configurations and processes...” Eventually, with the development of a cellular

membrane, there emerges a difference between internal and external, a configuration that appears

at the most basic cellular level, where regularities in the environment become established as

signs “read” by an interpretant. Semiosis happens all over the natural world, and in fact it occurs

wherever we find life. Perhaps we might say that biosemiosis is the beginning of semiosis. Here

it would seem we have departed from mere cause and effect—however, while there may be a

semblance of individuality here, what is lacking is any hint of freedom. True, a dead cell reacts

differently in the presence of nutrients from the way a living cell reacts, and in fact (and this is

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perhaps where the distinction is particularly significant), the dead cell cannot even be said to

react. However even in the living cell there still seems to be nothing at all like real freedom.

Hoffmeyer puts it well: “At primitive levels the semiotic freedom of agents is still very low, and

a bacterium for instance cannot itself not choose to move upstream in a nutrient gradient.”

(Hoffmeyer 35). Here Hoffmeyer seems to be using the term “agent” in the sense of “one who

performs an action.” The type of complex semiotic thinking we are capable of today—the type

that allows us to act as free agents—developed over time through increasingly complex emergent

patterns. But Hoffmeyer adds in a footnote that we ought not to count out the semiotic freedom

even of a bacterium, which “is capable of changing its behavior by the active uptake of foreign

DNA from bacteriophages.” (Hoffmeyer 35). The level that particularly interests me is the more

complex level at which we dwell, but what this shows is that it is not some unexplainable

mystery, but, as Sebeok says, in a passage quoted by Hoffmeyer, “human semiotic activity is

only one—although radical—further refinement of a biosemiotic capacity that has unfolded itself

on earth for nearly 4 billion years.” (Hoffmeyer 35). This semiotic freedom will be the key to our

understanding the world and ourselves semiotically. It would seem emergent complexity is a

common theme in the Dunbar's and Hoffmeyer's research—perhaps it has to do with the

evolutionary themes in biology. It is by systematizing significant phenomena that we are able to

predict and respond to them. Here we return to the emergence of humans and their “Lebenswelt”

mentioned earlier.

At the earliest stages, where what we encounter is a cell that has an interior separated

from everything else by a membrane, through which it interprets and interacts with the world, we

have an intersystemic relation. As systems of greater complexity emerge, so do the possibilities

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of more complex intersystemic relations. Paradoxically, the increase in levels of separation is

accompanied by an increase in the possibility of connections. Many examples can be cited to

show the application (and surely to some degree the inspiration) of Hoffmeyer's theory. One is

that of the bird who pretends it has a broken wing in order to lure a predator away from its

nesting area, to which it then swiftly returns, having safely misled the potential threat. Even

plants seem to communicate to one another via a system of chemicals that are released in the

presence of certain stimuli. For instance, one kind of fava bean plant, when in the presence of an

aphid pest, emits signals that are received by other members of its species and that cause them to

release an agent that attracts aphid parasites. Thus undamaged plants are saved from the fate of

those that had initially been attacked (Hoffmeyer 38).We might be inclined to say that at the

level of the animal there appears to be more choice, perhaps what we might call intelligence. But

in the terms of this theory what we see is simply a greater degree of semiotic freedom.

The other thing Hoffmeyer calls for goes even further: he thinks we ought to reenvision

the very way we conceive of nature so as to think of things in general semiotically. This is the

only way to recognize the deep way in which we are connected with the whole of life. He pushes

away from “the disrespectful attitude implicit in our scientific ontology” (Hoffmeyer 40),

inviting us to make use of ways to bridge the gap that many see as existing between the sciences

and humanities—biosemiotics being one of these ways. The big picture is that we should not just

think of “mind” in terms of human minds, but everywhere we speak of life. “Even the simplest

living systems have a capacity to learn.” (Hoffmeyer 41). It would seem Hoffmeyer is not just

calling for us to think of things as existing in ecosystems (and the broader global ecosystem)—he

wants us to look at life itself as involved far more extensively in systems; (and indeed, the very

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nature of life is postulated as systemic). Each one of us is a system within systems, a kind of

semiosis founded on deeper levels of semiosic activity. Mind is a feature of the world as such,

not a peculiar feature possessed only by humans. “Human mind, then, would be a more peculiar

instantiation of this general mind” (Hoffmeyer 41). I make a similar call in my essay, “Man and

His Nature,” where I first attempted to expound my ideas about our capacity at the individual

level for thinking of the world in different terms (might we say “to each his own Innenwelt”) and

then made a push for thinking in terms of an ecosystem, (a shift in Lebenswelt at a

cultural/societal level facilitated by this modeling activity at the individual level). In doing this, I

used Hoffmeyer's theory to establish a foundation for our role in this ecosystem as semiotic

beings, and even as metasemiotic beings, looking at our incredible degree of semiotic freedom,

and I also used him as an example of how we might apply this power.

