Q: Are truths simply objective reasons whose truth-values may or may not be verifiable?
A:
This question seems to possess a native paradox, but that simply arises from a logical error in the semantics: we can’t address unverifiable statements as “truths”. Instead, they are logically contingent statements.
Even so: As Wittgenstein says in the preface of his Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, “In order to draw a limit of thinking, we should have to think both sides of this limit.” Similarly, in order to establish the objectivity of a statement, its subjectivity must be conclusively denied as well as its independence of subjective considerations verified.
The attainment of these conditions can be explored through Sir Ayer’s verification principle, the tenets of which were established in his 1926 opus, Language, Truth and Logic. However, it must be noted that Ayer denied, reasonably, that unempirical hypotheses may be formed on the basis of empirical engagements with reality. By extension, there exists an inherent denial of any transcendent reality, which in turn eliminates the presence of any objective truths.
At the same time, however, there exist objective literal truths, which are closer to being tautologies than truths themselves simply because they are a repetition of meaning whose propositional variables are actually fixed and whose truth-value is also fixed.
During an argument, negation and affirmation are used to establish the value of a propositional formula. The formula could be any statement whose propositional variables can assume different values. For instance, the statement S has an unverified propositional value.
S: Smoking is disagreeable; drinking is agreeable.
To some, S will make sense while, to some others, S won’t make any sense at all. In order to establish the truth-value of S, we explore the existence of a logical system that is consistent with the value of S being both true and false. This is unlikely because it contradicts our logical framework itself. Then, the next step is to understand the structure of a logical system in which S is either true or false and such that the value of one propositional variable impacts the value of the second propositional variable directly.
In other words, we make S a formula with two variables, X and Y, and find out how the values of X and Y are consistent/inconsistent with each other while they exist in the framework of the same set of logical principles.
S: X • Y
If we now hypothesize that X cannot retain its value while Y’s value is held fixed, then we pursue the negation of this hypothesis in order to establish that S is true. If we affirm the hypothesis, then we will prove that S is false. In the course of either of these arguments, we repeatedly hypothesize and evaluate the truth-value of each, and proceed until we have with a hypothesis that corroborates or denies the parent hypothesis and so renders the statement as either true or false.
However, if a rhetorical tautology cannot be assumed to constitute a reason (because it is a repetition of meaning), and if Wittgenstein’s proposition that tautologies are statements deducible logically and therefore meaningless is true, then the tenets of propositional logic are neither tautologies nor analytic truths.
Moreover, no literal significance can be assigned to logically valid statements according to Sir Ayer! In this context, the existence of any literal significance of logically valid statements depends not on their analytic proposition but their synthetic proposition – as affirmed by Sir Ayer. (Here, according to George Berkeley: “esse est percipi”!)
Showing posts with label semantics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label semantics. Show all posts
Sunday, 29 July 2012
Thursday, 26 May 2011
Amor dictis
People are afraid to use words.
What are they afraid of?
That they will awaken some evil?
That in the moment of putting down one word after another, something hidden behind a mental door will peek out?
Yes.
But that is why I like to write.
I want to know what is behind that door.
I want to meet it.
I want to befriend it.
If it seems good enough, I will want to become it.
I write to know myself.
The bigger words are not just fancy contrivances.
No.
They are each a separate kind of meaning.
I could say I'm "happy".
I could say I'm "gay".
I could say I'm "joyous".
I pick "joyous".
It sounds more mature.
Beyond the simple mapping of sound to meaning, there is the emotion of the sound itself.
The words you know are "sound" + "meaning".
The words I know are "sound" + "meaning" + "sensation".
Remove the "meaning" for once.
Listen to words as "sound" + "sensation".
Haven't you ever sat and listened to the calls of a nightingale?
I have.
In the forests of Yercaud in south India.
That was when I wondered.
That was when I first took away the "meaning" and discovered music.
Have you ever said "vendetta" and thought it sounded like wood being chopped by knives?
