Defining a word is notoriously difficult. Try to explain the difference between hatred and enmity, or define chair in such a way that includes bean bag chairs but excludes stools.
This is an annoyance for lexicographers and a real headache for philosophers and psychologists. Several centuries ago, British philosophers like Hobbes worked out what seemed like a very reasonable theory that explained human knowledge and how we acquire it. However, this system is based on the idea that all words can be defined in terms of other words, except for a few basic words (like blue) which are defined in terms of sensations.
This difficulty led at least one well-known philosopher, Jerry Fodor, to declare that words cannot be defined in terms of other words because word meaning does not decompose into parts the way a motorcycle can be disassembled and reassembled. You can’t define chair as an artifact with legs and a back created for sitting in because chair is not a sum of its parts. The problem with this theory is that it makes learning impossible. Fodor readily acknowledges that if he is correct, babies must be born with the concept airplane and video tape, and in fact all babies who have ever been born were born with every concept that ever has or ever will exist.
This seems unlikely, but Fodor is taken seriously partly because his arguments against definitions have been pretty convincing.
Ray Jackendoff, a linguist at Tufts University, argued in his recent Foundations of Knowledge, that words do in fact have definitions. However, those definitions themselves are not made up of words composed into sentences.
Observing (correctly) that one usually cannot find airtight definitions that work all of the time, Fodor concludes that word meanings cannot be decomposed. However, his notion of definition is the standard dictionary sort: a phrase that elucidates a word meaning. So what he has actually shown is that word meanings cannot be built by combining other word meanings, using the principles that also combine words into phrases. (p. 335)
That is, there are ways that words can be combined in sentences to achieve meaning that is greater than the sum of the meanings of the words (compare dog bites man to man bites dog). This is called phrasal semantics. Although linguists still haven’t worked out all the rules of phrasal semantics, we know that there are rules, and that these allow for certain combinations and not others.
Jackendoff has proposed that a very different system (lexical semantics) using different rules is employed when we learn the meanings of new words by combining little bits of meaning (that themselves may not map directly on to any words).
I think that this is a very attractive theory, in that it explains why definitions have been so hard to formulate: we were using phrasal semantics, which is just not equipped for the task. However, he hasn’t yet proven that words do have definitions in terms of lexical semantics. He has the sketch of a theory, but it’s not yet complete.
a chair is any item that we refer to as a chair – this will vary by local population, but a reasonably continuous map would exist over the human terrain
I’ve been interested in the inherent meanings of words for a few months now and encountered this problem in my thoughts.
The ‘chair’ paradox I arrived at was this…
How does one have coherent thought without language? And how does one have language without coherent thought?
Another related realization was that a sentence is very much like a mathematical equation. The more words you use the less you say. That is, the more precise in subject you are. Fewer words are more general and therefore encompass more meaning.
I suppose we’re all misusing the word “chair” in lieu of the word “seat”…a seat is something which was meant to be sat on…whereas in addition to that, a chair is recognized as something that is made up of legs and a back. Respectively, a stool is a seat as well as it is defined as something which has legs but no backing.
We are talking about verbal Behavior, not about something inherent in an arrangement of letters or sounds. Skinner pointed out that the ‘meaning of a word’ really refers to the situational context – when, where, under what circumstances – it is or isn’t Used. These behaviors are learned and trained over a period of time by a particular verbal community, in more or less mutual agreement. Like any other behavior there are situations where it is highly predictable that it (the behavior or word) will (or won’t) occur, and others where it is more iffy and probabilistic. Some iffy examples for ‘chair’ might be stool, sofa, bench, trapese, swing, sling, hospital bed; or among other things one can sit on, ledge, lap, hands, face, fence, side lines.
Generalization & discrimination overlap as in other stimulus contexts (is this wavelength (which isn’t a ‘word’) REALLY ‘blue’ or ‘green’?, this pH ‘sour’?). Asking if a stool is a chair is like asking if gray is Really white, or black. Or put otherwise, if black (chair) includes gray (stool).
Heisenberg would smile.
Ambiguity is acceptable, being unavoidable.
Although I have better things to do, because I’m reading this on a Friday I am trying to avoid them, so I’ve decided to be contrary and nit-picky just for the sake of the mental exercise.