Regardless of how we can compare our semiotic freedom to the apparent semiotic freedom of a dog, it is clear that we possess an incredible degree of this freedom. We can, for instance, think of ourselves as conquerors or stewards, as occupants or children. We can think of ourselves as being part of a capitalist system where we play a role of developing and commodifying our world, or as part of a natural system where we are living as natural beings, or, a la Hoffmeyer, as semiotic beings. (“Nature”, Berger 9)

Indeed, it is our semiotic freedom that allows us to conceive of the very idea of semiotic

freedom. Both Hoffmeyer and I see that the shift toward making the world a better place and

avoiding the path to near certain environmental disaster involves tapping into this capacity and

utilizing our freedom. It involves, at its core, a shift in understanding, a semiotic shift. In “Man

and His Nature,” I applied semiotic theory and biosemiotics to our understanding of the earth,

with the specific aim of urging readers towards ecosystems-thinking. This is, however, just one

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(albeit a singularly important) application of semiotics to ethical life. I shall return to this in

greater detail as an example when I turn to the topic of semioethics below. For now, I think we

would do well to spend a bit more time on trying to understand just how semiosic activity takes

place in its various forms, so that we might bring to light the character of the emergence of

semiotic freedom and language.

Structure of Structuring

We have been looking at life in terms of meaning in order to reveal characteristics of both

which, so long as these two things—life and meaning—are regarded as distinct domains, remain

in the dark. I introduced “Umwelt” as a technical term to refer to the world of meaning, as

experienced by various organisms. In “Umwelt and Modeling,” Kalevi Kull uses this

terminology to give a detailed account of some of the different ways in which we can see

semiosis occurring, explaining the role of the modeling process and identifying distinct kinds or

levels of semiosis and Umwelten. His account is, like Hoffmeyer's, biologically oriented,

grounding his descriptions of the vegetative, animal, and cultural Umwelten on what is possible

given varying degrees of physical apparatus. The resulting arguments are not only precise but

insightful. For instance,

The distinctions an organism draws are individual, but due to the similarity of body plan of the individuals of the same species, and of the environment they live in, the Umwelten of conspecifics may be quite similar. In simple Umwelten, like the ones of a tick or snail, there are very few objects, whereas the Umwelten of birds and mammals are usually very rich. (Kull 45)

Kull thinks this use of the concept of Umwelt provides grounds for a “shift in evolutionary

theory,” a shift that “becomes more visible if attention is shifted from the ‘awareness’ side of

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Umwelt to its ‘manufacturing’ side. Organisms make the world” (Kull 46). His example of the

flower stem in illustrating “species-specific Umwelten” clearly demonstrates ground for thinking

in these terms: “...a flower stem is tranformed as: a) it is picked up by a little girl to make it an

ornamental object, b) it becomes a 'path' for the ants that walk along it, c) it is building material

for the cicada-larva that pierces it, and d) it constitutes wholesome fodder for the grazing cow”

(Kull 47). The “functional cycles”4 that underlie these Umwelten are semioses particular to the

organisms, the “basic rhythms” that make them all possible.

Understanding the limits of various species-level functional cycles further allows us to

understand the possibilities of modeling that coincide with different organismic structures, and

thus the coinciding possibilities of Umwelten. Kull distinguishes three “levels” which coincide

with a Peircean triadic classification of iconic, indexical, and symbolic.

A most general typology would distinguish between three major types of Umwelten: vegetative (non-spacial and non-temporal – solely iconic), animal (spatial and non-temporal – exclusively iconic and indexical), and cultural (simultaneously spatial and temporal – iconic-indexical-symbolic). (Kull 49)

Kull identifies the “vegetative Umwelt” as first taking place with single-celled organisms.

He first explains how “the cell has the full set of components of a functional cycle” (Kull 51). A

cell is able to recognize signals in its environment, however, “a cell evidently has no means to

distinguish between the patterns of the signals, thus it cannot categorize distances, angles, or

4 “Funktionskreis,” translated as “functional cycle,” is, according to Kull's reading of Uexküll, from whom he borrows the term, “the process that creates and builds an Umwelt” (Kull 46). A functional cycle describes the twofold relation, first between a signal “(which can be perceived or represented as an object)” (Kull 46) and processes in the organism, and then between these processes and the action performed by the organism. This somewhat mechanistic form of description provides a context for explaining why different organismic configurations allow for different forms of semiosis.