Have you ever said "fabulous" and thought of the colour green?
Have you ever said "anathematic" instead of "despicable" and thought how antihero-like it sounds?
Have you ever wondered what the timbre of a word is?
Words are both written and spoken.
Have you ever wondered how novels are successes?
They are successes because the reader is able to read what the writer is able to write.
And vice versa.
Don't be afraid to use words.
That which we have a finite supply of is wasted when used.
That which we have an infinite supply of is wasted when unused.
What are they afraid of?
That they will awaken some evil?
That in the moment of putting down one word after another, something hidden behind a mental door will peek out?
Yes.
But that is why I like to write.
I want to know what is behind that door.
I want to meet it.
I want to befriend it.
If it seems good enough, I will want to become it.
I write to know myself.
The bigger words are not just fancy contrivances.
No.
They are each a separate kind of meaning.
I could say I'm "happy".
I could say I'm "gay".
I could say I'm "joyous".
I pick "joyous".
It sounds more mature.
Beyond the simple mapping of sound to meaning, there is the emotion of the sound itself.
The words you know are "sound" + "meaning".
The words I know are "sound" + "meaning" + "sensation".
Remove the "meaning" for once.
Listen to words as "sound" + "sensation".
Haven't you ever sat and listened to the calls of a nightingale?
I have.
In the forests of Yercaud in south India.
That was when I wondered.
That was when I first took away the "meaning" and discovered music.
Have you ever said "vendetta" and thought it sounded like wood being chopped by knives?
Have you ever said "fabulous" and thought of the colour green?
Have you ever said "anathematic" instead of "despicable" and thought how antihero-like it sounds?
Have you ever wondered what the timbre of a word is?
Words are both written and spoken.
Have you ever wondered how novels are successes?
They are successes because the reader is able to read what the writer is able to write.
And vice versa.
Don't be afraid to use words.
That which we have a finite supply of is wasted when used.
That which we have an infinite supply of is wasted when unused.
Amor dictis
People are afraid to use words.
What are they afraid of?
That they will awaken some evil?
That in the moment of putting down one word after another, something hidden behind a mental door will peek out?
Yes.
But that is why I like to write.
I want to know what is behind that door.
I want to meet it.
I want to befriend it.
If it seems good enough, I will want to become it.
I write to know myself.
The bigger words are not just fancy contrivances.
No.
They are each a separate kind of meaning.
I could say I'm "happy".
I could say I'm "gay".
I could say I'm "joyous".
I pick "joyous".
It sounds more mature.
Beyond the simple mapping of sound to meaning, there is the emotion of the sound itself.
The words you know are "sound" + "meaning".
The words I know are "sound" + "meaning" + "sensation".
Remove the "meaning" for once.
Listen to words as "sound" + "sensation".
Haven't you ever sat and listened to the calls of a nightingale?
I have.
In the forests of Yercaud in south India.
That was when I wondered.
That was when I first took away the "meaning" and discovered music.
Have you ever said "vendetta" and thought it sounded like wood being chopped by knives?
Have you ever said "fabulous" and thought of the colour green?
Have you ever said "anathematic" instead of "despicable" and thought how antihero-like it sounds?
Have you ever wondered what the timbre of a word is?
Words are both written and spoken.
Have you ever wondered how novels are successes?
They are successes because the reader is able to read what the writer is able to write.
And vice versa.
Don't be afraid to use words.
That which we have a finite supply of is wasted when used.
That which we have an infinite supply of is wasted when unused.
What are they afraid of?
That they will awaken some evil?
That in the moment of putting down one word after another, something hidden behind a mental door will peek out?
Yes.
But that is why I like to write.
I want to know what is behind that door.
I want to meet it.
I want to befriend it.
If it seems good enough, I will want to become it.
I write to know myself.
The bigger words are not just fancy contrivances.
No.
They are each a separate kind of meaning.
I could say I'm "happy".