Nit Pick: The challenge regarding the definition of the word chair and its relation to bean bag chairs and stools is faulty because of the word “chair.â€
Definitions:
Stool – at least in the intentions of the author, (I doubt he meant bowel movements,) is a seat for an individual that has neither back or arms. Stools can be on a pedestal or on legs, they can be high or low. You can stand or kneel on them, sit on them or prop your feet up on them. A “Bar Stool†with arms and a back is named incorrectly. It is not a stool.
Bean Bag Chair – Well, these are just silly in light of what a chair really is.
Chair – Comes from the Latin word Cathedra, which was the location of a throne of a bishop of a diocese. Originally all very large and impressive church buildings weren’t known as cathedrals, only the principal church of a diocese, the one containing the throne of the bishop was a cathedra.
There is a perception that authority and power come with a pretty cool place to sit. Kings and queens, (and Bishops) come and go, but the throne will sit in the same place for many generations, and the idea of someone inheriting a throne, or usurping a throne implies that they now have the power and authority that comes with the big shiny chair. This is why you get your head cut off if they find you relaxing in the kings favorite place to rest his behind. Technically it doesn’t mean anything if you’re sitting on the throne, but what it implies is something else.
A “chair†is the literal or figurative location from which the authority within a given social structure is exercised… which is why calling a Bean Bag Chair a Chair is silly. We see this all the time too. If you buy a dining room set, the two seats that go at the heads of the table will likely be slightly larger. If you walk into a room where a committee meets, the only chair in there is the one the head of the committee sits in… the rest are just seats.
Of course, modern usage of the word “chair†has created a collective agreement that all of the seats around the table are chairs now. Folding chairs, lawn chairs, reclining chairs and directors chairs are all readily recognizable and each bring a visual notion to mind. And this is what the rest of the article is about. How can words be defined using other words if the collective understanding of what the word, or the words defining it aren’t static? Time, knowledge, perspective and education will constantly change how we interpret what we experience.
The problem has more to do with the way we process and translate words into information that our brains can work with. We don’t think in terms of written language. If I say the word “mouse†you won’t create a mental image of letters placed in a specific order in your mind. You will probably have a mental image of a small furry rodent running across a floor or of Mickey Mouse, or more likely a small hand held tool used as an input device for your computer. Our experiences will change the exact mental picture we see, but most of us will come up with something similar enough in nature that we will have some common ground.
The reason why we are able to have a written and verbal language is not because of any sort of ingrained understanding or even specific knowledge. It is because we all have very similar sensory capabilities, and although we don’t always interpret things the same, or create each thing we see in exactitude, we do have sufficient numbers of commonality to reference which allow others to interpret what we say into something they can understand.
Basically I wrote this whole thing so I would have a reason to use that topic.
This is one of those arguments that exists solely so stoned undergrads can sit around and go “whoa, man…deep!”
It’s basically mental masturbation, because the way they have defined the argument automatically leads into philosophical territories that are rich in stupidity and completely fail to map to reality, thus also failing to yield any conclusions of intrinsic worth whatsoever.
To put it another way- you can always create a philosophical conundrum if you frame the issue in a loose enough way, but it doesn’t mean you’ve discovered some new paradigm of thought- it just means you managed to completely miss the point, and you’re apparently not capable of accurate analysis.
they’re taking it too far.
“define chair in such a way that includes bean bag chairs but excludes stools.”
look at that first one there “bean bag chair” is a type of chair
same with stool
a chair is place you put your ass when you sit down, they all serve the same purpose just different forms. not a big deal here.
Language is not about definitions or symantics. It is about communication and getting your point across.
Beren
By asking me to define a chair to include beanbag chairs but not stools, you assume that I know the difference between beanbag chairs and stools. I cannot define ‘chair’ in such a way without knowledge of what a beanbag or stool are. Since beanbags and stools have different meanings for me, a precise definition is unimportant. If I understand what you’re asking me, then there are preconceived notions of what a stool, beanbag, or chair already is.
Furthermore, defining a chair to exclude stools could be similar to defining mammals to exclude cats. How do you define silverware to include Krazy Straws, but exlude salad forks?
If you know what Krazy Straws and salad forks are, no further definition is required.
Beren
Eh, words pertaining to objects are defined by their function. Further specification is simply arbitrary rules put in place by the mind to keep some sense of logical order.
this is (most likely) because of w00t being word for the year last year..
Old hat – ceci n’est pas un pipe.
As is quoted by many in my communications field “words have no meaning – people have meaning.” No wonder it’s so hard to create definitions.
Enmity is an active state of opposition. It subsumes patterns of visible action.