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shapes” (Kull 51). He illustrates the example of the cell in a nutrient medium through a basic

true/false table that brings out the simplicity of this level of semiosis. “All organisms are

supplied with many functional cycles that enable vegetative relations...Vegetative relations are

just correspondences, or relations, of pure recognition only, which means these are exclusively

iconic” (Kull 52). This of course follows from understanding cells to engage in vegetative

semiosis, for organisms are comprised of collaborations of cells. As we proceed into the higher

levels, these early forms of semiosis remain present beneath, and in some ways could be

considered elementary to all higher levels of semiosis. (The question of in just what ways opens

itself up for further study). I find that this early “iconic” or “vegetative” stage of semiosis may

indeed provide us with a new way to understand the idea of “instinct,” where we no longer

postulate instinct as a mysterious set of urges but rather semiosis originating at a cellular level,

manifesting itself now at the level of the more complex organism.

An organism with connections between different receptors allows for the animal Umwelt

to emerge. “This form of the functional cycle may then establish the relations of distance and

angle which will allow the mapping of space. Such a cognitive mapping of space results in an

effective capacity of orientation, evident in the behavior of many animal species” (Kull 53). In

this section Kull makes a remark of particular significance: “The indexical semiotic threshold

zone is probably the one where the capacity for associative learning arises” (Kull 53). I think this

section would be even clearer if Kull were to explicate his idea of “associative learning.” It

would seem he makes out the spatial world as a set of associations between patterns of

significance. If this is indeed the case, then it would seem by this theory that a spatial world is

learned, or to say it better for our purposes, understood as such. However we do not yet see at

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this level the world understood to be such, for there is not yet a concept of being. Kull quotes

Bains: “At this stage, ‘animals communicate and are aware of their surroundings, but not of their

surroundings as surroundings, of their Umwelt as an Umwelt’” (Kull 53).

The most interesting shift takes place in passing from the indexical or animal Umwelt to

the symbolic or cultural Umwelt. “The appearance of language becomes possible due to the

appearance of signs that signify a relation itself” (Kull 53). Thus, “what we will see with the

appearance of language is the ‘creation’ of time” (Kull 53). This makes sense, for how can we

conceive of time without thinking of moments as being related sequentially? “Symbols, as the

relations built upon indexes, can move (indexical) maps, can reorder and rearrange them, [sic]

can put them into asymmetrical sequences” (Kull 54). We do not only perceive relations as such;

we also abstract them and apply them to new things freely. If we think of what would be possible

at the indexical level in terms of semiotic freedom, what is there to be manipulated is always

what is available in the present moment. No matter how ingenious an animal is, its ability to

create a world is limited, and even its memory shows up as present, “now,” but not “now” as

opposed to “then,” but simply as the context wherein things show up. At the symbolic level,

“now,” too, is a thing that shows up—it is seen as a state of things, a way in which things can be

related. This means that “the current state of things” can be compared to an imagined “future

state of things.” “Thus conscious purpose, with all its benefits and problems, becomes possible”

(Kull 54).

This framework provides as an even richer way to understand the picture provided by

Dunbar's hypothesis. A temporal world is needed in order to create the narrative structures that,

on Dunbar's hypothesis, accelerated our species’ development into cultural beings, into human

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beings. If we take all of this seriously, then it is not just that culture was developed by humans,

but that humanity developed as it developed its culture, so that the idea of “human” is not even

possible without culture. Every story has its crucial elements: the “I” vs the “other”, the x “and”

y, the “this followed by/preceded by that” (which requires “this” vs. “that”), and even the sense

of difference expressed in that “vs.” We are so accustomed to thinking of our world in these

terms that it seems bizarre to point them out. But, then, it was by thinking in these narrative

terms that we came to understand the world as we know it. Much of our lives is told and

simultaneously read. But then the unavoidable question finally rears up to face us: how much of

this world, and indeed, even what I have been talking about in this paper, is itself a story, a

fabrication? I think at least this much is plain: that this fabrication extends as far as Lebenswelt.

Implications

36

Things Stand Out

When I go to a public place and gaze around, there is much to be interpreted. Various

faces, objects, and activities around me present themselves, and I am constantly thinking as I go

along. There is nearly always a stream of language-laden thought that goes on concurrently with

my perceiving, and it is a multifaceted process as well—the various stimuli will start new chains

of thought, and sometimes their focus is enough to derail my thinking entirely from what had

been its focus before. Much of what we see we do not think about that much. But some things

stand out. When they stand out in perception, they stand out in thought. Perhaps I come across

someone who has a shirt that declares, in big letters: “Giraffe Fan.” I could continue walking, but

now, regardless of whether I like it or not, I have the words, “Giraffe Fan,” along perhaps, with

the face or some other feature of the person wearing the shirt, mixed in with my experience. I

will almost certainly be thinking that he might be a fan of the animal. I might wonder if

“Giraffe” is the name of a band I have not heard of. I might end up talking to whoever is wearing

the shirt, asking him about his fandom and maybe even pursuing the question whether “Giraffe”

refers here to an animal or something else—“So is 'Giraffe' just the animal or what?”

