We all speak different languages. What I speak, and what language this blog is written in, is generally called 'English' because I speak the language called 'Engl' - ish. Most of the time, what we (Engl-ish speakers) mean is pretty similar, and so communication happens. But sometimes we can say the same words yet mean completely different things by it. Let's take an example.
If I think of the word 'potato', I immediately think of a brown, lumpy food. As I start to think further, I realise that it is a root vegetable (it was the root of a plant, and it fits into my category of it being a vegetable). The word 'blight' also comes into my head, because of the discussions I've had over the past few weeks with people who farm potatoes (and blight has been a problem for them). This also makes me think of tomatoes, because they are in the same 'family' and also suffer from potato blight (an interesting, memorable and surprising fact as far as I was concerned).
If I ask you to think of the word 'potato', then undoubtedly you'll think different thoughts. You'll also probably start off by thinking about the brown lumpy thing. But then maybe you'll remember that you have just run out of potatoes and need to go buy some (and you'll also remember you need to buy a light bulb, for example). And then your thoughts may drift to the time someone threw a potato at you, and your resentment towards them. Michael (or whoever it was, if it even happened) always was an asshole.
So the word potato started off by giving us very similar thoughts, but quite quickly (in this example) our thoughts diverged and the word had many different and varied connotations for us.
If I write the word 'Helvirid', you probably won't recognise it. As it is, it bears very little meaning for you. If I now tell you that helvirid refers to the kind of sunset you sometimes see where the sky goes through shades of purple, red, yellow, blue and even includes tinges of green (specifically), then that word will take on a little more meaning for you. Indeed, next time you see that special kind of sunset you'll probably think of this word (or try to remember what it was). You see, words in themselves have no (or very little) meaning. It is only when they are given a context and related to other words, feelings or experiences that it can begin to make sense.
(Helvirid is actually a completely new word that I have just invented and decided would be a good addition to Stuese – my own language. (Sunsets need more words to describe their beauty anyway.) It is not found in Engl(ish), yet you may accept it into your own language if you think it is good enough – that is still an open question. It derives from Helios (Greek, meaing the sun) and viridis (Latin, from which we get 'verdant', green). But the point would still apply if I used the word 'Hesperian', which does indeed appear in the Engl-ish dictionary. I'm guessing that before reading this you had not encountered the word (no offence if you had), and so that word was previously not a part of your language (even though it was in English).
Here's an example from my own life. In 2003, when a person would say 'guitarist', most Engl-ish speakers would think of musicians who played the guitar. They may even have some positive feelings towards the word, as they liked guitar music, knew a guitarist, were a guitarist, or wanted to be. For me, however, at that time in my life, the word 'guitarist' had entirely negative connotations. A few times, it even caused me to shudder with disgust. For that word had two meanings to me: a) The self-promoting, proud singer at the front of my church (and many churches) was a guitarist, and that person (and many like him) was just there to gain glory for themselves, which seemed to me to be completely contrary to Christianity, and therefore should not be in church; and b) It referred to the idiots at Moody Bible Institute who would go and play the guitar in the public plaza/square, because (as they said) they just loved to praise God – those super-spiritual bastards were just there to win over the girls, and for some fucked up reason, a huge number of girls fell for them (and being single, that was just irritating – can't the girls see they're assholes?). So here we have a case where a fairly 'normal' and 'neutral' word had massively different connotations between the common Engl-ish speaker, and me, the speaker of Stuese.
Words with multiple, complex and deep meanings to them (like love, friendship, happiness, sex, truth, reality, God, etc.) will always be a little bit misunderstood, because we all bring significantly different connotations and experiences to those words. So when talking about those areas, they will always involve complex conversations and probably a frequent amount of misunderstanding. However, as you talk with a person more and get used to their particular language and connotations, and as you come to understand them more, your language will become closer to theirs, and so the frequency and depth of misunderstandings will decrease.
When it comes to talking philosophically (or linguistically, theologically, etc.), similar problems arise. In my Moody degree (if you can call it that), I memorised and regurgitated facts – the information that I learnt changed me very little. But at
ICS, I wanted to be changed, and it was a very healthy environment that promoted that kind of life change. But the life change occurred largely through linguistic changes. I spent 2.5 years learning different meanings and different connotations to words, and then I used those words myself. They became a part of me. I didn't forget (most of) the other connotations I knew previously (and so I can still speak Engl-ish), but Stuese changed a great deal because so many words gained new connotations, and those new connotations have changed my life. Indeed, a great many philosophical books written recently focus on the meanings of just one or two words (e.g. Martin Buber’s
Ich und Du (
I and Thou/I and You (depending on translation), Erich Fromm’s
To Have or To Be, Sigmund Freud’s
Das Ich Und Das Es (meaning
The I and The It, although it is commonly translated
The Ego and The Id, etc.).
But is there a point to changing out language? I think so. I have learnt these other connotations, and I am now convinced I am a better person for it. I am convinced that many of the previous (more conventional) ways of speaking that I used were doing damage, or were not very healthy.
We can see that the society around us is messed up and pretty sick. I am convinced that part of the sickness is in the language used, and part of the cure is to change our language. I want to spread philosoph-ish, because I think it will lead to healthier lives, both for individuals, and for society. I think that many connotations in philosoph-ish are pretty good remedies for society, if only people would learn to change their language.
PS. This entire blog post was written in Stuese. I hope that you have the necessary tools to translate it into something you can understand, but if you don't, post a comment, and I'll try to explain it again. Unfortunately I will always be limited to writing in Stuese, but I'll do my best.
Those two parts of the fractal coalesce, with tinges and influences of other's (spirals), and as the fractals goes (zooms in), you seem a similar pattern just down the line of spirals. That's us. Who we interactive with, what part of the fractal they are on, gives a huge amount of influence into us. And our job is to create ourselves in a way that is beautiful, in a dance with those around us. To survive, don't just physically be a fractal (as the fern and the shell), but be a fractal in time, mutating enough in every generation to be so significantly self-different (yet self-similar), that you can learn and adapt to survive. That's what every male-female species has learnt, including plants, animals, birds, etc. And at this scale of fractal, everything is more varied, diversity flourishes. But so do diseases, like war - as the ability to kill has increased in influence of the spirals, it has so increased in the influence and scope of its clutches.
We must find a cure for that affliction. Somehow, the healthy spirals must find a way to love, to nurture, to cure this disease that afflicts us. It is our ability to exercise complete freedom in each moment, to create the spiral as we live (not think) we should. That freedom, based on previous experiences and influences, to create something new.