I could say I'm "gay".
I could say I'm "joyous".
I pick "joyous".
It sounds more mature.
Beyond the simple mapping of sound to meaning, there is the emotion of the sound itself.
The words you know are "sound" + "meaning".
The words I know are "sound" + "meaning" + "sensation".
Remove the "meaning" for once.
Listen to words as "sound" + "sensation".
Haven't you ever sat and listened to the calls of a nightingale?
I have.
In the forests of Yercaud in south India.
That was when I wondered.
That was when I first took away the "meaning" and discovered music.
Have you ever said "vendetta" and thought it sounded like wood being chopped by knives?
Have you ever said "fabulous" and thought of the colour green?
Have you ever said "anathematic" instead of "despicable" and thought how antihero-like it sounds?
Have you ever wondered what the timbre of a word is?
Words are both written and spoken.
Have you ever wondered how novels are successes?
They are successes because the reader is able to read what the writer is able to write.
And vice versa.
Don't be afraid to use words.
That which we have a finite supply of is wasted when used.
That which we have an infinite supply of is wasted when unused.
Thursday, 19 May 2011
Language, truth and knowledge
It would prove futile to address every incidence of curiosity by seeking out the requisite "knowledge" that constitutes the "knowable" volume of the subject through an isolationist perspective; it is also obviously futile to address the content in its entirety lest the curiosity—essentially the context within which any epistemological exegesis becomes meaningful—stands overwhelmed. If I were to associate any semantic weight with the idea of justice, I would ask: where does the knowledge, "the truth", of law arise from, what is the need that, in the eyes of those who partake of its provisions, it assesses, and what is the modality within which it finds realization? Could there exist an epistemological variable the evaluation of which represents a (quantitative or qualitative) difference between the cognitive value of a statement of truth and that of a statement of law, thereby, say, establishing the origin of the truth of law as being independent of the same social urges that are the domain (of applicability) of the sanctions it backs?
Language, truth and knowledge
It would prove futile to address every incidence of curiosity by seeking out the requisite "knowledge" that constitutes the "knowable" volume of the subject through an isolationist perspective; it is also obviously futile to address the content in its entirety lest the curiosity—essentially the context within which any epistemological exegesis becomes meaningful—stands overwhelmed. If I were to associate any semantic weight with the idea of justice, I would ask: where does the knowledge, "the truth", of law arise from, what is the need that, in the eyes of those who partake of its provisions, it assesses, and what is the modality within which it finds realization? Could there exist an epistemological variable the evaluation of which represents a (quantitative or qualitative) difference between the cognitive value of a statement of truth and that of a statement of law, thereby, say, establishing the origin of the truth of law as being independent of the same social urges that are the domain (of applicability) of the sanctions it backs?
Tuesday, 18 January 2011
Why A Language Resembles Physics So Much
Here's why a language is like physics. It's common knowledge that both of them help us understand the world: physics is a study of the physical word, a methodological inspection of every phenomenon we encounter, every experience we are affected by; language is tool of conveyance, and the passenger borne is meaning, and so by speaking in a language, we are only trapping the meaning of out thoughts in words and setting them afloat in a sea of communication. However, the world of physics is split into two distinct factions: the wave theorists' and the particle theorists' factions. How does this bode for language?
[caption id="" align="alignright" width="300" caption="Particle detection in a cloud chamber"]
[/caption]
The particle theorists see the world as being composed of discrete packets of energy that are, all of them, bound inexcusably by the law of conservation of energy and all the laws of thermodynamics. The wave theorists see the world as being seated on manifestations of energy being propagated as a continuous wave; in other words, the discretion as particles is discredited even though the law of conservation of energy and the laws of thermodynamics still hold.