Such is one of the many ways that language affects our perceptions. Recall or imagine an

encounter with someone particularly soft-spoken, someone who has a very kindly demeanor and

who inquires about your comfort. And then think of an encounter with someone who is tense and

hasty, who is quick to criticize, and who lacks any hint of concern about your well-being. Body

language, the unspoken patterns of breath—these affect the impression created in each of these

circumstances just as do the phrases uttered. If you think of each of these apparently distinct and

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seemingly opposite personalities in the context of the full range of ways in which they could

present themselves, you may notice something. Each has been you at some point! Indeed, just as

the adjectives in the descriptions I have provided shape the idea you have of the person I’ve

described, so each of us, in our different moods, seems like an altogether different person.

This usage of the word “idea” comes from the modern period of Enlightenment and post-

Enlightenment philosophy. Ideas were thought of by these writers as occupying the realm of

“mind,” a realm supposedly distinguishable from that of the body. David Hume preferred to refer

to the contents of our sensory experience as constituting a world of impressions, as opposed to

ideas. A strong impression, he thought, could give rise to a strong idea. Ideas are what we

organize and relate by thinking (Hume 316-317). Today we have little use for such talk of a mind

distinct from (and contained somehow within) the body. But Hume's metaphorical talk about the

way in which impressions leave their imprints on the mind as if it were a block of wax seems apt.

People who wish to remember something or take it deeply to heart will often repeat a mantra.

This creates what seems like a vocal “impression,” which produces a more intense and longer-

lasting effect than thought alone.

However, the whole of what I have produced thus far in this paper has brought us to the

understanding that the world is not just impressed upon us, but is rather manufactured or created.

Out of sensory input we organize things into a coherent (meaningful) picture. To be sure, we

must not take the language of impression/idea too far, for one might ask, aren’t some thoughts

more salient than others, to the degree that they might constitute “impressions” of a sort? And

here we have something more apt then the antiquated talk of Hume’s empiricism: Rather than

impressions vs. ideas, let us instead think of the salience of certain experiences, and let this

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characteristic include thought. Salience is just the surging forth or standing out of intense

experience, the kind that echoes in the mind for a while thereafter. The thought that we repeat

again and again surges forth ever more, like a song played on repeat—and therein is the force of

a mantra. It seems fitting to think of leaving marks, but rather than tie ourselves up in language

that was used in the context of mind/body dualism, we use something that can generally apply to

meaningful experience.

To return to the “Giraffe Fan” example: if I had not seen that fellow's shirt, I would not

have started thinking about giraffes and everything else it led me to think about that might be

associated with it. He most likely put on the clothes he did with the intent (as we say) of making

some kind of impression. Indeed, this common way of speaking inherited from the

Enlightenment thinkers is what almost led us to use the term earlier. This is especially obvious

when someone wears something with words in a language on it. Words have a peculiar salience:

they're like knives cutting through conscious experience. This is something to keep in mind in

our interactions with each other, but also in connection with one's own mental life. Repeated

forms of thought become habitual, just as do repeated actions, and many of our thoughts take

place in terms of words. What kind of language do you use when you talk to yourself? Are you

harsh and demanding, or gentle and sweet? There is a power behind both conventions. The

patterns of our thought that are habitual can indeed ring with force. What's more, there is so

much out there to expose ourselves to, to further increase the availability of different ways of

making these marks. What is salient in your life—what surges forth?

Identity of Things

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As I gaze about my room, I see many objects that I can call by name. Ashtray, pen,

spoon, cup, lamp. One of the things this naming enables us to do is communicate to one another

when we wish to direct attention to various objects. We distinguish many more 'kinds' of objects

than any other species known. Furthermore, we can articulate various properties within objects,

as well as describe relations between these things. The way the world is understood is in a sense

the way the world of objects (Umwelt) is understood. It is shaped by the way language is brought

into contact with these things. At the most basic level, we can have the friend who asks, can you

hand me that book? My attention is brought to bear on a particular object, one with which I

might not have even been involved had it not been for this semiotic process. I can gaze upon a

picture of someone I have never seen, and ask the picture's owner who it is. I might learn that it

is in fact his brother and might even subsequently meet this fellow, confirming things the

picture's owner had said about the person in the picture. There is also the way in which our

words can bring things into focus. I could be looking at a photo of someone that I feel seems

quite familiar, but I really can't put my finger on it. I ask my friend, who explains that it is a

certain acquaintance I've spent time with on only a couple occasions. She is wearing her hair

differently in the picture from the way she was wearing it on those other occasions. Instantly I

realize who it is and I have a “snap to” recognition.