Hatred is an emotion of intense dislike. It subsumes feelings, internal states of consciousness.
Different evolutionary paths create different words for objects that appear to have a similar function. And so, don’t you think it is more valuable to follow the pathway of the arisal of a word to its source than to twist all the meanings and parimutations into a cable to pass through to one definitive meaning?
Stool could very well have evolved from a three legged milking chair that was different from a higher kitchen chair and so was given another name to prevent confusion. When stool became taller or wider or was given a back it did not change but evolved from a root meaning attacted to an original object description.
And so a stool is not a chair and a sofa is not a chair in its evolutionary or its root meaning and those knowledgeable in furniture are not confused.
The confusion arises when you want to extract deep understanding of the nature of meaning and words based upon a tempest in a teapot riddle that can be contadicted at every turn.
Understanding meaning comes from the application of valid pricipals that are tested and applied. Such as root meanings of important word choices so that the desired object can be understood.
That is how we do it in Buddhism.
Maybe if these modern “philosophers” actually read and understood Aristotle’s six treatises on epistemology, they’d be less confused about the distinction between concepts and words, and they’d grasp the nature and purpose of definitions.
Hint: a definition is not the meaning of a word. A word is not a concept. Concepts are neither just out-there nor just in-here.
A chair is not the sum of it’s parts.
A back, a seat, a leg…are also not a chair.
A chair is something physical which serves a function.
Sitting.
It is mapped to sitting. Sitting more comfortably than sitting on what many would call a stool. It has an…innate meaning to us? Or possibly leanred -there is their debate, not mine.
Chair = sitting in something that we feel should be called a chair.
Gottleib Frege was a mathemetician working at a time when there was no rigorous definition of a number, which led him to conduct some groundbreaking work in linguistics. In his paper “On Sense and Referent” he proposed that words should be understood as having two sorts of meaning, similar (but not exactly the same as) connotation and denotation. His work had a profound impact on the work of Bertrand Russell.
Not long after, a school of philosophy emerged called logical positivism, which held (among other things) that the work of philosophy was to clarify terms of discourse for other disciplines. A.J. Ayer, in his (excellent but flawed) book “Language, Truth, and Logic” proposed a positivist program which asserted that metaphysical statements are nonsensical, and which admitted tautologies as the only sort of valid linguistic truths.
Around the same time as Ayer, Kurt Godel was working out his incompleteness theorem, which basically states that a formal system cannot be both self-consistent and able to express all truths about itself.
The ancient Greek philosopher Zeno proposed a Kafkaesque refutation of material existence: in order to go from point A to point B, one must first go half way; and in order to go half way, one must first travel half of that distance, and half the half distance, so on to infinity. So it’s never really possible to go more than half way to any place (there’s a more rigorous formulation of the problem involving a race between a Achilles and a tortoise). Zeno concluded that motion was impossible and the physical world self-contradictory. Because, however, he perceived things to exist, he decided his various perceptions of different things were acturally perceptions of a single cosmic substance; that is, we see different things, but really there is only one thing that just looks like different things.
In Plato’s Parmenides, Zeno presents multiple arguments to a young Socrates in support of the position that “all is one,” to which Socrates humorously replies: “So are you saying that there are fewer things in the universe than arguments you’ve just offered to demonstrate your point?”
Between these thinkers, we can see that words are limited and sometimes paradoxical, but that they nevertheless exhibit regularities in their irregularity which, if properly understood, can lead to greater understanding.
chair is a function – the fact that items are manufactured to serve as a chair does not diminish that. A rock can serve as a chair – so a chair is a result of a defined need- a ledge or flattish surface that is percieved as a good candidate for that function. How nice that whole industries arise to serve needs- of course.
Without knowing what a chair is, can you know what a stool is? Does it stop being a stool and start being a chair when you have no prior knowledge of either?
I argue that unless you have a preconcieved notion of “chair”, you cannot percieve the difference between “chair” and “stool”. The word itself is irrelevant, so if you know of neither chair nor stool, and encounter a stool, it’s a chair. If you do have knowledge of a chair, then it’s obviously a different kind of chair, for a slightly more specific but very similar purpose. It’s impossible to know what a stool is without comparing it to a chair, so it’s impossible that one would know about stools but not about chairs. Ergo, Stool = Chair, but Chair != Stool.
Perhaps there’s a more elegant way of putting it than that, but if such an eloquent form exists, I do not know of it.