Amongst particle theorists, all the energy that is present in this universe is a constitution of a very large number of packets, each of which contains a definite amount of energy that is unchanging over time. If a space contains twice as much energy as another, it does not mean the packets are twice as voluminous, it only means there are twice as many such packets. When we look out into this universe, all that we understand or all that there is to be understood at all can be done so if only there is an "amount" of meaning attached to it. Our interaction with this meaning is possible only through a tool that allows us to exchange meaning in the process - a tool like a word. A word can be said to contain a discrete amount of meaning. Even though different people may see it to be different amounts, the innate value of that meaning does not change over time. The adjective "beautiful" ascribes different amounts of beauty according to different people, and to each person therein, the amount of beauty the word describes is the same. However, "beautiful" never does come to ascribe ugliness to an object - apart from signifying its absence.
Words are discrete, like particles of meaning being strung together to create a large volume of meaning called a sentence. Sentences are then strung together to create a larger concatenation of meaning: it could be multi-dimensional, too, because a paragraph might discuss the properties of different objects through different adjectives and, in the process, create an array of meaning, so to speak. Now, if we were to zoom out to view the bigger picture, what we see is a language: there are grammatical rules that are the thermodynamic tyrants of communication, and then there are various other principles and theories that lay down how meaning is generated as well as understood - the "laws of conservation of meaning".
Even though we have described words to be discrete capsules that contain a set amount of meaning, it doesn't mean that the language as such prevents us from ascribing some amount of meaning to the gaps between these particles. Between one word and another, there is a boundary that prevents the spillage of any semantic entity, a boundary that holds it within a space in the confines of which it exists and can be understood. At the same time, with the combination of words, we create a "wave" of meaning that is present everywhere - even unto where "beautiful" and "pulchritudinous" can't reach, thereunto does "of a winsome exquisiteness surpassing the glow of a young star".
[caption id="" align="alignright" width="300" caption="Particle detection in a cloud chamber"]
[/caption]The particle theorists see the world as being composed of discrete packets of energy that are, all of them, bound inexcusably by the law of conservation of energy and all the laws of thermodynamics. The wave theorists see the world as being seated on manifestations of energy being propagated as a continuous wave; in other words, the discretion as particles is discredited even though the law of conservation of energy and the laws of thermodynamics still hold.
Amongst particle theorists, all the energy that is present in this universe is a constitution of a very large number of packets, each of which contains a definite amount of energy that is unchanging over time. If a space contains twice as much energy as another, it does not mean the packets are twice as voluminous, it only means there are twice as many such packets. When we look out into this universe, all that we understand or all that there is to be understood at all can be done so if only there is an "amount" of meaning attached to it. Our interaction with this meaning is possible only through a tool that allows us to exchange meaning in the process - a tool like a word. A word can be said to contain a discrete amount of meaning. Even though different people may see it to be different amounts, the innate value of that meaning does not change over time. The adjective "beautiful" ascribes different amounts of beauty according to different people, and to each person therein, the amount of beauty the word describes is the same. However, "beautiful" never does come to ascribe ugliness to an object - apart from signifying its absence.
Words are discrete, like particles of meaning being strung together to create a large volume of meaning called a sentence. Sentences are then strung together to create a larger concatenation of meaning: it could be multi-dimensional, too, because a paragraph might discuss the properties of different objects through different adjectives and, in the process, create an array of meaning, so to speak. Now, if we were to zoom out to view the bigger picture, what we see is a language: there are grammatical rules that are the thermodynamic tyrants of communication, and then there are various other principles and theories that lay down how meaning is generated as well as understood - the "laws of conservation of meaning".
Even though we have described words to be discrete capsules that contain a set amount of meaning, it doesn't mean that the language as such prevents us from ascribing some amount of meaning to the gaps between these particles. Between one word and another, there is a boundary that prevents the spillage of any semantic entity, a boundary that holds it within a space in the confines of which it exists and can be understood. At the same time, with the combination of words, we create a "wave" of meaning that is present everywhere - even unto where "beautiful" and "pulchritudinous" can't reach, thereunto does "of a winsome exquisiteness surpassing the glow of a young star".
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