It would seem our semiotic apparatus allows a very complex system of identification by

which we recall the associations of things by bringing up the right meaningful relations with the

help of language. We say “This is...” as well as personally, identifying oneself in the sense of “I

am...”, and this is what I mean by “identity”: we see things as being the things they are said to

be. But just how far does this power extend? Frank Ebersole speculates about the relation

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between language and perception in his aptly named book, Language and Perception. He

mentions the example of a pattern in the clouds that one is able to see only when it is mentioned

by another: “It looks like a dog. There's its tail, see?” He also talks about the deeper problem of

whether someone who does not have words for two different hues of a color—say, blue—can, in

looking at two objects, see that one is cerulean the other azure. How can we know that people

perceive this difference, if there is no way for them to articulate it? Of course, one might say, we

teach them the missing color-vocabulary, and when they see the objects again, they can identify

the different shades of blue. But it would seem that even if they saw the same colors before, they

did not see that they were cerulean and azure. Ebersole thus brings in the important distinction

between what he calls “seeing” and “seeing that.” (Ebersole 92).

Here the expression “seeing that” refers to our having a way of articulating something we

have noticed. We also use the phrase in a sense that extends beyond visual perception—when we

speak, for example, of having learned something new—of now seeing that the facts or ideas

connect in this or that way. The ideas in our internal language, just as the linguistic objects,

present themselves as distinct forms in this experience, adding to the way in which we may relate

things already present. But the phrase “seeing that” bears with it the connotation of the truth of

what is being seen, as though there were some already present relation that had only to be

revealed by finding the right words for it. I think the phrase that more broadly applies to this

process of identification is one which we have been using: “seeing as.” The way our language

augments the world, by our words appearing as linguistic objects, allows us to make such

conceptual identifications; and indeed all identifications are conceptual. We tend to say that the

truth is that there are azure and cerulean, and Ebersole seems to be asking his question from this

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perspective: can people without the words “azure” and “cerulean” see that this difference exists?

This is a difficult and perhaps even impossible question to answer, but it may reside with us in

the background. What I am here exploring is the way in which we do identify things.

We have this power of creativity—(creating words, and thus further relations, a process

which has the effect of changing the Umwelt)—and this is most evident in the processes of

teaching and learning. When someone is given the language that relates to various other semiotic

systems, doors to vast realms are opened for them. This is obvious in many cases. A good

example is that of becoming able to understand the science of chemistry by learning the language

chemists use to describe the processes that happen in chemical reactions, thereby becoming able

to represent this in thought and writing. We have the sense that someone thus educated can “see

that” chemistry works this way. It would seem from a semiotic perspective that the more proper

description is that we see things as being related in these ways that we did not, without the

language of chemistry, have any way of conceptualizing.

In personal relations, as well, this is something people do not often take account of. So

often, when listening in a public place to some of the conversations taking place around me, I

hear people passing judgment after judgment on other people. Other people seem to be the most

popular topic of discussion among most people. They identify so-and-so as such-and-such, and

proceed flagrantly to say things that the subject of the conversation may or may not enjoy

hearing. These usually are quite trivial matters, but sometimes people have strongly expressed

convictions about each other, and about themselves. How often do you repeat an idea about

someone, having the sense you know “what kind of person” he or she is? What words do you

find yourself using when reflecting on yourself? When you encounter strangers? When you read

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the news? When we are with friends, ears and hearts are often more open. We have the power of

exerting great influence on one another. Taking care of the kinds of judgments we pass will lead

to relationships which are open to natural growth, and learning. By taking care, I mean always

remembering to ask the question, “why do I see things in this way? Do I really know things to be

identifiable in the way I have construed them?” Learning in the sense of becoming able “to see

that...” is always a process of becoming able to see something new, to see anew. But to “see that”

is to lock oneself into the way of seeing things that forms preconceptions, which will cloud

seeing clearly.

Liberation of Things

The way in which we define and identify (and hence objectify) things brings to light the

deepest level at which the semiotic activity we engage in creates a picture of the world.

Whenever we see something as being the thing we understand it to be, the implication is that it is

not something else. If something is tall, it is not short. The self, thought of as separate being, is

that self and no one else. Whenever we understand something to be good, that means that its

absence or opposite would be bad. Yet the things we give a certain label are tied together with

other different things which we find similar enough to identify as being such-and-such, and we

rule out as not deserving that label, yet other things we regard as dissimilar. For instance, how

could we even have the concept of tallness or shortness if we didn't have objects of different

heights to compare? Tallness is a category the boundaries of which depend on what objects are

being considered for comparison. This is why context is essential to meaning. Friedrich

Nietzsche, who was writing before the modern field of semiotics had even started its formal

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development develop, has a firm grasp of this dynamic and abstract nature of objects. He

provides a revealing description of this process of conceptualization in his essay “On Truth and

Lying in a Non-Moral Sense.” Consider his example of our concept of “honesty”:

We have no knowledge of an essential quality that may be called honesty, but we do know of several individualized and hence non-equivalent actions which we equate with each other by omitting what is unlike, and which we now designate as honest actions; finally we formulate them into a qualitas occulta with the name 'honesty'. (Nietzsche 767)

This “qualitas occulta” or “hidden quality” does not just characterize “honesty.” It is in fact the

character of every “quality” that it is “hidden” or unavailable to our perception. This includes

things’ being the things they are. (Indeed, even a thing’s being the thing it is, thanks to the

predicative aspect of our language, gets described as its identity—as if it were a quality). Using

the language of his predecessors, Nietzsche puts it in theoretical terms: “[Human beings] now

generalize all these impressions first, turning them into cooler, less colorful concepts in order to

harness the vehicle of their lives and actions to them” (Nietzsche 768). This is dependent on our

criteria of correctness: we say things really are this or that way, and thus when something is seen

as being truly the way it is being understood, we say that we “see that” it is the case. But even

this concept of truth, on which the supposed validity of all other concepts depends, is itself based

on this modeling process which equates a multiplicity of instances where statements have

seemed valid, so that “A way of designating things is invented which has the same validity and

force everywhere” (Nietzsche 766). Indeed, for all the practical purposes it serves, truth itself

was borne of tying together things that are different from one another by “abstracting”—

inventing, really—a quality that can be seen as common to them all.

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Nietzsche declares all these “criteria of correct perception” as non-existent (Nietzsche

770). In a sense, he is right, as all of these invented concepts are not to be found in direct

perception but only as abstracted from our manifold perceptions. “Truth,” “goodness,” and “evil”

are nowhere to be found but arise only in our talking about them. But this pierces deep into the

very core of our lives. There are many who think that there are definitive moral choices in certain

situations, and that there are things that are definitively true. While it may be that we see enough

similarities among the differences between things to know what we're talking about, their being

what they are is simply something that we say. If we take a semiotic perspective on life, it

becomes clear that we are the creators of these concepts. While some may feel shaken by such a

revelation, I can guarantee you that this does not strip these lofty concepts of all value. But it

does call for a shift in how we understand these values. For while to say that concepts are created

may seem to imply that they are meaningless, as we come to all of our concepts by the semiotic

process, this would imply that all of our concepts are meaningless. For indeed, the value of our

concepts of valuation is their meaning. What we consider to be good and evil is a part of our

Umwelt, and a change in that understanding leads to a change in the character of one's

understanding, and thus a change in action. Everything is meaningful in the context in which it

shows up, and for each concept, that context is a meaningful world—a world of meaning.

This is the highest degree of semiotic freedom we have known—a freedom

unprecedented (or at least as of yet not observed) in all the lower “levels” of semiotic and

semiosic activity. Not being anchored in a definitive understanding of concepts, but rather in a

semiotic understanding, we are given the role of listening: rather than asking, “why is this thing

good or bad?” we need to ask, “why do we understand this thing as good or bad? What does it

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mean to say that it's good or that it's bad?”. If someone claims that some statement “really refers

to the way things are,” we can ask: “why do we understand it in this way? What would it mean to

understand it another way?” This, of course, is not always the most prudent way to proceed, but

in many cases it can be invaluable. Our concepts, including the concept of “self,” do not

disappear entirely, but they do shift back into their places a products of our modeling process.

While they still have the force of meaning (which I would rather call power of meaning), they

lose their status—their power to make us think of them as having absolute reality (validity). Thus

we do not bend our lives to fit these concepts, but rather understand how these concepts fit into

our lives—and indeed, how we may bend them to achieve a better fit in each and every

particular situation. Rather than being buried beneath the architecture of concepts and signs, we

find ourselves on top—and this higher vantage point allows us to take a more complete view.

When we liberate things (by seeing them as being what they are thanks to the way they show up

and fit into our system of signs), we liberate ourselves.

Semioethics

I have used both the metaphor of listening to and that of viewing semiotic processes, and

both metaphors serve to provide the sense of examination or consideration of minute aspects.

This very examination is able to take place because of our superior degree of semiotic freedom.

Susan Petrelli and Augosto Ponzio see this as a powerful capacity for diagnosing various kinds

of situations. “[S]emiotics provides the key to a full understanding of why and in what sense

each human being is responsible for semiosis or life over the entire planet” (Ponzio and Petrelli

158). Now, more than ever, we are in an age in which we communicate on a global scale, and it

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is on this scale that Ponzio and Petrelli suggest we implement our semiotic capacity. Taking note

of the wide-acting effects of such models as Capitalism, the post-Industrial Revolution approach,

and the implementation of these designs on a global scale, they claim that

What characterizes our world in the phase of globalization is its destructive potential at a planetary level...If semiosis and therefore life is to continue, risks must be identified and communicated to others (especially the younger generations). We need a sense of global responsibility, just as global as the social system that is overwhelming us. (Ponzio & Petrelli 154)

In my paper, “Man and His Nature,” I propose communicating this sense of responsibility

through a holistic model that views every organism on the planet, including ourselves, as being

tied together in an integrated ecosystem. Here my primary focus is on our ability to change the

context in which we see things. We might think of the ecosystem suggestion as just one way of

applying this skill. This implementation of our semiotic capabilities requires carefully

considering the way things fit together, which starkly differs from the common practice of

thoughtlessly taking for granted an inherited model of the way things fit together. Sticking with

the “listening” metaphor for this reflective process, Ponzio and Petrelli characterize signs in this

way: “each wish, sentiment, value, interest, need, exigency, evil, or good, examined by

semioethics as a symptom, is embodied, expressed by words, the singular word, the embodied

word, that is, by voice. Semioethics carefully listens to voices” (Ponzio and Petrelli 152). Going

along with the metaphor involved in describing signs as voices, we might say that this “careful

listening” is one of the crucial components of a semiotic approach. A human is “[a]n animal

capable not only of of semiosis, but also of semiotics, that is, of using signs to reflect on signs,

therefore capable of being fully aware, of acting in full awareness” (Ponzio and Petrelli 157). It

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is my position that the heightened awareness Ponzio and Petrelli speak of is achieved most fully

by the “liberation of things” I discussed in the immediately preceding section. In this section we

focus on what we can do with this awareness.

By becoming aware of the significance of things that would otherwise serve as mere

stimuli to immediate action, we can consider the nature of this significance, and our

comportment regarding it.

As a semiotic animal the human being is endowed with the capacity to suspend action and deliberate, with a capacity for critical thinking and conscious awareness...the human being is invested biosemiosically and phylogenetically with a unique capacity for taking responsibility, for making choices and taking standpoints, for creative intervention on the course of semiosis in the biosphere. (Ponzio & Petrelli 158).

Taking into consideration the biosemiotic approach, this “capacity for taking responsibility, for

making choices and taking standpoints” is but a further refinement of our semiotic nature. Ponzio

and Petrelli characterize semioethics as a thinking that “develops our awareness of the extension

of the semiosic network in the direction of ethics” (Ponzio & Petrelli 161). This ethical domain is

the place of which, as far as we know, we humans are the only ones to demonstrate an

understanding (which makes sense as all ethical considerations are in the realm of abstractions).

Ponzio and Petrelli are speaking mainly to semioticians, and it is from this perspective that they

make their powerful statement: “from a semioethic perspective the question of responsibility

cannot be escaped at the most radical level (that of defining commitments and values)” (Ponzio

and Petrelli 161).

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This claim, however, pierces deep into the core of ethics. For even if one does not see

oneself as a semiotician, to reflect upon values and to consider responsibilities is to make the

semioethic turn. The fact is that we are capable of reflecting on these things, and to ignore this

capability (and simply go with inherited responsibilities and values) is to ignore a fundamental

part of who we are. I have discussed some of the ethical considerations that semiotics allows us

to take note of at both the level of individual interactions and on a global scale. If you want to be

a certain way, that involves investigating what it means to be that way. We implement our

semiotic capacity not just in our critique of a picture of the world conceived as a whole, but in

each and every situation where the significance of things comes into question. I have made it

clear that this question can arise in any situation, though there are obviously some in which this

questioning will be more practical than others.

In my paper, “How We Take Responsibility,” I argue that having an idea of what would

be a good way for things to be implies responsibility in the mundane sense regarding one’s

choice to work towards that goal or not to do so. The mundane sense of responsibility is the

sense in which one is accountable for all the actions one was involved with (“Responsibility”,

Berger 6). Whether one takes responsibility or not, one is accountable. This means that if one is

aware of something taking place, even the choice of turning away and ignoring it is an action for

which one is responsible. This applies to anyone who has read this thesis: if one understands that

one can think critically about the significance of things, then not doing so is ignoring a

possibility one is confronted with. Ponzio and Petrelli seem to be thinking in terms of what I call,

in the sense of being specified the special sense of responsibility. The special responsibilities are

those which we take on as we put on a banner for a cause (“Responsibility”, Berger 6). To take

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the role of semiotician is a special kind of responsibility that involves careful listening. This

extra responsibility is additional to the already present responsibility for taking advantage or not

taking advantage of our semiotic capabilities.

If one decides to be a good person, that is a special responsibility. If one decides that the

earth should be kept healthy and our practices should be sustainable, that is a special

responsibility. However one goes about this, the fact remains that we could really carefully

consider the significance of everything involved. As I have construed things, for anyone who

considers him or herself a good person or who wants to evaluate his or her responsibilities, part

of living up to these goals is tapping into each of our semiotic capabilities. To fail to do so is to

shirk a responsibility—to ignore a part of the task at hand. And even if one does not care about

such things, the fact remains that the semiotic aspect of one's being remains neglected, so long as

one is aware of it—a group which now includes you who have read this up to this point! Thus

such a person is responsible for having or not having taken the semiotic turn, for having or not

having utilized many tools that this capacity affords us, some of the implementation of which I

have articulated in earlier sections of this essay.

Conclusions

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And so we have come full circle. In the beginning of this paper, I attempted to show in

some form the merit or value in undergoing a metasemiotic effort such as this. This was not a

mere embellishment, but rather an attempt to answer the question, “why understand ourselves

semiotically?” In order to really properly answer this question, we had to first deal with the more

primary question, “how can we understand ourselves semiotically?” Thus, as had been the case

in my own journey of research, the value of this kind of thinking has really only become fully

apparent to us through engaging in it and becoming immersed in the critical theory which

explains it. Thus we went on this adventure of describing semiotic thought through semiotic

thought, and we reached the crucial point of the theory that brings out an essential sense of

responsibility. We find in ourselves this amazing semiotic power, a power that coincides with

our language. In “Man and His Nature,” I ended by dwelling on the words commonly attributed

to Voltaire, “‘With great power comes great responsibility’” (“Nature”, Berger 17). These words

have a poignant way of resonating with the semioethical aspects of our life. However, the ethical

frame of thinking is just one (albeit one important) frame of mind (semiotic turn) that we can

take in our thinking, our lives, and our choices. To end this I will put forward these words which

I think express the sense of this paper more completely: with great power come great

possibilities.

Works Cited

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Austin, J. L. How to Do Things with Words. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1962. Print.

Berger, David. “How We Take Responsibility.” 2014. Electronic.

Berger, David. “Man and His Nature.” 2014. Electronic.

Cobley, Paul. The Routledge Companion to Semiotics. Ed. Paul Cobley. New York: Routledge, 2010. Print.

Dunbar, Robin. “What Makes Us Human." Oxford University. Science Oxford, Pulse-Project. 22 October 2008. Lecture.

Ebersole, Frank B. Language and Perception: Essays in the Philosophy of Language. “Does Language Shape Perception?.” Washington D.C.: University Press of America, Inc., 1979. 79-112. Print.

Hoffmeyer, Jesper. “Semiotics of Nature.” The Routledge Companion to Semiotics. Ed. Paul Cobley. New York: Routledge, 2010. 29-42. Print.

Hume, David. “An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding.” The Empiricists. New York: Anchor Books, 1974. 307-430. Print.

Kull Kalevi. “Umwelt and Modeling.” The Routledge Companion to Semiotics. Ed. Paul Cobley. New York: Routledge, 2010. 43-56. Print.

Nietzsche, Friedrich. “On Truth and Lying in a Non-Moral Sense.” The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Ed. Vincent B. Leitch. New York: W. W. Norton and Company, Inc., 2010. 764-773. Print.

Ryle, Gilbert. The Concept of Mind. United Kingdom: Gilbert Ryle, 1949. Print.

Saussure, Ferdinand de. “Course in General Linguistics.” The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Ed. Vincent B. Leitch. New York: W. W. Norton and Company, Inc., 2010. 850-863. Print.

Petrelli, Susan, and Augosto Ponzio. “Semioethics.” The Routledge Companion to Semiotics. Ed. Paul Cobley. New York: Routledge, 2010. 150-162. Print.